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“Morning,” I say, averting my eyes.
“Hey, was just looking for some coffee.”
“Ah, um, here, let me,” I say, moving up behind him. My arm brushes against his, my chest pressed against his back. I reach up above him, feeling my body rub against his and he lets out a low groan. I glance down and see his fingertips curling into the countertop.
Oh fuck. I linger a little too long, taking my time pulling down the French press. I age a little with how long it takes. I’m now thirty-four.
“The grounds are up here too,” I say lowly, still up against him, and Quinn trembles.
I reach up again and pull the tin out, setting it down on the counter where Quinn’s hands are still clenched, knuckles white. I can feel him breathe, his ribs expanding with each inhale.
With great reluctance, I step away from him and move to his side.
“You know how to work one of these?” I ask, and he shakes his head, his hand moving up to fiddle with the earrings in his ear. I can see a slight tremble of his fingers and I wonder for a moment if I made him uncomfortable. Was I too close for too long?
God, I need to keep my distance.
Or, maybe he liked it.
Oh fuck, maybe he did.
That’s almost worse.
“Why don’t you teach me,” he says, his gaze meeting mine.
I run a hand across my stubbled jaw and nod.
“Sure,” I reply, showing him how to boil the water and how to measure out the grounds.
Quinn is staring with rapt attention like he always does when I explain things to him. Even the most mundane things seem to cause a spark to ignite in those dark depths.
It makes me feel a bit like a king, to be honest. No one ever listens that intently to me.
“Now you compress it,” I say, and he reaches out at the same time as I do and our hands brush.
Sparks, electricity shoots up my arm, and I quickly pull my hand away, clearing my throat.
“Compress it,” I say roughly, and he does, those long fingers pressing down, separating the grounds from the water.
And we both stare at it, like it’s some kind of novel science experiment.
When it’s done, I reach up and grab two mugs from the cupboard and hand him one. After pouring us each a cup, I gesture to the fridge.
“Vanilla creamer is in the fridge,” I say, and he bobs his head.
“Cool.”
Needing a little space, I take my coffee to the back bedroom, pulling the curtain shut to give myself some privacy, and lean against the wall.
I need to get dressed and put some distance between us. Whatever that was back there wasn’t normal. Or maybe it is normal and I’ve just never experienced it before.
I don’t fucking know. All I know is that I’m running out of the will to resist it.
My eyes snap open and then I’m moving with a purpose.
Pulling a shirt on quickly, I take my coffee and move toward the trailer door.
Quinn sits up straight when I walk past him.
