Page 60 of Fault Line

“So?” he asks. “You thinking about moving anytime soon?”

“Yes,” I grumble. “I think I’ll heat up some soup.”

He nods toward the living room. “Take a seat on the couch. I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m fully capable of using the microwave, Beck.”

“Sit,” he demands, not backing down, and I begrudgingly comply.

Once the food is warmed up, he joins me on the couch, leaving a safe foot of distance between the two of us. Then he hands over the bowl—carefully wrapped in a dish towel to keep it from burning me—along with a straw cup filled with Pedialyte.

“You don’t have to talk,” he says, grabbing the remote. “But let’s watch something mindless. Just so I know you’re not gonna go try to run a marathon or complete your entire dissertation the second I leave.”

“You’re so bossy,” I grumble.

“I thought you liked bossy.”

“Only in certain circumstances,” I say, my cheeks flushing as I set my bowl on the coffee table.

His grin widens. “Ah, you mean when you have my cock in your mouth.”

I sway, clearing my throat before breaking into a mini coughing fit. “Jesus Christ, Becker.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get you so worked up.”

I move to shove him, but he grabs my hand, pulling me against him and settling in on the couch. My back is pressed to his front, one arm casually wrapped around my stomach. It’s an intimate position, especially for the two of us, but it feels nice.

Comforting.

The air’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment before I eventually say, “Thank you for coming over.”

“No problem, Karras. Somebody’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I would’ve asked Elio for help if things really took a turn for the worse. I just ... he can’t really afford to get sick right now.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m in the same boat, but my immune system’s pretty top-notch,” he says. “I’m not too worried about it.”

Guilt wriggles in my gut. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to.”

I shift my hips, leaning my head against his chest. “Okay.”

“But you have to make me a promise first.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“That you won’t come back to class until you’re feeling better. And you’ll let me take some notes for you,” he adds, tugging at a strand of my hair. “I can send you emails after class and bring over any take-home work at the end of the day.”

I swallow thickly. “And why would you do that for me?”

He nuzzles his nose against the bridge of my cheek, his voice low and deep as he says, “If it wasn’t obvious by now—I kinda give a shit about you, Karras.”

I tense up in his arms. “Ah, I see.”

“And I think you give a shit about me, too.”

“Yeah,” I quietly, hesitantly agree. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

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