He finishes the second beer as the show plays in the background. Caleb seems to be half-watching it, mostly watching me, and I do the same. My eyes flick from our twined hands to his exposed skin, to that backward hat.
Our hands are on his lap now, and his thumb is casually stroking over mine.
I want to flee.
I want to never leave.
“You coming with me this weekend?” he asks, and I realize then that the show ended. I had no idea.
All I watched was him.
“Do you need me to?”
“To be honest, man, I’m not sure you’d get away with not showingup. I’m pretty sure if I arrive alone, there is a good chance my cousins will come looking for you. You’ll probably be dragged there despite wanting to come or not.”
I sigh, knowing that is most likely true. They don’t seem to give up easily.
“Then it’s best I go.”
“Alright,” he replies, sounding happy about it. “They’re going to act like we’re together. No matter what we tell them, they won’t believe it. Just be ready for the harassment. You sure you’re okay with that?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He hums under his breath, a sweet, torturous sound. Then he pulls his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. He seems intent on killing me because he stands up and rubs his abs. Showing them off to me.
“Alright, man. Move over there. My back is killing me.”
I blink at where he’s pointing and arch an eyebrow at him. Absolutely not. I’m not doing this again. I didn’t do it all week. I persevered.
I survived.
“Why?” I say instead of refusing.
“Why do you think?”
“I’d like to hear you say it.”
“You for real?” he asks, looking indignant.
Good, maybe if he says it, then he’ll realize what a bad idea this is too.
“Yes. Why do you want me to move, Caleb?”
He purses his lips and debates saying it, admitting it. This is it. A straight guy won’t admit?—
“Fine. I want to cuddle. With you. Now move.”
My lips twitch, confusion warring inside of me at his blunt response. I didn’t expect that from him, but then again, why would I? He’s done nothing but surprise me. And I surprise myself. Because instead of telling him no, I just move over and spread my legs open across the chaise.
He crawls over to me, sliding between them. His back hits my chest, his head on my shoulder. I can feel the stubble on his cheeks hit mine.
But I don’t touch him. I can’t do that. This is as much as I can give him. It’s safest this way.
“This how you cuddle?” he asks, turning to look at me. His lips are impossibly close. “Girls must be lining up to fuck you.”
Does he really think I want a woman, or is he fishing?
“If you want my hands somewhere, put them there.”
