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“Can you just sit?” Noah asks a few minutes later.
“How do you know where I am? Your eyes are closed.”
“I feel you looming.”
“I’m just waiting for you to tell me everything’s fine and it’s a false alarm.”
“It’s not a false alarm.”
“It has to be, because otherwise this is my fault, and you’ll hate me.” It’s not until I say the words out loud that I realize they’re true. Especially the part about him hating me.
For weeks, I’ve been preaching about boundaries, mostly for his protection but also for my peace of mind. It was supposed to ensure he didn’t hate me when the sex part of our buddy plan ran its course. I never anticipated he might have a reason to hate me that didn’t involve dicks and holes, and now that my antics have put his season in jeopardy… He might actually hate me for this, and that’s more unsettling than the idea of never getting to fuck him.
I don’t have feelings for the big guy. That’s not what this is about. But I do like him as a person. I enjoy his company, respect his honestly, and get a kick out of flirting with him. Have I been toying with him… Yes, but only because he allows it, and it seems to be helping him understand himself a little better. Until this little hiccup, it was all a little harmless fun. Now, I’m actually a little surprised he hasn’t kicked me out yet.
“Come here.” Noah holds a hand out to me. I’m not sure what to make of that since, A. we don’t hold hands and, B. the ice on his foot might be sending arctic blood to his head.
“What?”
“Come here,” he repeats, opening his eyes and pinning me with a glance that suggests he won't take no for an answer.
I take his hand with a furrowed brow, allowing him to pull me toward the empty spot next to him. As I take a seat, he drops my hand and rests his own on his thick thigh, flexing his fingers as he takes a deep breath. “Me getting hurt isn’t your fault.”
“Um…”
“And I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t understand. You were chasing me when you fell.”
“Right. I was chasing you. That’s on me.”
“But I basically dared you to do it.”
“And I took the dare.”
“If I hadn’t made the dare, you wouldn’t have taken it. Now look at you.” I point to his foot. “How is that not my fault?”
Noah’s blue eyes follow my gaze, looking a little sad, but not angry. “Neither of us could’ve known a little game of chase would end like this.”
“Which is why I shouldn’t have started it.” I throw my arms up, exasperated.
“Why are you so determined to think this is on you?”
I start to say ‘because it is’ when I realize that’s not really an answer, just a feeling. A deep-seated, inherent belief that when there’s something wrong, I’m to blame. There’s probably some daddy issues to unpack there, but let’s face it—since I enjoy a little bit of trouble, most people wouldn’t call me innocent. He shouldn’t either.
“Poor judgment, not thinking things through, acting like a kid… Take your pick—any of those are reasons to blame me.”
“You can’t single yourself out when I did all the same things.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Are you trying to say we’re both to blame?”
“I’m saying neither of us are. Shit happens. Do I wish I could take it back, think it through before doing something reckless?” He runs a hand through his thick blond hair, a nervous tic maybe. “Yeah, of course. I don’t know what this is gonna mean yet, but I doubt it’s good, and I’m dreading what I find out. At the same time, I was having more fun goofing off with you than I have in months. Maybe even years. How could I blame you for that?”
“There’s a whole city of people out there who would easily blame me. Not to mention your teammates. And Xander. And his dad… You know his dad might actually come after me. He’s never liked me.” I recall the way I got booted from one of his team cookouts a few years back when I asked the guys to feel their muscles.
“No one needs to know all the details. I’ll just say I tripped.”
“Yeah, because people will believe the guy who balances on ice for a living would fall on dry land.” I snort.
