“I don’t know,” I have to admit. “You’re shy. It felt intrusive.”
“I’m not shy with you, am I?”
“A little. You’re quiet.”
“Because this is what happens when I talk.”
He’s being way too hard on himself. I love talking to him. “Can I ask you something else instead, then?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Are you and Isaac exclusive?”
“No.” The word is firm and definitive.
“Do you want to be?”
He reaches out to slide his fingers over my ankle, just above the edge of my sock. “Not yet.”
His touch brings every iota of my awareness to that spot. My blood is busy filling my dick, but I swear I feel his fingertips more than my erection.
“Not yet” is a rough answer. It implies exclusivity is on the horizon, which means things are likely going well between the two of them. Moving forward. Which makes this all the more confusing.
There’s a part of me that wants to do the right thing and move my feet away, sit up and establish a boundary, but there’s a bigger, more sensitive part that wants to roll onto my back and spread my legs.
“I guess it’s a little soon, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah. But there’s also this.”
Does he mean me?
“Deacon, if you’re not interested, it doesn’t matter what Bailey or anyone says. I don’t want to be your experiment to see if you were missing out before you have a legit boyfriend.”
He huffs. “That’s not what this is.”
Oh, God. Well, that’s mortifying.
I pull my knees up, moving my ankles and feet out of reach. “Sorry. Misread that.”
He turns, gets onto his hands and knees and crawls up the bed until he’s next to me. Then he lies down on his side, bringing us face to face. I think I gasp.
He reaches for the pillow between us. “I’m just saying it’s way simpler than all that.”
In something like shock, I let him have the pillow, and he tosses it to the foot of the bed. He takes a look at what I’ve been hiding and grins before meeting my eyes. “See? Simple.”
“I mean, I guess you could look at it that way.” I amsooooembarrassed.
Then he puts a hand on my hip and runs it up my side, under my hoodie. His warm hand on my skin feels hotter than lava.
“Wow,” I breathe. “I guess you’re not shy.”
“I am,” he says. “But there are exceptions. Isaac was an exception.”
“You weren’t shy with him?” I ask, somehow unbothered at the mention of Isaac this time. Or the nearly overwhelming scent of him. Deacon’s knuckles running across my abs is doing a lot of work to make this unlikely scenario seem perfectly normal and good.
“No. I made the first move.”
“What was the move?”
