I let Oakley tug me close, my head on his chest as his arms wrap around my shoulders. The pressure that’s been under my ribcage for damn near years unspools with my exhale. Every ounce of it, flowing free, gone as if it was never there at all.
Laura’s voice rings in my ears. Her telling me it’s not right, how much I depend on Oakley. Saying men our age shouldn’t be so close.
But what about Laura’s friends? What about the women she’d get together with, sipping mimosas in our kitchen, exchanging hugs and smiles and talking about everything going on in their lives?
Why is it different for me and Oakley just because we’re men?
I let my ex’s voice drift from my mind, my hand settling on Oakley’s ribs as his fingers hold tightly to my back. His chest hitches, but he only holds on tighter.
“I’m sorry.” His words are softly spoken, but I hear them perfectly well, the reverberation a rumble in my ear.
“I know.”
“I’m forgiven?” he asks.
“Already told you you are.”
“Still gonna chew me out some more?”
I huff, even as a smile graces my lips. “Might.”
“All right then. Get some sleep.”
With the dawn sending the day’s first light through the window, I close my eyes. It’s all too easy to fall asleep in this house that’s always felt like home.
It takes longer to unpack Oakley’s possessions than it did to stuff them into boxes. I stay for over a day, helping with the task, having nowhere else I need to be with school out for the summer.
I can’t quite temper the smile on my face, seeing Oakley resettle here in Darling. Even if Oakley himself is currently wearing a scowl.
“Of course my parents replaced all the things I took with me,” he grumbles, an assortment of spatulas in his hand. He dumps them into a drawer. “I don’t need two toasters. Or two dressers. Or a dozen spatulas.”
“So make a donation pile,” I suggest, folding a throw blanket before draping it along the back of his couch.
He huffs, but my gaze redirects to the back door at the sound of it opening. Bell strolls in, the automatic door closing behind her after a few seconds, the pull ropes both inside and out swaying with the movement.
“And they left the automatic cow door,” he mumbles, despite being the person who installed it in the first place. “Don’t get into shit, Belladonna. And wipe your feet!”
Bell passes over the long mat in front of the door, her hooves looking relatively clean. She immediately sticks her head into a cardboard box, the only one with food.
Oakley sighs as Bell trots down the hall with a box of crackers. “Could you?”
Nodding, I head after her. I find Bell in the guest room, trying her best to tear into the snack. She blinks her big, black eyes at me as I take the crumpled box. “You know better,” I say softly, offering a few crackers in my palm that she hastily snaps up. “Next time, just ask.”
Bell cozies down on a rug as I head back to the kitchen, Oakley looking through the cabinets next to the fridge now. He runs a hand through his hair, the stubble on his face looking a touch shorter than it did the other day, as if he shaved it down somewhat. His comment on beard burn comes to mind, and I wonder at it.
Laura never said she liked that, but…we weren’t particularly compatible to begin with. Not in so many ways. It wasn’t readily apparent at the start of our relationship, not when I was trying my best to be the man she deserved.
Would that feel good, the sensation of rough stubble on my skin? I have no idea, not having ever tried it for myself.
There are so many things I’ve never tried.
Oakley’s jeans are faded, his t-shirt snug enough on his form to see the swell of his work-honed muscles. He’s handsome in a rugged way; I’ve heard it enough from folks around town. But his nose has a small, crooked bend in it, and there’s nothing remotely conventional about his eyes.
Handsome doesn’t feel like enough to describe him.
Oakley catches me watching and cocks an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Just wondering,” I tell him truthfully. “I invited Wendy over for dinner, by the way. She should be here in…”
