Marco
Yeah. All good.
Étienne
Okay, yell if you need anything.
Marco
Will do. Thanks.
The conversation felt stilted even in text form. Like we were both being too polite.
I set my phone down and closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep.
But my mind wouldn’t stop racing.
I was losing my grip on the composure that had kept me safe, kept my secret, kept me from losing everything.
And I didn’t know how to get it back.
Didn’t know if I even wanted it back, because as terrifying as this was, as dangerous as it felt, there was something intoxicating about it too. I’d lived alone behind my armored walls for so long, but being seen, being cared for, having someone notice when I was in pain and insist on helping even when I said I was fine was… nice.
Having Étienne here, in my space, in my life, in ways I’d never allowed anyone to be before scared the hell out of me, but not in the ways I thought.
But that intoxication was dangerous. Because wanting more meant risking everything—my best friend, my teammate, my family’s approval.
And suddenly being alone terrified me more than anything else.
CHAPTER TEN
Étienne
It had been a day since the shower, and everything was wrong.
Not obviously wrong. Not in a way that someone looking in from the outside would notice. We still went through the motions—me making coffee in the morning, Marco waking later, both of us scrolling through our phones in silence. Me making sure he took his medications, fetching what he needed, making sure he ate.
But now there was this awareness between us. A charged silence that felt like walking on thin ice, where every word had to be carefully chosen, every movement deliberate and considered.
Marco wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. I kept finding excuses to be in another room.
And I missed him. Missed the friendship we’d had before I’d seen his hard cock in the shower and felt things that confused me.
“You ready for PT exercises?” I asked, looking at my phone instead of at him.
“Yeah. Sure.”
The physical therapist had given him a list of simple exercises to do at home. Mostly just range of motion stuff, keeping the muscles active while his foot healed. Today’s assignment was leg raises—lying on his back, lifting his injured leg straight up, holding it for ten seconds.
Simple. Clinical. Nothing that should feel complicated.
Except everything felt complicated now.
I helped him down to the floor and positioned a pillow under his head. I tried not to notice the way his gym shorts had ridden up slightly, exposing more of his thighs and how his tanned legs paled closer to the top. The way his T-shirt molded to his abs.
Tried and failed.
“Okay,” I said, settling beside him. “Raise your leg, ten reps, hold for ten seconds each. I’ll count.”
