Did I want to do that with Winter? Did I want him to touch me like that?
The idea was . . . overwhelming. Too overwhelming.
I could picture that in my head, and it made those jittery feelings sink lower than my belly.
Oh.
I stood up and away from the computer. “I need to go now,” I blurted out.
Winter turned to me, books in hand, his eyes wide. “Oh, sure. Is everything okay?”
I blinked, trying not to think about how my body felt so wrong. Wrong size, wrong shape, and wrong temperature. Too hot. “I need to go home now,” I said, taking my coat from where it was slung over the counter. I checked my watch. It was 9:42 p.m., almost time to leave anyway, and we were almost done with the last box of books.
“Deacon, are you okay?” he asked, coming over to me.
I put my hand up, stopping him from coming closer. “Yes. I’m... fine. I just...” I shook my head. There was no way I was telling him what was actually wrong. I pulled on my coat and opened the front door; the cold air cleared my head a little. The shock of it felt nice.
A relief.
I spared a glance at Winter before I left. He seemed confused and concerned, but he lifted his hand as if to wave me off. Then, remembering something from earlier, I took my gloves from my coat pocket and put them on the closest shelf. “You should have these,” I said. “I meant to ask. One of my questions...”
That I never got around to asking.
I couldn’t look at him though. So I ducked my head and ran to my truck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WINTER
Winter
“What doyou mean he freaked out?” Ro asked.
I was doing the six a.m. kitten feed after nowhere near enough sleep.
I shrugged, helping Bright take the bottle. “If you’d calm down, you’d be drinking by now,” I told him. “Goodness me.”
“He might be ready for some solid food,” Ro suggested.
Hmm, maybe. I’d have to ask . . .
I sighed. “I could ask Deacon, but after last night, I don’t know.” Then I remembered she’d asked me a question. “When he arrived, he was a bit panicky. I made him hot chocolate, which worked to calm him down a bit, and he admitted to overthinking.”
“Oh, if only you could relate,” she deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “I expect he’s got me beat in the overthinking department. Anyway,” I said, getting back to the story. “And he’d said he had questions for me, but he gets something in his head and can’t let it go until he’s eitherasked the question or found the answer. I don’t know.” I took a deep breath in. “He told me he likes guys. That he’s gay.”
She wiggled in her seat. “Oooh.”
It was far too early for that. “And I told him I was too. And that I was asexual, which he assumed I meant biologically, that I could reproduce with myself.”
She pressed her lips together so as not to smile.
I snorted. “That’s okay. It was funny. After I realized what he’d assumed. He mentioned Komodo dragons, and I was like, what the heck?”
She chuckled, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, how I wish I’d been there.”
I gave her a look that said,Uhhh, no you don’t. “Then he shared a story from college where a guy had kissed him without permission and how greatly it had upset him.”
