I pulled back so his hand dropped to his side and pushed my hands into my jeans pockets, crinkling my brow. “Of course I haven’t. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep.”
“You look like you need a hug.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
He winked, throwing his arms around me and pulling me against him so hard that I lost my balance. I had to yank my hands out and grab his hips to stop him from taking us both out.
“Trav, what the hell?”
“Shush, Aquaman. Take your hug. It’ll make you feel better.”
I closed my eyes and sighed, letting myself sink into him, telling myself it was just for a second. We probably looked ridiculous. We were a similar height; Travis was an inch taller than my 6-foot frame, and both of us were long and lean from years in the water, swimming and diving all over the world.
My arms wrapped around his back, and he elongated his neck, so my nose pressed against his throat. I should have pulled back. I was sure this wasn’t a normal way to hug a friend, but my lack of any real friendships other than Travis meant I had nothing to compare it to, so I went with it. Every time he touched me, I went with it.
“You’re an idiot,” I mumbled, making no attempt to break our connection.
“But you’re feeling better already, aren’t you?” I loved how playful he sounded.
“If I say yes, can we stop?”
“No. Optimum hugging time for the maximum oxytocin release is at least five minutes.”
“I swear you make this shit up,” I grumbled, always the grumpy to his eternal sunshine.
“I’m a man of science, Jas. I don’t just make shit up. Now, shush and make the most of your hug before you up and leave me.” My body tensed. “Ah, Professor. Is that it? You’re going to miss me?”
I breathed him in. Everything about Travis was familiar. We’d worked together for years, and I was the reason he moved out here when the project started to get more global attention, and I needed his expertise as a deep-sea engineer.
Warmth spread through my body, my skin tingling and my cock stirring. I almost laughed, telling myself the oxytocin must be working its magic. Instead, I concentrated my thoughts on the paperwork waiting for me on my desk until it was back under control. All the while, trying not to think about why a hug was making me hard.
“I’ll miss you like a leak in the hull,” I said when I felt like I could talk again.
“Rude.” He tightened his hold for a second before letting me go completely, and my body pouted at the loss of contact.
Trav took hold of my chin again, looking me over for a second time, his smile telling me he liked whatever he saw. “Do you have your first stakeholder meeting today?” He went back to his stool and picked up the screwdriver.
I sighed. “Don’t remind me.”
He brandished his tool in front of him. “You know, you chose this new job, Jas. They offered to get someone else in to run the project now it’s gone worldwide. They said you could stay here and do what you’ve been doing, but you chose to move.” He said it so matter-of-factly. “The office job, the suit, managing the budget, and the admin. You said yes to all that when you didn’t have to.”
I hated how right he was.
I looked around our small office that was filled with monitors, bits of deep-sea machinery, and piles of papers with our ideas and plans scribbled on—all signs of the time we’d spent here together and the work we’d been doing. Travis followed my gaze.
“It’s not bad, is it? Did you really think, when you came out here five years ago, that this would be where you’d end up? Your idea about fish going up and down rather than back and forth, transforming what we know about global warming and creating the most detailed understanding of the ocean floor out there? Those photos we took...” He let out a contented sigh, and I couldn’t help the very uncharacteristic smile that curled my lips.
“I swear, you say you’re a deep-sea expert, but then you talk about diel migration like it’s a couple of fish getting in a lift to go to another floor in their aquatic hotel.”
He shrugged, letting a chuckle spill from his lips. I loved that sound.
“What? I like the fish-in-a-lift analogy. I imagine them having little fishy briefcases, chatting about their plans for the weekend.”
“I dread to know what goes on inside that head of yours,” I said, settling onto my stool.
