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I laugh with my whole body … until it makes me realize how badly I need to pee.
“Wes, I gotta go,” I huff, pushing on his chest.
“Nuh-uh,” he groans, pulling me closer.
“No, Wes. I gotta go.”
Catching my meaning, he releases me with a chuckle and sits up. “I’ll come outside with you.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be right back,” I mutter, trying to pull my hoodie and jeans on as quickly as possible.
Wes slips his holster on, throws his Hawaiian shirt on over it—leaving it unbuttoned so that his chest is on full display—and slides his boxers on over his still-hard cock. “Nah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Like that?” I giggle, glancing down.
“What?” Wes follows my gaze to see the head of his dick staring back up at him. “It’ll calm down when the cold air hits it.” He shrugs.
“Wes,” I hesitate. “I don’t go out there … anymore.”
“Oh, you found a new spot?” he mumbles, buttoning his shirt to cover the issue. “Smart. That front entrance is pretty exposed.”
“No …” I sigh, already hearing the shakiness return to my voice.
Wes’s head snaps up, and suddenly, he’s the Ice King again. Cold. Guarded. Quietly raging and highly alert.
“What happened?” he snaps.
“Nothing. I just—”
“Bullshit. What happened?”
“Ugh! I can’t think when you get like this!”
“You don’t need to think. You need to tell me what the fuck happened.”
“I had a panic attack, okay?” I shout. “I touched the grass, and I just … I freaked out. I can’t see the trees because they remind me of home. I can’t look at the highway because it reminds me of home. I can’t leave this damn building because everything out there triggers a memory, and memories trigger the pain, and the pain triggers the panic because if I can’t shut it down immediately, it’s so big and so awful that I think it might kill me, okay?”
I take a huge breath and blow it out through my lips as Wes studies me with unaffected eyes.
“No,” he finally says, his mouth set in a hard line.
“No?”
Wes shakes his head. “No. It’s not fucking okay. Get your shoes on. We’re going outside.”
“Watch your step.”
I grip Wes’s bicep harder as I step down off the curb and into the street.
At least, I assume it’s the street.
“How’re you doing?” he asks.
“I … uh …” I check in with myself and realize that I’m actually kind of okay.
With Wes’s tank top tied around my head, I can’t see anything. All I can hear is his voice. And with my boots on, the only thing I can feel is the pavement beneath my feet and his body touching mine.
I hate it when he’s right.
