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“I was notgroaning,” I say. “I’m just… trying to figure some stuff out.”
He sees right through my act and raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Anything I can help with?”
“No,” I snap too fast. Joel grimaces a little and I reach out to take his hand in apology. They slot together and it feels like being anchored. It’s the calmest I’ve felt all day. “Sorry. I just need to work this out alone.”
He nods even though I don’t think he understands. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like a charity case. I know that’s not how Joel would think about it, but my pride won’t let me give in. I’m doing this for myself. I don’t need anyone else’s help, even if a billionaire’s funds would solve a lot of my problems right now.
“You’re stressed,” he says. It’s not a question but I nod in agreement anyway. “You know what I always do when I’m stressed?”
“I can guess.”
He sighs in dramatic, fake hurt. “I’m not suggesting we go crazy. I’m just saying you need to take your mind off it for a bit.”
I laugh bitterly. “It’s not that easy. I can’t get it out of my head.”
“You need a distraction, then!”
“Joel,” I say with a fond sigh. He comes from a simple world where problems can just be fixed and worries are just temporary. I wonder what he’d do if he was dumped somewhere random with a hundred dollars and no idea what to do. He’d probably just charm someone into helping him.
He puts his plate of snacks down on the floor. “Babe, listen. I know I don’t know much, but I do know stress is bad for you. At least let me sit here and hang with you.”
“Okay, fine. You can be like my service dog.”
“Woof,” he barks in the worst imitation of a dog I’ve ever heard. He’s trying to make me laugh and it works. I lean over to kiss him, smiling into it.
For a while, we sit quietly as I draft and redraft my hiring post, Joel offering tiny suggestions here and there. Usually, I’d be annoyed with someone looking over my shoulder and chipping in uninvited, but Joel is resting his head against me and the things he’s saying are actually useful. If he was doing it for every other word, I’d kick him out, but he’s only doing it when I get stuck.
What have I been doing without him?
But it doesn’t last because he gets bored. In the twenty or so minutes he’s been sitting there, I’ve been almost productive, so I don’t one hundred percent hate it when he shuffles about and turns his head to bury his face in the crook of my neck.
That, I can ignore. It’s when he starts leaving kisses that I protest. “Joel, please. I’m busy.”
“So am I,” he mumbles, kissing me harder.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second, stretching my neck out to give him more access. His lips are so soft, and he does that thing where he drags his teeth over my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind it. When he touches me, it’s like nothing else in the world matters.
Which I guess is the point.
The laptop is still showing me that cursed blinking line of no inspiration, and Joel’s hand has started snaking its way up my thigh, and I know I should do work but my arousal isn’t easy to ignore when he’s touching me and the idea of making out with him for the next hour or three sounds so much more fun than hunting for employees.
To hell with it all. It’s not like I’m getting anywhere.
I slam the lid of my laptop shut and cast it away onto the floor. Joel smirks at me and I kiss it right off his smug face. I’m hungry for him. It doesn’t seem to matter how much I’ve touched him this week, how many times we kiss, how many times our bodies meet. I need more.
Being in his arms is the only thing stopping the outside world from crumbling around me and leaving me a shattered husk of who I used to be. With Joel, I almost feel human.
And it’s not like he minds kissing me either. My anxiety wants to flare up about it, but he’s still here. He’s still tender and caring. That has to count for something, right?
He’s right, anyway, because the second our lips meet, all thoughts that aren’t him fly far away from my brain.
I wrap my arms around him and drag him onto the bed. “Take off your pants,” I demand.
“No,” he says, and I’m about to protest when he flips to be on top of me and starts shimmying his way down my body, dragging my pants and underwear off in one move. As he settles between my legs, I drag my fingers through his hair, my fist tightening as his tongue does that absolutely magical thing that makes all the knots inside me untwist until I lose control.
When he finally kneels up, my legs are jelly and my hair must be a mess. “You’re too good at that,” I pant, breathless.
His lips shine with my wetness as he grins. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
