“I can do this myself,” I say gently, still trying to grasp his shift in mood. Is he mad at me?
He doesn’t respond as he lathers the areas with antibacterial soap. It’s all overkill. I’ve had worse injuries than this growing up, always exploring, especially living near all that ancient volcanic rock. And he knows it.
“Are you mad at me or something?” I ask tentatively.
“No, why would I be mad?”
“Uhm, because you seem that way.”
His stiff shoulders sag, and he glances at me from under thick lashes with those stormy-blue eyes I’ve always been obsessed over. Since we got to his house, he’s barely looked at me.
“I was… really worried about you. I’m just… tense.”
I angle my head so I can look into his eyes better. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You were gone a while and weren’t answering your phone. I just…” he sighs and grabs one of my hands to clean the abrasions there. “I imagined something horrible…”
“That I got mauled by a black bear, and it left my gory corpse to rot for all the scavengers?”
Mike finally breaks out into a crooked smile and shakes his head. “Yeah, the thought crossed my mind.”
At first, I think he’s overreacting, but then I look back at when he was a kid and how he lost his dad in that car accident. If anyone understands how quickly life can be snuffed out, it’s Mike.
“I’ll carry three phones with me next time.”
Mike chuckles. “I appreciate it.”
After he gets my hands all clean, he rinses the rag in the warm water running in the tub and gently takes my chin in his hand. The touch courses through me like fire, the intimacy so unexpected. His face is so close to mine that I can see every freckle and stubble growing through his jaw, chin, and upper lip. Younger me would’ve taken the opportunity to lean in closer, subtly touching him back, to close my eyes and inhale his scent of deodorant and subtle hints of sweat. But I do none of those things. I can’t.
His eyes are so intent on the task of dabbing my busted lip clean, gently wiping away the blood. I feel the puffs of air on my skin coming from his breath.
I ache for him right then, imagining the could-and-would haves. As much as I’ve tried to distract myself and fight my attraction for Mike since I’ve moved back home, I can’t. Even if he doesn’t belong to me, he’s mine all the same. There’s no point in denying it. I’m right back where I was that night at the bonfire. I have to shut it down, though, as impossible as it seems. I should’ve just gone home and cleaned myself up instead because the closeness of him is pure fucking torture.
He stops his cleaning, and his eyes bounce to mine. Up close, they have flecks of gold and brown swimming in the ocean of blue. They always make me sappy and poetic. Suddenly, he holds his breath. I know this because I don’t feel the puffs of air on my skin anymore. Then his gaze dips to my lips, and on instinct, I lick them.
He looks at me once more, his pupils suddenly dilating, before glancing at my mouth again. Deep inside, I know what he’s thinking.I know what he wants to do. I recognize the heat in his stare because it mirrors the same heat that’s currently coursing through my body. It’s a look I’ve seen before, but not from him. Not from my Mike.
But why now? After all these years, why?
“Mike…” I whisper, more as a warning than anything.
He doesn’t respond, or he doesn’t hear me as he leans forward, his eyelids sliding shut…
I want more than anything in the world to kiss him back, but I can’t. I’m not only not ready mentally, but I’m confused. He likes women. And he made it clear that night that he isn’t into me like that.
As he moves forward, I move back, and going against all my instincts to meet him halfway, I force myself to press my hand to his chest.
“Mike… No.”
His eyes pop open wide, and he quickly backs off. “Shit… sorry.” Regret tints his voice as he starts fidgeting, cleaning up the mess of first aid trash.
“Mike,” I say a third time.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
I grab his forearm to stop him. “Please stop. Talk to me.”
His face is red and blotchy, his ears are even redder, and he’s unable to look at me.
