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I catch Gunner’s eye as he continues to flirt with Davis, and whatever he sees on my face gives him pause. Slowly, he unwinds his arms from around Davis’s body and takes a step back, sending me a silentI get the messagelook. “So kids, what are we drinking?”
I’m grateful my uncensored friend doesn’t push, or vocalize what I’m certain he sees on my face: pure jealousy. Hell yes I’m jealous. I’m also pissed. Why am I the only one Davis can’t look at or touch? Why am I the one he retreats from when I come too close?
Aiden strolls past me, whispering, “Careful, my friend.” Damn him for knowing me so well, for reading every emotion on my face even though I’m trying hard to remain neutral. Damn him for seeing a truth that I’m too terrified to consider; that I’m desperately holding out hope that Davis will see me as something more than a friend.
Rolene turns the stereo on, cranking up the volume and bouncing toward Jack, where she takes him by the hand. They dance in the small space between the television and the couch, making room for Chloe and Gunner when they shimmy on by. Davis and I settle on the barstools while Aiden loiters next to us, watching the action unfold, laughing at our crazy friends as they attempt to dance and drink and laugh together.
Turning my head, I gaze at Davis and see the longing in his eyes as he watches the innate closeness my friends have for one another. The man is so damn lonely, and yet so completely locked inside himself. If he would just let go, let down that guard of his, I know he would be a happier man. I know it because he’s shown me he could be. Not often, but it was there nonetheless. I want nothing more than to see him as he really is; not the broken-hearted father, not the hostile husband, but the sweet man I’ve gotten a sneak peek at a time or two.
His eyes meet mine and it’s as if the shutters fall over him, the wall is erected once more, and the space between us becomes miles instead of inches. The hollow emptiness in his eyes is back, the tenseness of his shoulders a visceral reaction to being so close to me. He even shifts his body slightly, putting more room between us than is necessary, to emphasize his disgust at being this close to me. It breaks my heart and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I can do about it.
Rising, I retreat into the kitchen, breathing through the emotion as I busy myself with mundane tasks. My heart is jumping around inside my chest and the weird burning in my throat is a telltale sign that my emotions are getting the better of me.
I can’t do this anymore.
I feel a warm palm slide over my shoulder as I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “Talk to him.” Aiden’s words, for my ears only, should bring me comfort. But all I can think is that I’ve tried to, and have failed, too many times to count. And dammit, I’m tired of trying. “Don’t be stubborn. Take him into the other room and get some answers.”
I nod, knowing that if I don’t heed his advice, I’m going nowhere. Davis and I will continue to circle the drain until there’s nothing left of either of us; not even friendship, tentative as it is. And I’ll be damned if I allow that to happen.
Tossing the dish towel aside, I move around the counter and walk directly to him, murmuring, “May I have a word?”
Nodding, he rises and follows on my heels as we move down the hall and into my bedroom. Closing the door behind us, I begin to pace while he stands silently still against the wall. I give myself a good minute to get control of myself, then slow to a halt in front of him and wait for him to look at me.
When he does, I finally speak. I only hope he can’t hear the agony in my voice that I’m feeling right at this moment. “Tell me how to fix this. Tell me what has happened to make you look at me like I’m some stranger.” The immovable wall around him remains intact. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t blink, doesn’t move. “For some reason unknown to me, I make you uncomfortable. Things haven’t been the same between us since that night you told me about Charlotte.” Again, no response. “Talk to me, Davis. Tell me what I’ve done so I can fix it.”
There’s stoic and then there’s stubborn, and if I had to guess I would say that Davis is stubbornly refusing to speak to me. There’s nothing stoic about the emptiness I see when he our eyes meet. Nothing stoic about a man who refuses to work on a relationship—a friendship—when he’s practically being begged to do so.
“Goddamn you, you owe me something. Anything. Tell me why you bristle when I come near you. Why you can hardly look me in the eye anymore. Tell me why one minute we are good friends and the next you’re doing everything in your power to push me away.”
He blinks a few times, but I get little else. Clearly he doesn’t want to meet me halfway. That alone should be all the answer I need.
Tearing my fingers through my hair, I shake my head and sigh. “Okay, you win. Let’s just walk away now with whatever friendship we still have.” Emotion clogs my throat, my poor damaged heart pounding furiously in my chest. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just be your friend when it’s convenient for you.”
Suddenly there are warm hands on my face, and a body flanking my own. I lift my head to see the wall around him has crumbled down, the shutters have lifted, and anxious brown eyes plead silently for understanding. Then he takes another step closer, and I can feel every hard muscle in his body against mine. I sigh with relief and so does he.
With a surge forward, his mouth comes crashing down across my own without warning. It’s unexpected and fraught with anger and pent-up emotion. Warm lips press hard against mine and even though it’s riddled with tension, I can’t hold back the groan that escapes.
Davis suddenly pulls his mouth away and his eyes widen in shock before slowly rolling a path from my eyes to my mouth and back again. And then they roll back down to my mouth and stay there, as if he’s held hostage by the idea of what it can do to his.
All the worry and confusion of the past few weeks subsides instantaneously. I smile and frame his face with my hands, whispering, “Let’s try that again, shall we? I think we can do better.”
Leaning forward, I gently press my lips to his, surprised when he doesn’t balk or shove me aside. Slowly, I press soft kisses to his mouth; across the top lip, down over the bottom. Gone is the tense anger that drove our first kiss, and now we’re left with nothing but curiosity and need.
His eyes drift closed and he finally returns the kiss, hands falling to my waist as he tugs me forward. The two of us fall against the wall, chests pressed together, my hips pulled back slightly so as not to scare him off with my hardening dick. I hear him moan and consider that maybe I’m just hearing things. But when I drift my tongue over his bottom lip, I hear it again, and this time I know I’m not making things up. This may never have been my intention—or his for that matter—but now that we’re in it, there’s no way I’m turning back.
