“Oh.” He straightens up, his face full of apprehension. “And…you said you’d do it?”
When I nod, his expression goes even more grim. “Are you… How do you feel about that? Have you ever talked about it before?”
He snaps his mouth shut and chews on the inside of his lip, making me want to chuckle. It’s anotherRemy-ismI’m fond of, something he does when he catches himself shooting off questions or information rapid fire.
“How do Ifeel?” Blowing out a breath, I stuff my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and give it some thought. “Scared shitless? Mortified? On a scale of one to ten, one being showing up with bells on and ten being to unsend my email response, mostly I’ve been at an eleven.”
Cringing, he adds delicately, “What’s an eleven?”
“Throwing my phone in a dumpster, blowing it up so it’s not traceable, and joining the Witness Protection Program to get a new identity.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t be able to call you!” He chuckles.
I groan, scrubbing my face with my hands even as I join in, albeit morosely. “Don’t worry. I’d send you smoke signals or a picture of me with my new fake mustache so you could find me.”
I feel hands on my wrists, tugging them down from my face.
“Hey,” he says softly, releasing my hands to tug on the front of my sweatshirt. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable doing. You know that, right?”
I do. The thing is…I want to. I’ve spent years doing nothing. I want to do one damn thing in my life that’s good. I just don’t know if I can.
Shaking my head, I press a kiss to his forehead and wrap my arms around him. “No. I need to. Maybe I can say something that will make at least one student stop and think about making a bad decision. Even if it’s only one kid, it’d be worth it. Just…if you’re free that day…I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming.”
“I’ll be free.”
I squeeze him tighter for the solemnity. It might make it difficult having him there, seeing me so raw, but that’s the thing I’m starting to realize about my attraction to Remy. As much as I have a desire to protect and be strong for him, it’s also comforting to know I can be vulnerable with him. I bury my face in his hair, breathing in his scent.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, Chris.”
That’s enough vulnerability for one day. I bend my head, loving how he seems to anticipate my need to have his lips against mine. It’s sweet and slow at first, but when his mouth parts and I get a taste of him, I’m helpless for more. He’s more addictive than Rice Krispies Treats. He lets out a soft moan, gripping my back and leaning into me. Holding and kissing Remy is like falling into a bed of down pillows, pulling me down into weightlessness. I slip my hand under his shirt. His warmskin under my palm grounds me and sends delightful tingles to my cock. He pulls back, panting, looking pleasantly loved up.
“Come on. Let’s go for our walk before I get other ideas.”
Groaning for effect, I bury my face in the side of his neck and press another kiss there. It occurs to me we’re making out on his front lawn for all the neighborhood to see. That’s a first for me. I really like hoping someone will see, so they know it means he’s taken. That’s a valid enough excuse to stay buried in his neck a little longer, right?
“Hey,” he laughs, pulling back. “Youtold meto make you walk today.”
I did tell him that. Since I’ve stopped doubling down, I’ve been feeling much better. Slow and steady wins the race, I guess. Judging by the mirth in his eyes, I think he knows the put-out expression on my face means I value kissing him more than exercising.
“Go on. You start and set the pace.”
Walking needs a pace? That’s comical. Stepping backward, I give him a taunt for having his priorities all screwed up. “Admit it. You just want to see how my big ass jiggles now.”
“It jiggles?”
I think all asses are meant to jiggle, even though I suspect mine has firmed up a bit. Turning around, I exaggerate my steps, however, to reward the intrigue in his eyes.
“Yup, get a good look,” I call over my shoulder. “This is what thirty-seven looks like—having a boyfriend with a fat, jiggly ass.”
I shift my hips and tromp a few more steps until I realize what just came out of my mouth. Shit. Oh, shit.
First, I asked him to be my emotional support person at an event I willingly signed up for, and now I just dropped theB-word. If he hasn’t taken up jogging again—in the opposite direction—I don’t know what else would do it.
Peering back, it’s not the verdict I expected. The way he’s beaming at me and the wistful look in his eyes have just become the greatest gift I’ve ever received in my life. He walks toward me, schooling his features, gaze fixed on the sidewalk. The next thing I know, his hand slips into mine.
“I can’t wait to see what thirty-eight looks like,” he murmurs, starting us down the sidewalk, hand in hand.
