I think about it for a second before adding, “I might like to kiss you one day, though.”
“Okay,” he repeats. I don’t have to look at his face to know he’s smiling. He adds, “I won’t if you’d prefer I not, but casual touching is something I like to do. Holding hands, that sort of thing. Just tell me if your preference is for me not to touch you.”
“No, that’s okay. I’d be fine with that,” I rush to say, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth and thinking of all the thingscasual touchingmight include. I like the way Nate treats me with his hugs and cheek kisses. I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than Desmond showing me that sort of attention; don’t know what I could have done to deserve it.
“So would I, if you ever felt the urge,” Desmond replies softly, and my pulse skitters in response. Idofeel that urge—to touch his hair or help undo the buttons on his shirt or, if I was feeling particularly courageous, hold his hand. I swallow, feeling the final ebb of my current bout of bravery slowly slipping away the more I think about all the things that might be in my future. It’s time to change the subject before I embarrass myself.
“Is your court date coming up soon?” I ask, thinking suddenly of Parker. Desmond inhales audibly enough to be heard over the crash of the waves.
“In a month.”
“You scared?” I ask, turning my face the opposite direction so I can look at him.
“Terrified,” he agrees, eyelashes fluttering closed and chest rising in another measured inhale. “Absolutely bloody terrified.”
It’s dark by the time Desmond drops me off at my dorm. The headlights illuminate the empty grass of the lawn as he puts the vehicle in park, swinging open his door and climbing out. I do the same on my side, confused. He’s obviously not coming upstairs since the car is still running, and his door is hanging open. He rounds the hood and approaches me, relaxed and smiling.
“You right?” he asks. I nod, and return the smile.
“Yeah. Thanks. I needed to get out.”
“I figured,” he says, stepping forward and putting a gentle hand on my shoulder.
My cheeks burn as he uses that hand to guide me into a hug. It doesn’t take much leading on his part—I waste no time wrapping my arms around his waist. I’m two inches taller, and probably fifty pounds heavier; his lanky frame fits perfectly within the circle of my arms, and my chest aches with the realization.
I’ve not experienced a lot, but I’ve had enough to know there are different kinds of hugs. There’s the kind my teammates gave me after we won a hockey game; the kind Nate provides when he’s feeling especially affectionate. And then there is this—Desmond’s wiry frame pressed against me, skin smelling of saltwater and our hearts beating in sync.
Pathetically, my eyes burn and my throat tightens with emotion.It’s just a hug, I tell myself, even as I tighten my arms and turn my face into his curls. He lets me take what I want, smoothing a hand down my spine in a way nobody has ever done before. It’s somehow both soothing and sensual—a touch that allows room for interpretation. I want to try kissing him so badly right now, I can hardly think beyond it.
When the length of the hug teeters on embarrassing, I bite back a sigh and let him go. He’s still smiling when we step back far enough for me to see his face, the light too dim for me to make out the deep brown of his eyes. I hope it’s also too dark for him to see the way my entire body is probably flushed red with desire and awkwardness.
That humiliating, awful kiss with Christopher doesn’t even come close to this. This hug is the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.
20
Desmond
When Jack comesover on the Saturday following our beach picnic, I expect Parker to make a comment about him being my boyfriend. He doesn’t. Instead, he falls into the now-familiar routine of shadowing Jack as he starts his washing, and then coercing him into playing video games. I’d wondered, too, if Jack’s timid nature might resurface after our conversation on the beach, but he surprised me. There wasn’t an ounce of nervous discomfort about him as he moved around the apartment. Several times, when we passed one another, he touched my arm or hip in a way he’d never done in the past.
Letting myself into the hockey complex, I take a second to hope that my excellent weekend isn’t about to be torpedoed by Nico. We’d seen one another both days for games, but the professional environment spared us from having to discuss anything beyond hockey. This morning, however, will see mesitting next to him in the office without the buffer of the team between us.
Walking the halls, I do my deep-breathing exercises as I approach the office. Nico, as per usual, has beaten me, and has the door propped open in welcome. He’s still unpacking his bag when I walk in, eyes meeting mine when I murmur a greeting.
“Morning,” he replies, gaze on me as I take a seat at my desk. He holds out a to-go cup of coffee, frowning when I hesitate, surprised by the gesture. “This is for you,” he prompts.
“Thanks, Macca.” Taking a careful sip, I smile at the familiar taste of a long black. Relief, warmer than any coffee, floods my veins. I’ve never been handed a clearer olive branch than this.
“I talked to Micky on Friday,” Nico starts, not one to beat around the bush or avoid a conversation. “And I owe you an apology.”
“Nah, bud, you don’t. I would have been concerned if youdidn’treact the way you did.”
He sighs. “Well, I probably didn’t need to threaten you, at any rate.”
“Mama bear,” I comment, voice low. He snorts, letting me know that he heard me, and that we’re already moving beyond the awkwardness of last week. Thank God, because my digestive health is not meant to handle that level of animosity.
“It’s a little concerning how often your words mirror Anthony’s,” Nico comments, eyeing me as he takes a sip of his coffee. “He also said I owed you the benefit of the doubt, and that I wasn’t giving Micky enough credit. I just…these boys worry me. I’m trying to do right by them, that’s all. Sometimes, the things they tell me…”
He trails off with a rueful shake of the head, eyes distant as he thinks.
