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I’m not even sure I’m paying attention. Every time he touches me, it’s like little bolts of lightning under my skin. It’s hard to focus. Even makes my dick twitch.
I don’t get hard, but the potential is there, and it’s a feeling I want to explore. Something I want to experience with him.
When his hand closes over mine and stays there? I feel that one in my chest. Feel the warmth spread outward, and suddenly I don’t ever want to arrive. I want to stay in this truck, coasting along the road with him forever. With no one else around. Nothing to get in the way and complicate things.
If there were ever a scenario that could describe the word ‘perfect’ I think this would be it.
All too soon we pull up in front of the trailer, and reality has a way of crashing in instead of gently flowing back, because there is Mr. Novak, with his arms crossed and his front door open and looking angrier than a wet hornet.
“How has your dad been getting in and out of the house?”
Blair rolls his eyes, but he’s biting down on his lip something fierce. “Back door ramp. The one I built for him when he lost the leg but was too damn stubborn to get it installed himself.”
He throws open the passenger door and storms out, shouting at his dad in a very placating way that contradicts the look of absolute bewilderment on his face. I take a minute to reorient myself, because the mix of hormones and whatever the hell is about to go down doesn’t seem like they’re going to mesh well.
With a deep breath, I follow him out, and when I’m close enough that I can hear more than just raised voices, I put my hand on Blair’s back because he looks like he’s ready to pass out.
“I should be able to walk out of my own damn house.”
“And you will, Dad,” Blair says, leaning back into my touch as he rubs his temple. “Atlas and I are here to put it back together. I’m sorry it took so long; but I’ve had classes and work, and it’s been a busy week.”
“Too busy to care about your old man.”
“Dad—”
“Mr. Novak,” I cut in, because at this rate one of them is going to have an aneurysm and honestly I’m not sure who it’s more likely to be. “I promise, we’ll have it back together for you in a few days. Until then, if you need anything, why don’t you call me and I can run out for you?”
Blair’s head whips around, mouth parted in surprise. “Atlas.”
“That’s very nice, son, but I’m not an invalid.”
“Sure you aren’t,” Blair mutters, and I fight back a smile.
“No, sir, you aren’t. Just offering a hand. I helped take it down in the first place.”
He finally seems to cave, muttering under his breath as he hobbles back inside and slams the door with a force that should probably rip the old thing off its hinges.
Blair turns to me once he’s gone and rests his weight on my side, his cheek on my shoulder, and I don’t even have to think about putting my arms around him in response. I just do it.
“Sorry about him.”
“Nah.” I kiss the top of his head and rub my hand soothingly along his arm. He’s wearing an old t-shirt today, but just like how mine will be on the ground in a few minutes, I’m sure his will join it not long after. “We try not to bang you up too bad today?”
He smiles up at me and kisses the underside of my chin. “Bang you up instead?”
I roll my eyes and give him a firm squeeze before letting go and reaching for the hem of my shirt. “Maybe try not to bang up anyone, yeah?”
With my shirt tossed near the rubble—because it’s going to end up as trash anyway—I give my body a few good stretches to get ready for the hellish workout it’s about to get. I’ve skipped more time at the gym in the last week than I think I have over the last few years, but it’s been worth it.
When I turn back around, Blair’s eyes are on me, and I know I’m not mistaking what I see there. We talked about it after we finished pulling the porch apart last week, about how he doesn’t want to push any kind of sexual relationship on the two of us. He’ll help me as best he can to work through the mess of feelings in my head, and I’ll be here to give him the support no one else ever has.
If something grows from that, we’ll tackle it when we get there.
We both know it’s sitting there, simmering under the surface, just waiting for us to acknowledge it.
“Ready to get to work, B?”
He catches me eyeing his shirt, and with a roll of his eyes he tugs it over his head and wads it up, taking it to the truck and tossing it inside. The little smirk he gives me makes me want to tackle him down. Just put my hands on him and wipe it away.
