I would tell him that’s not necessary—at least not at the moment—but my tongue feels stiff and frozen in my mouth.A big crush?
I’m not surprised I missed it. I miss stuff like that all the time according to almost everyone who’s ever hung out with me, but I’m surprised someone as exciting and outgoing as Evan would ever take a second glance at someone as weird and regimented as I am.
“It was never appropriate to begin with,” he’s saying, my hands still pressed into his. “Which isn’t to say I think Isaac is a bad guy, and I’m sorry if I implied that earlier. Just be careful with yourself, okay? And if for whatever reason you decide you want to talk to me about anything, I’m here. No judgment whatsoever.”
“Thanks,” I say, quietly, looking down at our hands.
“I’m sorry.” He moves to pull them away, but I hold them tighter.
“Some people are hard for me, and some people are easier,” I tell him. “Isaac was one of the easiest ones.”
“And me?” he asks.
“You’re somewhere in the middle,” I tell him.
“ThenI’lldo better.”
I shake my head. “No, I see it now. This,” I squeeze his hands again. “Helps it make sense. The things you told me help.”
“I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Does it makeyouuncomfortable?” I ask.
“A little,” he says softly.
“I like you,” I tell him because there was some confusion about that at dinner, too
“I’m glad,” he says after a noisy, shaky breath.
I check back in with his face to see if there’s anything decipherable there. He’s chewing his lip, and his eyes look watery. He swallows and clears his throat, letting me see everything. And suddenly, I do. Helikesme. He likes me the way I liked Ryan.
Proving the half-baked theory, he lifts onto his toes and presses his mouth gently to mine. Another brain jolt. This one makes my eyelids flutter.
His lips linger, and I feel the tip of his nose brush my cheek.
“Inside and out, you’re just—beautiful, Deacon.”
My eyes close. I breathe against his soft lips. I’m shocked. I’m overwhelmed. And I’m—I don’t know. Emotional? My chest feels tight, and I don’t know what comes next, but I’m not moving. I don’t think I want to. I don’t know if I want to say anything, either. I like this. This moment. It feels unusually good. Better in some ways than sex.
Is this friendship? Like real friendship where people want what’s best for the other person, not just what benefits them in a moment? If it always feels like this, that would be sort of amazing. Or is it more than that? Something I’ve been avoiding.
“My therapist would like you.”
He lowers himself back down and lets out something like a laugh. “Thanks.”
“You’ve always been really kind to me.”
“I wasn’t tonight. But I really do like you a lot, and I’m sorry I was an asshole.”
“I don’t understand why you would like me.”
He frowns. “It’s because you’re good.”
“Good?”
“Like…loyal. And patient. And respectful.”
“You’re all those things, too,” I say.
