Page 107 of Hard to Judge

Arlo grumbles about my one-word answers, which are all I’ve given him since we left the apartment. At this point, I’m doing it for giggles. I bite my smile to keep from telling him so. For once this evening, he’s not looking at my mouth.

His gaze is zeroed in lower.

No, not my dick.

My hand. The left one, to be precise.

That hand only held my plate, but I guess I dropped something on it and didn’t wipe it off. I’m about to check when Arlo steps and grabs my hand, tugging me along down the street.

I’m pretty sure I left my jaw in front of the small pizzeria. His fingers are warm in the cold night and wrap around my palm in the way a parent might hold a toddler’s. Still, it makes my fucking toes tingle.

We head toward the Hudson and cross Tenth Avenue. I expect him to release my hand when we reach the other side. I prep for it, reminding myself to be thankful for the contact I’ve received from him.

No matter how small, to me, it’s huge.

Our pace slows from the crossing and settles into a leisurely stroll.

Arlo’s hand shifts.

Instead of releasing mine, his fingers slide across my palm and down between my fingers. He interlaces them and holds the back of my hand in a lover’s embrace.

Then I promptly catch the toe of my shoe on the uneven concrete.

I careen forward, creating a ton of momentum from nowhere, and tip my nose toward the city sidewalk.

Before I can stretch out my other hand to brace myself, strong arms wrap around my middle and reel me in.

My curse doesn’t even have time to leave my lips before Arlo rights me and slips his fingers back between mine. All I can do is stare at him in utter disbelief.

Who the fuck is this guy? I’ve known him forever, but he’s different now. Available in a way he’s never been. In a way I’ve always wanted.

Which makes it that much harder to trust.

The amount I’ve gotten to touch him, to have him as mine, is a fraction of a percent at this point in our lives. The last time I got to have him for a moment, when he pulled away, it cost so much.

My insides were a wasteland that had never truly recovered. If he were to let me in, truly, and then pull away again, I wouldn’t survive.

“Fall.” He nods just once, more like a bow of his head. Then his eyes bore into my soul. “I’ll catch you.”

Damn.

His lips brush my knuckles.

Thud.

Then we’re off again strolling one more block, and then heading north on Eleventh. I don’t know where we’re going, but I don’t much care. I’ll go anywhere with his hand in mine.

“Why did your father disown you?”

When Arlo asks in his thin voice and gentle way, it doesn’t hurt as much as it did once upon a time.

“Scratch that,” he grouses. “When did your sperm donor decide he’d lost his fucking mind?”

I squeeze his hand, suddenly not afraid that he’ll withdraw it at any moment. He squeezes back. Then my belly bottoms out. I don’t want him to know he’s the reason my father disowned me. He wasn’t. Not really. My father’s own hang-ups made that happen. The incident at school all those years ago was simply a convenient out.

“He thought I was too weak in character to carry on the Kido name.” I shrug.

“Out of nowhere?” Arlo pushes.

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