Page 23 of Full Split
“Shit, sorry. Don’t move,” I call out, sputtering and trying to navigate the mess through watery eyes from the burn of snorting it up my nose.
I run to get a broom and dustpan, both to clean up the mess and to get away from the table.What the hell did he just say?I cough again.Shit. It feels like I inhaled glass.I’m doing my best to put it out of my mind, actively trying not to look anyone in the eye or engage with Niles at all.
I spend the rest of the evening trying to avoid all of them under the guise of giving them space.
Later, Weston and Aimee are tangled up on a lounger, lost in each other. I’m washing up in the kitchen. Niles comes in with an armful of dishes, damp with a sheen of sweat from the humid night, wearing only a clingy pair of briefs that leave little to the imagination.What happened to his shorts? Did he get back in the pool?I really need to talk to him about boundaries.
"Do they have to shove their heterosexuality in my face like that? I mean, I respect and love them the way they are, but their choices make me uncomfortable."
I snort, trying to act normal. "Believe me, I don’t want to see that either."
Laughing, he closes the blinds with a snap.
Suddenly, it’s too quiet. We’re too alone. The space is too intimate.
He brushes past me. I know he’s doing it on purpose, but I flinch every time our arms touch. When he’s standing next to me to help rinse the dishes that don’t fit in the dishwasher, our hips bump.
Water and suds splash as we wash and rinse. Niles flicks soap bubbles at my face. I forget to be on my guard and retaliate. It escalates, devolving into a ridiculous bubble fight. Water and suds fling everywhere. A laugh I barely recognize as my own bursts out of me, and I have to catch his wrists to stop him from soaking me again.
We’re laughing, but the space between us shrinks fast. Just like that night in the hotel. The gateway sandwich. There’s nothing and no one to blame but myself this time, and now he’s even closer. Nearly naked and we’re pressed together. Breathing hard, I can feel every inch of him against me.
He’s right here. Practically under me, our mouths mere inches apart.
"Are you really going on that date?" I ask, voice low and raspy.
His eyes flash. "Why? Are you jealous?”
I don’t answer.
"You gonna do something about it? Give me a reason to stay in tonight?”
I should say something. Tell him that I don’t want him to go, even if I can’t say why. Even if it can’t mean anything. Even if I refuse to voice the reasons out loud.
Niles arches his hips, pressing against the erection I want to pretend isn’t there.
And I step back. Because it’s the only thing I can do.
I step back and walk away, cooling down in the bathroom by splashing some water on my face. I’m only gone for a few minutes, trying to build myself up to talk about this with him. To explain why this can’t happen.
When I return to the kitchen, he’s gone.
CHAPTER 9
NILES
The balmy night air buzzes against my skin. I thought the walk home would help me calm my mind, but it's doing nothing to help the ache in my chest.
It's not like this is the first time Wyatt has turned me away, and I'm sure it won't be the last if I continue the way I am. But for some reason, it's bothering me more than last time. Maybe it's because we were so close—close enough that I could feel him, hard and trembling, against my body. So close his breath mingled with mine and made my lips tingle. So close I thought, for the smallest moment, that he might actually kiss me. I wanted it so badly I almost cried when he pulled away.
He wants me. I know he does. As much as he'd like to, Wyatt can't hide his reaction to me. He's fought this every step of the way, but he still can't deny that his body, at least, is very interested in what I have to offer. More than that, he looked at me like he's hungry. Like he could devour me whole. Like he's starving for me.
He's afraid of how much he wants it. I can see it every time I catch him watching me. It's something I've been using to my advantage. I could keep going this way. I could throw myself infront of him again and again and again until he breaks. Until he gives in, even if it's just for a moment. If I could just get that moment—just one—I’d make it so good he wouldn’t be able to resist coming back for more. Until he’s so ensnared in my trap he can’t go a day without my touch.
But is that really what I want?
I stop at the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at the dark outline of my house. Mom’s car is in the driveway next to mine, and there’s a flicker of movement in the faint light behind the curtains. She’s probably curled up on the couch watching something ridiculous, likePride and Prejudice and Zombies. My legs feel heavy as I walk up the steps and unlock the door, not ready to plaster on a smile and false confidence.
Sure enough, Mom’s watching TV in the living room, something with Kathy Bates standing in front of a bonfire being ominous. She’s holding a half-eaten pint of dairy-free ice cream, spoon paused mid-air between bites when I walk in. Quickly, she shoves the spoon in her mouth and holds it there while she picks up the remote and pauses the show.
