Thinking about people I like, inevitably leads my thoughts back to Kit. I’m furious about his stupid prank and the world of pain he nearly cost me, but for some bizarre reason I still like him. No matter how rude and grumpy I am to him, he keeps coming back for more. It is as if he sees through my armor, sees how lonely I am, and how much I would love to have friends and maybe even more, but I’m too damn fucked up to let anyone in. So I just snarl and push everyone away. Hurt them before they can hurt me.
I grit my teeth. Wallowing in self-pity is not going to help me get into character. Nor is day dreaming about Kit’s lovely personality and swoon worthy good looks.
A knock on my door startles me, and I just know it’s him. For a few erratic heartbeats I bask in how romantic that is, until logic reasserts itself. Who else is it going to be? It’s not time to be called to set, and no one else would dare. My dressing room in the studio is my sanctuary. They all think it’s part of my artistic process, and it is a little, but mainly it’s my hiding place.
I try not to run to the door. I try to tell myself I’m not that excited to see him. I don’t know who I think I’m kidding.
Flinging open the door, I then blink as my mind tries to digest the sight before me. Kit has a huge grin on his face and the ribbons of a dozen brightly colored balloons in his fist. The words ‘Stand up for Erectile Dysfunction’ are scrawled across his tight tee shirt.
I pull him into my dressing room and slam the door shut behind us.
“What the hell are you doing!” I hiss.
“Sponsoring a charity,” he says with a wink that flips my stomach over. “I’m doing a mini press conference in a minute and wanted to ask if my outfit is eye-catching enough.”
I stare at him. “You are meeting press, dressed like that?”
“I sure am. Going to talk all about the stigma of erectile dysfunction too,” he grins.
I can only shake my head. “What is it with you and tee shirts?”
He chuckles and I’m giddy with delight that I can make him laugh. I’d love to do it again but humor is not my strong point. I wouldn’t know where to start.
“Erectile dysfunction is not a joke,” I say, ruining the mood as usual.
Kit takes it in his stride, his gorgeous brown eyes turning serious. “I know. It’s really upsetting for some people and there are other ways to make love.”
I just stare at him helplessly again. But luckily he appears to be on a roll.
“Being a bottom is not a joke either, I’m just trying to even us up a little.”
He sounds so earnest it melts my heart. Is he really making such a fool of himself to apologize to me? Neither erectile dysfunction or bottoming is anything to be ashamed of, but society still mocks both. He knows full well he is going to be ridiculed for this. The fact that he is willing to do so, just to gain my forgiveness, makes my head swim. I have no idea what to say. My eyes start to water and I have to blink ferociously.
“Am I forgiven?” Kit asks softly.
I stare into his kind brown eyes and melt. Too many unfamiliar emotions are storming through me and it is overwhelming. To my horror, I hear myself sniff.
“Hey,” says Kit, and suddenly the balloons are bouncing on the ceiling as his arms wrap around me.
I stiffen at first, but being pressed up against him feels so damn good. His body heat seeps into me. His arms around my back make me feel safe. I sink into it. Why is human touch so amazing? Why does it soothe my mind and sing to my soul? I want to stay in his arms forever. Every molecule in my body cries out in relief as a deep feeling of ‘finally’ settles over me. I didn’t know I craved touch this much. I had no idea how much I needed it. I’m shocked to discover how healing it is, how much strength it gives me.
Perversely, it also makes my walls start to crumble until I’m yearning to tell him all my secrets. I want to confess everything. I want someone to know and I want it to be him. Part of me is sure it will feel wonderful, but I manage to keep my mouth shut.
Kit is probably thinking I’m a weirdo but I can’t bring myself to step away. I cling to him and lap up all the sensations of being held. God knows how long it will be until the next time. And whatever random person hugs me in the future, years from now, it won’t be Kit.
Hugging Kit is wonderful, even aside from my touch-starved neediness. His pleasing, manly scent fills my lungs and I want to hold my breath and not let it go. I want to keep a part of him forever.
I’m going to have to step away soon. My cock is getting the wrong idea, and he is going to feel it. If only I could turn off my dirty thoughts, I could enjoy this for longer. But I can’t. It’s impossible. I bet sex with Kit would be amazing. He is kind and attentive and I’m sure those attributes would be apparent in bed. Not that I’m ever going to find out. He has already turned me down once and I’m not going to completely humiliate myself by offering again. Besides, free from the influence of alcohol, I’m once again certain I don’t want to be anyone’s bi-curious experiment.
He steps away from me with a guilty look on his face. “I’ve got to go to this press conference.”
I nod as if it’s no big deal, as if the lack of his body warmth is not giving my soul frostbite. As if I’m not using every inch of my will-power not to fling myself back at him.
He gives me a concerned look but mercifully he doesn’t say anything. He just reaches up to retrieve his balloons and leaves.
I hang my head and breathe deeply so I don’t burst into tears. He is going to think I’m a complete weirdo now. I’ve probably finally managed to scare him off, and the thought of that causes a physical pain in my chest so sharp that I think for a moment I might actually be having a heart attack.
More deep breaths. I need to get my shit together. I’m due on set soon. I need to be Cain. The thought cheers me up. A beacon of hope in a sea of darkness. A good thing. I can forget all my problems by becoming someone else for a few hours. If only it was longer.
