Page 91 of Out Of A Fix

“I don’t want…you won’t go and see the lawyer?”

“No,” I murmured.

Quick exhale. “Or leave.”

I smiled at him. “How can I leave now? You kissed me.”

His sigh was long. “I want you to give me some time.”

“I can do that.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

I took a step back, and he opened the door and left the room. It was so strange, because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hardened that fast. It normally took so much more to spark arousal in me because I’d discovered years ago that my hunger, my desire, were inexorably tied not to my cock, but to my heart. Once the deep, dark possessiveness that lived in me was triggered, it was hard to stop the grinding of the gears, to keep from wanting what was clearly supposed to be mine. I had to remember that he wasn’t, that he didn’t belong to me, and that this was brand-new to him, whatever it was he was feeling at the moment.

It was important to be smart and not⁠—

“Hey.”

He stood in the doorway, looking almost drunk, his lips dark and puffy as he stared at me, smiling with hooded eyes.

“I need you out here. Come on.”

I didn’t hesitate.

It felt like a dream. I was listening and answering, asking questions and waiting for the responses. All that was going on as I noticed everything Luke did. How he smiled when I laughed, every time he bumped me, touched me, complimented me. The ease between us, with the attraction and desire acknowledged, changed everything. I couldn’t remember feeling better. There was also the fact that everyone appreciated my contribution to the meal. My enchiladas were a hit.

“Those were good,” Benny assured me with a burp.

“So good,” Griff said with a sigh. “You gotta show me how to make ’em.”

There had been two big pans, and yes, Darwin and Teddy, as well as Tatum and her pals, had made a dent, but one and a half pans were demolished by Benny, Sean, and Griff. It was both impressive and terrifying.

I glanced at Luke as I packed their lunches for the following day.

“You forgot how much food a sixteen-year-old boy can put away.”

I nodded. “I did. Yeah.”

After dinner, Luke volunteered to wash dishes, and I helped him. It didn’t take nearly as much time as I thought it would, as there were no leftovers to put away—all the plates were in the dishwasher and only the empty pans were left.

“This is crazy,” I told him, and he laughed at me.

“Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you—Shelly doesn’t want us at the funeral tomorrow. I feel like a bit of a jerk, but I’m relieved.”

I nodded.

“I wonder what changed her mind.”

“Sleep, most likely,” I answered. “She was wrung out.”

He squinted at me. “You’re quieter than usual. Why?”

I shook my head.

“No. Talk to me.”

But what was I going to say? That waiting for him to figure out what he wanted from me—if anything—was terrifying? That standing in limbo with nothing solid under my feet was making it hard to breathe?