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“How are ya, Chief?” he asks, and I attempt to remain solid and not melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Honestly?” I ask, turning to walk into my place, looking back for him to follow. He does, closing the door behind him.
I'm ready for him to scour the place with his eyes. Watch as his face twists in disgust, visualize the widening of his eyes at the audacity of a place built so small. But he places his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, his form-fitting Under Armour shirt clinging to his broad chest, and his eyes stay on mine.
“Only honesty,” he replies.
I sigh, resting my palm on my kitchen counter and leaning over. I let it all out. “Honestly, I hate that you're here.”
His grin widens, and I see the chipped tooth that makes me swoon. He kicks off his shoes and starts walking towards me.
“No, you really don't need to do that. These floors…” I eye his shoes in the corner, but he ignores me entirely, continuing to approach me.
Leaning his elbow on the counter, he casually crosses his legs at the ankle, almost mimicking my stance directly in front of me. He's in my bubble again. He has no concept of what a client/patient bubble is. Shit, I guess the moment I sat on his cock I lost that concept, too.
“Why do you hate that I'm here?” he asks in that infamous gravelly tone, the seriousness in his voice almost making me sad I said it.
I sigh, peering around my place. “I mean…look around—”
“Don't,” he interrupts, shaking his head, already knowing where I'm at with this. “Don't do that, D.”
I blow out a breath, trying to release the nerves. He sears through me with a direct stare, and I sense the emotion behind it. His lips part as if he's about to say something, but the words get caught in his chest. Standing upright, he pulls my hand from the counter, causing me to straighten before him. He squeezes my hand gently between his as we just silently gaze at each other.
I love that he has this need to always grab my hand when he’s around me now. It's as if this simple touch somehow comforts him, even though he's attempting to comfort me. It reminds me of that night we shared, and how he couldn't keep his lips off mine. As if that connection was his lifeline to breathing.
I should hate it. I shouldn't allow it. But hell if I can stop it.
“You,” he whispers breathlessly, looking at my lips and back. “This…” He looks around, shaking his head. “You're so—”
“2023 Ram 1500, all black.”
Colin interrupts whatever Lake was about to say to me. My head snaps to where he stands in his doorframe, looking down at the floor.
He was critiquing his truck from the parking lot.
Lake drops my hand, leaning back on the counter to face him. I miss the contact immediately before the anxiety of them interacting washes over me again like a paralyzing wave.
“Indeed,” he says with a light grin. “Powerful engine. Smooth ride. What more could I ask for?”
Colin nods, still looking at the floor as he twists the bottom of his shirt with his palms.
“Decent,” he mumbles to himself. “Decent truck. Good features. Safe. Not the best for towing, but decent.”
My eyes widen at Colin's slight diss to Lake's nice-ass truck in the parking lot of our crumbling apartment, but Lake just laughs.
“I hear ya, Col.”
The tachycardia is back.The way he said Col.My insides are twisting into themselves.
“I might need you to come with me to the lot when I trade her in. Seems you know the specs pretty well. You like cars?”
Oh shit. Here we go. I might as well not even be here anymore.
Just as I imagined, Lake finds his way into Colin's world, and surprisingly, he allows it. Suddenly I'm the third wheel at this little get-together. I grab some water bottles from the fridge as Lake pulls a chair from the tiny dining table into Colin's room, planting it right next to his rocker to watch his tiny television.
Colin has yet to even look at Lake, but he doesn't let that deter their connection. Lake just rides along with it, allowing Colin to steer everything, engaging when he can, quiet when needed.
I bring some snacks to the room, pausing at the door to watch as they sit side by side, silently watching Colin's tape of the 1997 Daytona 500. Because of my vast knowledge of the sport, I happen to know this is the year that Jeff Gordon won with none other than The Rainbow Warrior.
