My throat dries, making it hard to swallow, but that’s the least of my worries because my heart pounds against my chest, the blood rushing too loud in my ears, making it challenging to listen to the other murmured words leaving his lips.
“It’s just a hug,” I heedlessly reply.
“A hug that came from you. This is all I wanted.”
I wish I could stop my body from reacting.
“Maybe what you need is to talk about it,” I say in hopes it’ll distract my racing thoughts and heart.
“I really don’t?—”
“I don’t get you.” I cut him off and pull back, letting my arms dangle around his shoulders.
He tips his head back to stare up at me and keeps his arms firmly around me. “What don’t you get?”
A warning flashes in my head to draw away, far away because we’re too close. My lips are just an inch away from his, and our bodies are tangled in a position that isn’t deemed appropriate for people who are justfriends.
“How you think it’s okay to prioritize my feelings but disregard your own.”
His brows pinch together, lips parted, but nothing leaves his mouth. He stares like he’s speechless, shocked, and anxious all at once.
“They matter too, you know.” I cradle his cheek, gently caressing it with the pad of my thumb. “Youmatter, Daniel.”
A haunted look takes over his eyes before they get washed away with sadness. It lingers like it’s letting itself be seen. Like it’s asking for help and doesn’t know how.
I feel his chest expand against me and he thickly swallows. His fingers dig into my sides, like he’s holding on to me, and I let him. I shift closer to him, letting him use me as an anchor.
“Don’t hide,” I softly say, letting those two words seep in our bubble and hoping he’s absorbing them, hearing them, feeling them. “I’m right here.”
A muscle in his jaw works before his eyes cast down as if he were embarrassed. Or maybe I’ve said something wrong.
“I’m sorry if that came off brash. I’m not good at this kind of thing. Maybe you should look up a therapist. I hear they’re good at this kind of thing.”
That gets him to lift his head and smile. I even get a soft snicker to squeeze past his lips. “That wasn’t—who made you think this way?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. I tend to come off cold, so if?—”
“You’ve never come off cold, and you said nothing wrong. I’m the one with issues. I struggle to talk about myself.”
I scoff, dropping my hand from his cheek and placing it back around his shoulder. “You’re the one with issues? Have you met me? I’mawalking issue. And that makes two of us because I hate talking about myself.”
“You’re not a walking issue.” He brightens. “You know, I really like it when you talk about yourself. I want you to do more of it.”
“Not until you do.”
“I talk a lot about myself,” he weakly defends.
“Calling yourself hot doesn’t count.”
“But you can agree I am, right?” He bats his eyelashes with hopefulness.
I almost laugh, but I swallow it down. “I’m not going to stroke your ego, Garcia.”
“But I want you to stroke it,” he utters throatily then tenses like he’s realized what he said but doesn’t correct himself. “Just once. That’s all I want.Please,” he gruffly says. The last word leaving his lips is an impatient and eager plea; it’s far too enthusiastic but also heated with urgency. “Josefine, please.”
I drag my palm up his spine until my fingers reach the back of his jersey. I should stop because I have no idea what I’m doing, but he’s not stopping me. He’s only staring at me like I’m everything he’s prayed for.
His eyes dilate, breath puffing out shakily as I skate my fingers up the nape of his neck and weave them through his hair. It’s far softer than I imagined. It feels good and again I tell myself to stop but I don’t.
