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“How long are you going to make me stand here like this?” he asked.

“How long are you willing to?”

“Forever,” he promised softly.

“Don’t say things like that,” I begged him.

Every time our lips moved, they brushed against each other, but it wasn’t enough to quite call it a kiss. It was a fine line, one I was willing to ride as long he’d allow it. Because I was still safe here. Yes I could taste his breath in my mouth, but it wasn’t a kiss. Not really. Not yet. And that was a distinction I needed to be able to keep.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said after another moment. “Not based on your answer to this, anyway. But…do you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” I admitted, trusting him to keep his word.

“Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“Of me?”

“Of this. Of how much I want it. Because I can’t have it, Trevor.” I felt another tear slip down my cheek, but I hadn’t even realized I’d started crying again. “We can’t do this.”

He moved his head slightly and pressed his lips to my cheek, kissing away the moisture that had dripped there.

“How can you be more afraid of a kiss than a handjob?” he asked me, finally pulling back and giving me space.

“Because I’m afraid if you kiss me, I’ll never want you to stop.” I sniffed softly and reached up to scrub my hands over my face. “I think you should go.”

“I need to finish my reading,” he argued. “You promised you’d help me.”

“I hate you,” I told him, chuckling softly.

“I know,” he said, nodding. “Come sit with me on the bed. We’ll stay a respectable distance apart, but I’ve been standing against your face for a few minutes now and my legs are tired.”

I nodded, willing to take the compromise for what it was. I sat sideways across the mattress and Trevor mimicked my pose, at the other end of the bed. And there we sat, reading Hamlet, with my heart hammering so hard in my chest it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.

“Wait,” Trevor said, lowering the book and looking over at me with wide eyes. “So, Old Hamlet, the king, died.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“And his wife already married the new king?”

“Old Hamlet’s brother,” I said, nodding. “Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,” I quoted. “Again.”

“What a bitch.”

I laughed as I shrugged. That was kind of the theme, but he needed to keep getting there on his own.

He picked the book back up and kept reading, but I couldn’t look away from him. His face was so expressive as he worked through the rough, old archaic language, his brow furrowing, lips moving slightly, eyes trailing the words across the page.

Had he always been this handsome?

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked, his gaze still locked on his book. “I can feel it. Like a cat waiting for a treat.”

“I’m like a cat?” I challenged him.

“Waiting for a treat,” he repeated, finally looking over at me again. “All you have to do is ask.” He shifted and turned, stretching out across the bed and lying his head in my lap. “But not right now, I’m reading.”

“Now who’s the cat?” I complained, my fingers moving to comb through Trevor’s thick hair. “This is a terrible idea.”