Page 28 of Temptation On Ice

“Thank you. I didn't mean to go full snot-nosed cry fest on you, but I appreciate you making me feel normal about it all the same. I think I might have ruined your shirt,” I say, bringing my fingertips to the wet shoulder of his t-shirt. Did I fucking drool in addition to getting tears and snot on him?

Wow, this is so embarrassing.

His hand covers mine on his shoulder, and I roll my forehead to catch his gaze, but it causes our noses to brush, and I stay there. My wet face grows hot as my breath catches. We’re close enough to kiss, our mouths inches apart, his lips parting as his fingers flex around mine. Why do I want to kiss him? I’ve never wanted to kiss a man before, especially not after an epic breakdown.

Tucker swallows hard and gently moves his head back, removing the temptation of his soft mouth from my reach. He slowly slides his hand off mine. I think he’s moving at a snail’s pace to keep from freaking me out, and I’m grateful one of us can think rationally through this charged moment because I was about to fuck this all up just to get a taste of him.

“I, uh, don't mind. I have a drawer full of these. Why don't we walk back to the house? We can get another beer if you want, or just switch to water so you can head home when you’re feeling better.”

I allow him to help me to my feet, his arms remaining around me the whole time, making sure I can stand on my own before he finally lets me go. I shiver when I’m away from his heat despite the muggy evening air, and sway a bit from exhaustion. I’m wrecked by this emotional revelation, my legs barely holding me up.

Tucker notices and puts his arm around my waist, supporting me again as we set off for his house while I lean into his strength. It takes a bit longer to get back, I think, but honestly, I feel drunker on the misery now than I did when I was buzzing on Corona.

Tucker nearly carries me up the stairs, his arm the only thing keeping me on my feet at this point. Instead of stopping in his kitchen, he takes me down a hallway to a bedroom and sits me on a bed with a red, white, and blue quilt covering it. I run my fingers along the quilted pattern, feeling where each shape comes together to form a cohesive unit. Why does the quilt get to be a beautiful whole when it’s made from separate scraps, but I’m still in tatters?

“What about the quilt?” Tucker asks, gently brushing the hair back from my face with his big, rough fingers that feel far too good. I turn my face into his palm before he can pull it away, making him brush along my cheek in a soft caress when he does.

Shit, I said that out loud?

“Yeah, you’re in no shape to drive anywhere,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You're staying with me tonight. We don't need you getting in an accident or pulled over for a DUI after leaving my house.”

He kneels in front of me and takes off my shoes, his hands gripping my calves to lift my feet, tucking my socks inside and setting them next to the bed. He’s taking care of me like a child, yet it doesn't feel like he’s patronizing me. It feels good to have someone care about me enough that they’re thinking about my safety and well-being for a change.

“Yeah, I care about you, City Boy,” he says gently. “Why don't you lie down and get some rest? You’re drained.” He pats my thigh, and I want him to slide his hand higher.

I was drained earlier, but I could go again. Maybe he’d help for real this time?

“You need some sleep, Sebastian. Ain’t no one draining anything tonight. But if you’re a good boy, I might make you breakfast in the morning.”

He pushes on my chest until I’m lying flat on the bed. As he moves his hand away, I grab it. “Can you stay for a bit? I don't want to fall asleep alone with these memories suffocating me. I need someone who gets it, who knows how bad it feels to be alone with the pain.”

What am I even asking for exactly?

“You sure you want that? I’m right down the hall if you need anything,” he says softly, not pulling his hand from mine, but squeezing it reassuringly.

I pull until he’s bent over the bed and forced to put a knee on the mattress or fall on top of me. “Stay here. Please?”

I think it’s the please that does it because he shakes his head, even though I know he’s giving in. He reaches down and takes off his boots, then sits on the bed next to me with his back propped against the headboard. I roll toward him until my face is pressed into his side, his clean cotton and sandalwood scent invading my nose with reassurance and safety as I close my eyes. He starts to scoot away to give me space, and I throw my arm around his waist to keep him in place. I inhale deeply and let out a long breath directly into the warm fabric until all I smell is him.

His hand rests tentatively on my head, and I groan when he scratches my scalp with his fingertips. It sends a shiver racing across my skin and has my arm tightening around his waist. His arm settles across my shoulders, holding me gently as he continues to scratch my scalp and play with my hair. It doesn't take long for me to pass out cold with my nose buried in Tucker’s T-shirt, holding him like my personal, life-size teddy bear.

I dream of strong arms holding me all night, and it’s the best sleep I’ve had in years.

Thirteen

Sebastian

When I finally wake up, it’s light out and I’m alone. I’m under the quilt now, yet I’m sure I fell asleep on top of it. Rolling over, I squint at the nightstand. There’s a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen sitting right where I can see them, and suddenly I have the worst cotton mouth and headache. The water looks like a desert oasis. I reach for the glass, chugging half before I set it down, and shake out two pills into my palm that I swallow to work on the bass drum kicking in my skull. This can't be from the Coronas. Those are weak-ass beers, and I only had four. This is what expressing grief does to you. It wrecks you so bad emotionally, you feel it physically.

I get out of bed and pad down the hall toward the kitchen, where I hear noise and smell coffee. Walking around the corner, I find Tucker shirtless, wearing faded jeans that hug his ass and hang off his hips, showing the band of his black boxers. His back is massive, broad, and defined without being overly muscled. You can see his strength despite his lack of bulk. He’s barefoot, and his hair is a bit unruly. He looks like he rolled out of bed, threw some pants on, and came in here hunting for coffee.

“Hey,” I say, my voice gravelly with sleep.

Tucker turns, eyes wide with surprise, like he didn’t expect me to be here. “Mornin’. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I ought to, I expect. Thanks for letting me stay.”

I rub the back of my neck and think through the events of last night. I remember getting buzzed and spilling my guts about everything I feel, and crying like a baby over the unfairness of it all into Tucker’s shoulder while he held me. Then he brought me back here and put me to bed and…oh, God, I almost kissed him. And I cuddled him.