Page 14 of Misconduct Zone

“Helvete,” Lars swears as the cars ahead stop. He slams on the brakes and throws his arm out in front of me in case of impact. We stop inches from the car, so close we’re almost in their backseat. Lars glances in the rearview mirror to see if there’s any danger behind us.

He doesn’t move his arm, and I involuntarily lean into the solid muscle. Objectively, it was a stupid move because if we crashed, I would break his arm. But knowing his first instinct is to protect me makes my pounding heart skip a couple of beats.

The contact excites my dick, causing an unwanted unmistakable outline of my junk in my sweats.

“You okay?” he asks with his forehead on the steering wheel. Traffic hasn’t moved, so we have a minute to recover from the nearmiss.

“I’m fine.” Bending his elbow, I maneuver his hand over my heart. He exhales slowly, fingers spread over the steady thump. Our fingers aren’t laced, but mine rest on his. With my other hand, I reach out and rub the tense muscles in his back, and they relax under my touch. “You alright to drive? We can switch.” His unaffected façade crumbles, and it’s disconcerting. He’s solid as a rock, and nothing happened, but he’s breathing hard.

“I was afraid,” he chokes out and turns his vulnerable blue eyes on me. “I do not want to lose you.”

My heart falls through the floorboards of the car, believing his statement means more than us as friends. But logical thinking has flown out the windshield, and I’m unable to separate my feelings from his actions. Lars has never hinted he’s anything other than straight.

My hopes are pointless.

Chapter 9

Lars

Ican’t stop stealing glances at Dylon across the couch with a controller in his hand. His backward cap plasters his hair to his forehead, and it almost reaches his eyes. He’s due for a haircut, but not until we lose a game.

Memories of earlier in the car consume me. I saw the car screech to a halt in front of us, and my subconscious played out the crash in slow motion. In my mind, I saw him go through the windshield of the piece of shit I rented. My body reacts to the vivid visual trauma of seeing him broken in an accident as if it’s real and brings back the night I rode with him in the ambulance, bloody and near death. I cannot shake it.

There should be relief that the crash never happened, but I’m on edge, waiting for fate to step in and tear him from me. I wonder if it’s karma for once again falling for my straight best friend. My heart should know better.

“Gotcha.” Dylon throws the controller down in victory, and I realize I’ve been staring at the screen but not seeing it. “You look like you need a dessert to cheer you up.”

“I ate an entire week’s worth of sugar at Patrik’s. If I eat more, I’ll be sluggish all week. And although I told you to get a haircut, I will not throw the game so you’ll do it,” I say, motioning to the TV. Tonight, I am recklessly teasing him.

“You don’t like my flow?” He takes his hat off and shakes his head so his hair swishes.

Oh, I like it, but I won’t thinkabout that.

“You should grow the back out.” He ruffles my hair, and it feels out of place on my head. “All the girls will be knocking down our door to get their hands in it and claim bragging rights as the one who messed it all up.”

“You do a good job of it.” The words are out, and I didn’t meanhewants his hands in my hair, but I don’t correct myself.

His hazel eyes sparkle right before he pounces and tangles his fingers through my hair so it sticks up in all directions. He’s straddling my chest and smug about his handiwork.

“You should see yourself.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and turns on the camera app for me. “The perfect Lars Drakenberg, a disheveled mess.” He cackles and puts a hand to his mouth as if shocked. “What will people say?”

“People will think my derelict roommate attacked me for the sole purpose of defiling me.” My words have more than one meaning. The reckless side refuses to submit to reason.

“Oooo derelict and defile. Did an app translate that, or did you look them up in the dictionary?” He’s bouncing on his knees, and there’s no way to hide my erection in my sweatpants.

“They’re on the back of your kiddie cereal box.” I raise an eyebrow to rile him up. He says I know more English words than he does and that’s a crime, but the American education system is not my business.

“Now you’re hitting below the belt.” He crosses his arms, and his biceps bulge under his T-shirt. I’m not the only one using words with a sexual connotation.

“It would be life-changing if I hit you there.” My words sound measured and bored, but my heart is tripping over itself, beating so fast.

Dylon’s eyes widen, and he scrambles off me with a laugh and grabs the throw blanket off the couch. “Not ready for that.”

His words should not disappoint me. We were not actually talking about sex or anything sexual. We were playing around. But insecurity skates across my skin with the loss of his body on mine.

Dylon hops up but keeps the blanket over him until the last second. “I’ll get some sports drinks. What flavor do you want?”

“The usual.” It takes extreme effort to coordinate my brain and muscles so I can sit like a person on the edge of the couch. Part of me wants to lie there and fantasize about Dylon on top of me and all the things I’d let him do.

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