He’s already walking down the hall.
Christ.
As Lawson strips down in my bathroom, I pull sausage links out of the freezer and get handmade biscuits started. By the time the man emerges, hair damp and cheeks rosy, I have our breakfast dinner mostly complete.
“Scramble the eggs?” I ask him, sliding the bowl his way. “And take the tray out when the timer goes off.”
Lawson rumbles out an, “Mhm,” before stepping up right behind me. I freeze as his arms come around my chest, my heart beating furiously. “If I didn’t say it before, thank you.”
“For what?” I croak, trying to keep my breaths even.
He lets out a soft sigh, smelling of cedarwood and amber from my soap, another scent I can only describe ashimmixing in to create a heady combination I wish I could bottle. “For coming with me this weekend. I know you’re happy to, but having you around makes everything better. So thanks.”
Well, fuck.
“I’m surprised you’re not sick of me yet,” I joke, hoping my tone doesn’t sound as strained as it feels.
“I couldn’t ever get sick of you, Oak. Not possible.”
It takes everything in me not to turn around and kiss him. Not to take his mouth with my own and ask—beg—that he stay, then. That he staywithme. Choose me. ’Cause I will never, not ever, have enough of Lawson Darling.
I want all of his soft, thoughtful smiles and the way his voice rolls through me like a gentle earthquake. I want his body pressed to mine and under mine, want to lick and kiss and nibble every inch of his skin until I know it all by heart. I want him to look at me like he can’t imagine losing me. Not because I’m his friend, his…person. But because he knows no one in this entire universe could love him the way I could.
I love him. Ilovehim.
And I was kidding myself if I ever thought otherwise.
Lawson steps back, the loss of his body heat feeling like the worst thing. “Go,” he says. “I’ve got the rest of dinner.”
I nod stiltedly, not quite meeting his eye. My mind runs circuits as I shower off the grime of camping. Possibilities. Contingencies. Every scenario, good and bad. They sit like a ball of lead in my stomach.
Lawson has dinner on the table when I get out of the shower. I join him, the kitchen quiet as we start to eat. Bell is lounging in the last of the evening sun.
“Was Laura upset earlier?” I ask, her disapproving stare still on my mind.
Lawson rocks his head side to side, finishing his bite of sausage before speaking. “Just doesn’t get it.”
“What?”
“You,” he says plainly.
My heart thumps. “What about me?”
“Why we’re so close. She’s never understood it. It’s a double standard. Laura has plenty of friends she’s close with.”
Right.
I clear my throat. “Does she know about…”
Lawson’s whiskey eyes meet mine. “The sex?”
I nearly cough, amusement warring with my incredulity. “Yes, the sex. Jesus.”
He shakes his head. “No. Haven’t told her any of it. Not sure I want to.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, working on a biscuit as Lawson thinks over his words.
Finally, he heaves a sigh. “I don’t owe it to anyone. To explain myself. To try to…justify how I feel. I’m not even sure I understand half of it. Physically, I’m not attracted to anyone. Sexually, I feel comfortable with men, with you, in a way I now recognize I never did with women. Romantically, I don’t know what I am. If I even…feel things the way other people do. I’m realizing so much of what I thought I knew was other people’s experiences told to me from the outside. I need the chance to figure it out for myself. To trust what I feel and find my own words for the person I am. Trying to explain all that to Laura with three simple letters—gay—feels like only a partial truth. And she’ll see it as me giving an excuse for why we never worked, not me finally…finding myself. Does that make sense?”
