Murder cars, Everett. Murder. Cars.
“Yeah. He said I should date you, ha.” I say this with a light punch to his shoulder and a laugh that could, frankly, use a little work. Never mind that my chest is squeezing with want and desire just thinking about it.
Another look that I amabsolutely certain is not hopecrosses his face, replaced by another round of chewing on his bottom lip. I use my thumb to gently ease the abused, plump skin from his teeth and stroke his cheek like I’ve done a million times before, though never with him so far away from me. I’m half expecting welled-up eyes and him climbing onto my lap for comfort and a good cry. Instead, he pulls farther away and shakes his head. “Sorry about Darren. I’m just working out some stuff in my head, that’s all.”
I hate it, but he’s set a clear boundary. “Okay. Just know I’m here for you.”
He nods and helps himself to some popcorn, grabbing the cider while I busy myself with setting up the controllers. It makes my teeth itch to not be able to soothe him or find out what’s wrong and make it better.
8
Rafi
My skin is crawling with need, and I feel like an asshole. Everett has been there for every bad day, for every crying jag, and now he needs a hug and it’s all I can do to not run out of the house or strip him bare. I’m just grateful I didn’t take Parker’s advice to change into something else—baggy khakis are the only thing between me and absolute humiliation at this point.
I’m glad he suggested the VR because now I can at least get lost in the world and maybe forget a little that he’s still close enough to touch. There is, of course, the small problem that I’ve never actually used a VR setup before, so having him stand in front of me and put his hands in mine, explaining how to use the handsets, has me so distracted I haven’t heard a single word. He strokes my cheek with his thumb before slipping the headgear over my eyes.
Damn him and his sweet touches.
Yeah, he’s a real asshole, habibi.
Shut it, Asa.
Everett hits a button and immediately I’m in a different world, an outdoor shooting range so realistic I can almost feel the breeze that undulates the grasses in the distance.
“Can you see everything okay?”
I nod, pivoting in his direction, but trying to move with the headset in place makes me dizzy. I nearly crash into something, and his strong hands on my shoulders keep me upright. I’m thrown off by the fact I can see—and nearly feel—the gun range, but everything smells like him.
“If this sucks for you, we can put onYou’ve Got Mail.”
He’s the only one who knows my favorite movie. Not like it’s a state secret or anything. “It’s okay, I just need to get used to it.”
The controllers have a special extension so that you can hold it like a gun, and my selection—sniper rifle—is a no-brainer. While speaking my grandmother’s dialect of Arabic was more valuable at the time, I was always proud of my gun handling ability. There is something about me that enjoys doing the unexpected, and shooting a gun that is nearly as tall as I am definitely qualifies.
Everett and I play a few practice rounds, which I appreciate since the setup is a little strange. But once I adjust for the differences, we start to settle into a friendly rivalry, complete with five-dollar bets.
“This is probably ruining my sharpshooter skills,” I joke, not that time and lack of practice haven’t already done that for me.
Everett hums in disagreement. “Studies show that this is actually useful. Apparently, several branches of the military have begun to use VR technology with some of their newer trainees, resulting in better shooters.”
“Good to know,” I say to his VR avatar, who is thankfully kinda homely.
With that in mind, I stop worrying and start cleaning up.
After I win the third bet in a row, Everett laughs, side-hugging me to within an inch of bonerville. “Damn, I wanna see you at a real gun range. Tell you what, you make this next shot and we’ll go tomorrow night, on me.”
When I make a shot in high winds at a thousand yards, I vaguely hear him rip his VR off, cursing about unfair advantages under his breath. I smile and leave my unit on, joking, “Oh no, the six-foot-tall guy with the killer body, unfairly beautiful hair, and gorgeous skin art has found the one thing he’s not automatically better at than everybody else. Poor baby.”
“Oh, now you’ve started it.”
Suddenly my feet come off the ground and I’m moving backward. I flail—slightly—but then my back hits the soft sofa, and Everett’s solid body lands on mine. Pulling off my headgear I’m shocked to see his smile. It’s not that Everett doesn’t know how to smile, or that he’s never smiled around me, but his face is usually on the more serious side. And this genuine, bright, excited smile is so damn sexy that I wrap my arms and legs around him and push my face into his neck, if only to avoid kissing him.
“Rafi! That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even think that shot was possible. I mean, I knew you’d been a sharpshooter for a while there, but that was impressive as hell.”
He pauses, likely realizing I’ve gone full koala on him, then lets out a little sigh. “Damn, I had such a shitty day. Your hugs are the best.” He follows that up with a kiss to my temple and lets his full weight settle on me. In one sense, I’m very lucky that, due to our differences in height, I get more of his stomach against me than, say, his junk. If we were to be fully lined up, I doubt I’d be able to stop myself from grinding up against him.
Actually, uh…fuck. My hips must have a mind of their own because I’m pretty sure I just executed a small mini-grind against his rippling abs. Don’t judge me, I’m only human.
