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“I fell.”
“You fell?”
“When I went to get the sheets. It doesn’t matter….”
I run my thumb over his bruise, and he gasps.
“Shit, sorry. I, uh, have a cream for that. I’ll bring it over tomorrow.”
He leans back and swats my hand away before grabbing onto the book and setting it on his lap. His chest rises and falls with a deep breath, and his hard, ice-blue eyes soften for just a fraction of a moment.
“Thank you.”
My brain stutters, and for a second, I’m confused because what the fuck is he thanking me for?
He must read the confusion on my face because he says, “For the helping me when I was sick.”
“Oh, yeah. You don’t need to thank me for that. Any decent person would do that for someone else.”
“Not many would, Logan. Decent or not.”
“You must have had shitty luck then,” I say and nudge him with my elbow. “Well, now you have me.”
He peeks up at me and then shakes his head. “I don’t have you. That’s not what this is.”
I purse my lips and watch him fidgeting next to me.
He clears his throat and says, “This is me tutoring you and you letting me fuck you. It’s just an exchange.”
“Well, technically, we haven’t fucked.”
He rolls his eyes. “My dick was down your throat.”
Hm, yeah, that’s true. I swallow and rub the back of my neck. My dick is perking up, and I feel nervous all over again. Nah, nervous is the wrong word. Excited. I feel excited.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Let’s just get started,” he says and then begins explaining the content to me.
When he twists to grab a bottle of water and winces, my dick is forgotten, and I can’t help but envision him falling down the steps the other night.
As my anxiety rises, images of my brother in a hospital bed invade my mind—his leg in bandages, his face bruised and broken—and I struggle to breathe.
I should have insisted I stay with Theo. I should have made sure he was okay, even if he’s stubborn and would have clawed and fought to keep me out of his life.
“Why are you breathing like that?” he asks, and my eyes snap up to his.
Visions of my brother slumped over, blood dripping from his face start to fade away, and I gulp loudly. “Huh?”
“You’re breathing like you ran a mile.”
I press a hand against my chest, my thumping heart erratic and wild. God, I hate thinking about this shit. It makes me crazy, and don’t even get me started on actuallyseeingLandon. The guilt of it is all-consuming.
I run a hand down my face and lean my head back, closing my eyes. “Sorry. Was just thinking….”
“About what?”
“My brother was in a car accident a year ago. Lost a leg. It was kind of traumatic.”
Yeah, that’s an understatement. It was life-altering. I still have nightmares about it and still can’t breathe when my brain decides to conjure it up.
