And then Clementine jumps into my lap, her tiny paws landing right on my not-so-limp dick. Hissing out a breath, I try not to let Graham see just how much pain I’m in—or why.
“Who’s this?” he asks, crouching down to give the kitten a scritch behind her ears. The little traitor starts to purr, but all I can see is how close his hand is to my junk. How strong his fingers are. How gentle he’s being with my kitten.
“Clementine. She’s a little needy.”
“She’s certainly little.” He stares from me to the cat and back again. “And cute.”
I don’t have a response. Not an appropriate one anyway. All the things running through my head? Variations of “you should go” and “I can’t do this” and “she’s cute, but you’re breathtaking.”
Fuck. I want him to go almost as much as I want him to stay, and from the look on his face, he’s just as confused as I am.
After another minute, he stands and shoves his hands into his pockets with a frown. “Well, I guess that’s it, then,” he says. “Have a good night, Quinton. I’ll see you around. Maybe.” He turns, and by this point, I don’t know which end is up.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, grunting as I stand so we’re mostly eye to eye. I have a couple of inches on him, though where I’m wiry and thin, he’s the exact opposite. Solid. Strong.Safe.
He shakes his head, then runs a hand through his short, dark brown hair. “You don’t owe me an apology. Or…anything. I ran by the ice cream shop earlier and I couldn’t stop thinking about your email messages. I know what it’s like to have your friends disappear on you. And I guess I wanted to tell you that.”
Something flickers in his blue eyes. Darkness, pain, regret? I don’t know him well enough to be sure. I want to, though.
“It was a dick move searching you out from your receipt. If someone had done that to me, I’d have freaked the fuck out. I didn’t apologize well enough for it yesterday, and I should have.”
“Why’d you do it?” Graham holds my gaze, and the intensity burning in his eyes unnerves me. And makes me want more. I don’t think there’s a dishonest bone in his body. He carries himself with pride. Honor, even. Shoulders back, legs slightly spread, hands still in his pockets.
“I don’t know.” His lips press together, and I rush to continue. “What I said about friends—and people in general—that’s my life. Has been for a while now. And, what you did? Helping me? Coming back? It made me realize how fucked up that is.”
“So whatdoyou want? Because the vibe you’re giving off is more than just ‘let’s be friends.’”
“It doesn’t matter.” The finality of the words is like a physical weight punching me in the gut, and I think Graham senses it too. “Wanting?Anything? That’s a risk I can’t take.”
Graham’s so close I feel the warmth radiating from his chest. “Risks are what make life worth living.” Strong fingers cup the back of my head, his other hand molds to my hip, and then those firm lips are kissing me. Gently. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand. Doesn’t try to take it deeper.
A moan vibrates in my chest, and I wrap my arms around him. I can tell myself it’s because I don’t want to fall, but that’s a lie. He’s strong and solid and steady, but there’s pain deep inside him too. Maybe he’s as broken as I am.
If so, kissing him is a terrible idea. But do I stop? Hell, no.
* * *
Graham
Warning bells go off in my head, louder every second we stay locked together. But the noise Quinton makes, desperate and raw, and the solid pressure against my hip war with the fear I saw in his eyes the moment before I touched him.
I don’t know a damn thing about his injuries, and if I let this go any further, I could hurt him, so I ease back just enough to meet his gaze.
And there’s that look again. The one that says he wants to run. “I shouldn’t have done that,” I manage.
“Why not?” His arms fall from my waist, and he shuffles back a step or two, enough so he can brace a hand on the couch where the kitten is staring up at him, her tiny paws kneading the cushions like she’s desperate to make him feel better.
“Because you’reterrifiedright now. I’m good at reading people, Quinton. And even if I weren’t? Clementine certainly is. And I won’t kiss a guy who’s scared of me. At least not a second time.”
He flinches like I just slapped him, and fuck. If I didn’t feel guilty enough already…
“I’m not scared ofyou,” he says quietly. “I’m scared of everything else. I don’t talk to people. I never invite anyone inside. But for some reason not only did I do both with you, I kissed you back.” He shakes his head like he can’t figure me—or himself—out.
Honesty, at least. I know when people lie to me. Got pretty damn good at knowing after Ry, West, and Inara started teaching me the signs. Eye movements. Fidgeting. Slight changes in speech patterns. In tone of voice. In a person’s sweat. Their respiration rate.
“So where do we go from here?” I can’t just walk away. Not until I get some clarity. Or Quinton asks me to go.
“Well, I think we can probably skip the whole ‘So, you’re gay?’ discussion.”
