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“There’s some other stuff to go with it,” I tell him.
And he launches at the rest of the gifts, unwrapping things, tossing paper and bows everywhere. I also got him some baking tools, things I researched online to help him with his process. And lastly, an apron with the drawn image of a defined torso.
I thought it was cute when I bought it, but now it’s sort of coming back to bite me.
He holds it up over himself. “This isn’t far off from how I already look.” He smirks at it, but when his eyes come back up to mine, I flinch.
My mouth fills with saliva and I have to keep swallowing over and over.
Our gazes lock, and the room grows stuffy with uncomfortable silence. Jesse doesn’t seem like he’s processing anything from last night. The awkwardness is coming directly from me, which leads me to believe that maybe he wasn’t fully awake for The Incident.
And if so, that makes me the creepiest fucking pervert in the history of scumbags.
“You wish, kid.” I force the witty comeback to grate from my throat, dry and scratchy like sandpaper.
He scoffs, though the amusement doesn’t reach his eyes. Suddenly the entire room is burning the fuck up.
It’s a million degrees in here, and I’m sweating beneath my clothes.
I have to get out of here.
“I’m gonna go shovel the driveway.” I stand, stomping toward the front door, though I don’t even have my boots on yet.
“But I have a gift for y—”
“I don’t need anything,” I cut him off. “You’ve… you’ve given me enough.”
Turning, I dash back in the direction of the hall, not missing the look of disappointment on his face.
But I can’t right now. I can’t, with any of it.
I need to get out of this house before I combust.
Stalking to my boots, I step into them fast, grabbing my coat and slipping my arms into it. And when I spin back around, I find him wandering into the kitchen to watch me with wide, sparkly eyes etched in concern.
“At least have some cocoa first…” he mumbles, sucking his lower lip.
I shake my head fast. “Nah. I gotta get this done.”
I gotta get the fuck out.
This is literally the worst thing that’s ever happened. I love the kid. I love him like he’s my own, and I always have. There’s no conceivable reason why I should be watching his mouth and remembering the soft plush of it swallowing up my dick.
Rubbing my eyes, I dart past him, whipping open the front door.
What line did we somehow manage to cross last night? What sort of sick, twisted door did we open?
And how the hell do I close it?
