“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he murmurs, thick lashes clumping with tears.
“I promise you, I do.”
With a shudder, he whispers “I sat in front of a liquor store for twenty minutes.” He drops his head back and sniffs to hide the hitch in his breath. “But alcohol wouldn’t have been enough so I drove past a pharmacy three times before parking across the street at a gas station. Then I saw a guy dealing so I floored it out of there. I was about to throw five months of sobriety out the fucking window because I wanted to escape so bad. So. Fucking. Bad.”
He’s shivering so hard his teeth chatter.
Idon’t think. I act.
Cupping his cheeks in both hands, I ask, “What are you running from?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Please.”
His palms cover mine— he’s so cold. “Myself,” he chokes. “The inside of my head is a warzone and I’m constantly on the losing side. Even when I'm trying my fucking hardest, it's not enough. All I’m capable of is disappointing everyone, because let’s face it, I’m bound to fail. No matter how much I want to be the man everyone expects me to be, I’m too damaged, too fucked up, toobroken.”
He’s a watercolor painting; smeared ink blending into a beautiful mess. A masterpiece of misery. An illustration of flawless impurities. His words are calligraphy written in blood, exposing thoughts I’ve heard in my own head.
“You’re wrong.”
“I'm not—”
His protests are silenced by my lips.
29
Win
This isn’t real. It can’t be. Did he hear anything I just fucking said?
Obviously not because the dumbass is fusing our mouths together while a chant of, “Holy shit. Remy is kissing me,” circles my brain.
I should stop him, but I won’t— not when he tastes like salvation. His lips fit against mine like missing puzzle pieces. Soft yet firm as his fingers sink into my hair, tugging my head back. His exhale fills my mouth.
It’s stronger than any hit.
“What are you doing?” I gasp as the tip of his tongue grazes my upper lip.
“Making you feel good,” he whispers and I swear if he wasn’t holding me, I’d collapse. With a whimpered moan, I slide my palms from his hands to his wrists, trailing through the fine blonde hair on his forearms, rounding back up to the swells of his biceps.
“Careful, Sunshine,” I murmur, “You’re tempting an addict. One taste is all it takes for me to be consumed.”
Hazel eyes flit between mine.
“Just this once… relapse with me.”
How.
The fuck.
Do I deny that?
Easy. I don’t.
Wrapping a hand around his throat, I yank him to me, slamming our mouths together again. He’s the sweetest poison— an elixir no tab of ecstasy can compete with— infusing me with dizzying, intoxicating euphoria.
I walk him backward, reacquainting myself with his mouth. Reveling in the experienced flick of his tongue. Melting under the pressure of his lips. I don’t know where I’m leading us but I don’t care. I’ll lay him out on the floor, the bed, the fucking counter— anywhere as long as I can get more of this.
