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“Fine. On one condition,” I tell him.
“What?” He gives me a droll look.
“Don’t pull this whole ‘I can take care of myself’ crap with me.”
“But I can take care of myself.”
I can’t help my eye roll. “You know what I mean. There are some things you shouldn’t have to do alone, even if you can. Going to the hospital with a broken bone is one of them.”
Liam studies me for a second, like he’s not sure why that’s my stipulation. Finally, he huffs out a ragged breath. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a hero complex?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug indifferently. “I look after my friends.” I feel myself wince as those words spill out. “Try to, anyway.”
Liam’s brow furrows when he catches my blunder, but before he can reciprocate the interrogation I just gave him, I grab his tiny gift bag from my desk and toss it across the room. Ask the guy with a broken arm to catch—good one. At least his present is about as heavy as a feather because it lands right on his cast.
“What’s this?” Liam frowns at his package.
“Open it.”
Using his right hand, he reaches into the bag and pulls out the window decal, studying it curiously before his inquisitive gaze finds mine.
“Happy birthday.”
He blinks at me in rapid succession. “How did you know?”
“The RA put it on the door.”
“This is… I don’t…” He stares at me, completely speechless.
“I know it’s kinda lame, but the bookstore doesn’t have a lot of options, and I—”
“It’s perfect.” Liam smiles at me. A genuine one instead of the partial one he typically gives, and the notion that I may have helped make a shitty day better eases the weight bearing down on my chest.
Chapter eight
Liam
It’s been six days since the accident, six days, and I’m losing my mind.
Not from the pain, which is more of a dull ache as long as I’m not using my arm. Nor is it due to an itch I can’t scratch. Actually, that’s exactly what it is, only the itch isn’t under the cast. It’s below my belt. And even here–in the shower that’s usually my sanctuary–I can’t do anything about it.
Stupid plastic cast sleeve that makes it impossible to get a good hold on my cock with my dominant hand.
As Cruz so helpfully pointed out before I broke my arm, I have a nightly routine that helps me sleep. It started a little over a year ago, after I was unceremoniously outed. At first, when people started treating me like a leper, I was ashamed. I retreated from everything at the same time my parents retreated from me, so it was an all-around bad time. I had no one. Things felt bleak. My friends turned on me in a violent way and I decided enough was enough.
I made a decision to be me, whether people liked it or not. I vowed not to hide, and I swore never to be ashamed of who I was attracted to. It was liberating, in a way, but I was still alone. Still filled with tension since I was trapped at home and at school, with no hope of escape until after graduation. That’s when I discovered an orgasm eased the stress a little, making it possible for me to sleep. Plus, I was a horny teenage guy with no other outlet. So, jerking off in the shower became my nightly routine. One that sticks to this day.
Giving up on my left hand, not just because of the cast sleeve but because jerking with it fucking hurts, I wrap my right around my straining cock, giving it an experimental tug. It dulls the ache, but the pressure is off, doing nothing to sate my need. I’d like to claim that’s not a big deal, that I can ignore my urges and go to sleep without release, but the truth is that’s just not an option since I’m living with Adonis personified.
It’s virtually impossible not to notice how perfect Cruz’s body is considering he flaunts it constantly. The irony is, he isn’t flaunting it on purpose. His asexuality translates into him being completely oblivious to the fact his naked torso does things to me, so he has no qualms about walking around shirtless.
All. The. Time.
Add to that how he got me a birthday present and has been so genuinely concerned for my well-being that he literally won’t let me carry anything, and I’m starting to feel more than just sexual attraction toward him. I’m dangerously close to developing a crush on my ACE roommate, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.
Why is he so nice?
I want to believe that’s just who Cruz is. That it’s in his nature to take care of and look out for people. But I knew guys like that back home, or at least I thought I did, and when I needed them the most they were nowhere to be found. Hell, some of them turned out to be who I needed protection from.
