Page 18 of Ruined

“Oh, Ollie.” His voice sounds as ruined as I feel. “I never stopped caring. Staying away was killing me.”

“What?” I sniffle, and my head is spinning. At least I’m not hard anymore.

“I never stopped caring,” he repeats. “Please believe me, Oliver. And now that I’ve seen you again, I…” He smiles, but the smile is tinged with sadness.

“You what?” I ask, desperate for any and all confirmation I can get that this is affecting him as much as it’s affecting me.

But he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me, and when the moment stretches and the towel grows wet from the melting peas, he lets go of my foot.

“C-can I have a hug?” The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.

His brows shoot up for a second before he smiles. “Of course. Be careful with your ankle.”

As we stand up, I take care not to put too much weight on my foot. He opens his arms, but he doesn’t step forward; he waits until I erase the small distance between us and wrap my arms around him. His heavy arms envelop my shoulders, and I can’t help but smile.

When I was small, he’d lift me into his arms and hold me tight, and I’d wrap my legs around his waist, burying my face in his chest. I want to do that now, but it would be weird, wouldn’t it? I’m not a kid anymore. Besides that, having my legs around him would surely reveal the effect he has on me, even now. Even though I’m in pain, the heat of him, his soft stomach pressed against me, and his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders make me feel… more than I should.

The hard length of my dick digs into his thigh, and my breath hitches with how wrong and shameful and good it feels. I don’t want to let go. For a while, I forget myself and get lost in the moment, lost in the feel of him, until he clears his throat and pulls away from the embrace.

I take a step back, wincing when I put too much weight on my bad foot.

“I’m late for work,” I say, realizing it suddenly. “Shit. I need to call my boss.” Guillaume will be furious.

“You’re injured,” Logan says. “You can’t work today.”

“But…”

“You’re going to call your boss and explain what happened.”

My anxiety dissolves in the face of his calm words. “Oh… okay.”

“You’ll take at least a few sick days. In the meantime, I’ll keep your bike at my place and fix it up, okay?”

It sounds more like a statement than a question, but I nod gratefully. “Okay.”

He nods with me. “How’s your foot now?”

I attempt to walk toward the hallway. “A bit better.” It actually is. It’s still achy, of course, but it doesn’t hurt quite as much.

“Good. I’ll drive you home.”

I turn around, a little shocked at this development. I thought he barely wanted anything to do with me and met up with me last time only for my own sake, but maybe that’s not entirely true. Maybe he was telling the truth; maybe he never stopped caring. Maybe he still cares.

Caring means he likes me.

The thought makes me feel all giddy inside as we take the lift down to the garage under his building. I text Guillaume on the way and put my phone in my pocket, dreading his reply.

Logan’s ketchup-red vintage Camaro stands out in a sea of modern cars. It looks to be in the same condition as six years ago. The seat feels the same when I climb inside. It even smells the same. Everything is the same, and at the same time, everything is different.

The trip back to the twins’ apartment takes barely ten minutes, and we spend it in silence, with the faint hum of the radio as background noise.

After he’s parked outside my building, Logan turns to me. “I’ll text you when your bike’s done, and you can come and get it. Or do you want me to bring it to you?”

“No, um… I’ll come over.” I won’t miss out on a chance to hang out with him.

“Okay.” He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll get the bike done by tomorrow, and you can come over for lunch so we can catch up. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” My eyes widen. “Yeah, that’s okay.”