Page 89 of I Knead You Tonight

Instead, he leans over. I turn away from his kiss, and it lands on my cheek.

He sighs, head resting against my temple. “I’m gonna go shower.”

His voice is hushed, like he’s trying to make up for shouting without actually saying he’s sorry.

But it’s not enough. We both know it.

When I don’t respond, he pushes from the bed with one last lingering look and shuts himself into the bathroom.

I don’t breathe again until I hear the water turn on.

I want to storm in there after him. I want to force him to tell me what’s wrong. I want to help him. Ineedto help him.

Just like he needed to help me.

It’s not fair that he gets to butt into my life when I don’t want him to but I can’t butt into his.

He said things would be different after, but this feels an awful lot like more of the same.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pop off the bed and charge into the bathroom like he’s done to me so many times now.

I jerk open the shower curtain.

“What the—” He jumps, and I try hard not to let my eyes drop to his cock.

“You said it’s supposed to be different now. This isn’t fucking different, Winston.”

“I said different betweenus, as in we know what the other looks like naked now. But this ismybusiness, Drew. Not yours.”

“You put your dick inside of mewithoutprotection. You madeyourbusinessmybusiness in that moment. That isn’t a line you cross with just anyone.”

He doesn’t say anything.

He knows I’m right.

“Now, for one time in your life, will youpleasejust stop being so damn annoying and tell me what’s going on with you? It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Hurts a little more than usual.”

“Usual? Does it pop like that often?”

“More than it should.”

“Winston, youhaveto go get it looked at. You cannot live your life this way. It’s just not realistic. It makes zero sense to me why you feel this insane need to take care of me and not yourself too.”

He sneers. “Because I don’t wantto be a slave to the medical system.”

“Well tough!” I bellow. “Fucking tough. You don’t always get to do what youwantto do. You buckle up and act like a goddamn grown-up. Do you think Iwantedto raise myself? Do you think Iwantedto have to learn how to pay bills when I was ten so we would have water and electricity because I was tired of going to school dirty and getting made fun of? Do you think Iwantedto starve for days so we could save a little extra cash at the end of the week to float us by until payday just in case something came up? Do you think Iwantedto get pregnant by some douchebag and raise a baby alone? No, Winston! I didn’t want any of that shit, but it’s what life handed me. So, I pulled up my britches and made fucking do.” I sigh. “That’s what being a grown-up is—being responsibleespeciallywhen you don’t want to.”

He stares at me, eyes full of pity and sorrow.

Maybe even a little acceptance.

“I don’t want to be a grown-up,” he says quietly, his voice rough like he’s trying to choke back emotion.

I laugh softly. “It’s funny—we want to grow up so fast when we’re young, want to get to do all the things we can’t as children, but no one ever warns you how exhausting it is to be older.”

“So exhausting. I’m tired all the time.”

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