Page 53 of Whiskey Throttle
I move to cup his hand, placing mine over the top as it lies on the bed next to me. He looks at it for several long seconds, then at me. Allowing his hand to stay trapped.
“It’s how I survive.”
I offer him very little in the way of an explanation.
“I get that’s how you protect yourself. I’m not asking you to stop surviving. I’m asking you to consider what it would feel like to want more. To open up to me or just tell me I’m a dumbass and all this is too soon or will never happen.”
I lean toward him, the towel slipping further down my chest, which gets a quick peek from him.
“You’re not foolish in thinking there could be more. It’s surprised me how easily we get along. But at the same time, I figured it wouldn’t be too much more than this. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why would you want to chain yourself to someone like me?”
Not to mention, he’s my son’s best friend. A fact that looms larger and larger the closer we get. Yet, if Dominic and I were closer, would I have still come here? Still did what I did with him? I don’t necessarily know that answer either.
His hands come to either side of my face. Holding me in place with a stunned expression on his face.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Silence stretches. His hands drop, and he’s back on his feet. Not moving, just staring at me. My eyes slide to a spot on the floor. I’m conflicted by what I feel and what I see when I look at him. Here’s a great guy. A catch in every sense of the world, saying he wants to know where he stands with me.
Crystal clear.
Is that another thing younger men bring to the table?
“It’s a fair concern, Hollister.”
My gaze connects with his. He scratches his head. My first realization is that he must have showered too, by the dampness at his roots. He is fully clothed again, so I must have been drained if I slept through all that. I stand, adjusting the towel over my body to avoid flashing him.
“Sure.”
He’s unconvinced.
So am I.
This is getting a bit too serious for how the day started off and proceeded. It’s selfish of me to want to shove this aside and think about it later. More self-preservation than anything. My stomach growls loudly and embarrassingly.
“Let’s get something to eat.”
The perfect host.
“You didn’t eat already? While I was asleep?”
“I wanted to share it with you.”
Even though he doesn’t want to stop talking by the hesitancy in his stance, his manners overrule his desires. Something we both have in common. His hand caresses my bare shoulder down my arm as if needing the connection, but not safe enough to kiss me. He’s waited hours to eat, all because of me. It does something to me.
“Um, I really need my luggage to change. I can’t keep wearing next to nothing.”
His mouth opens, a smirk flashing across his face before it falls from the seriousness of the conversation.
“Of course.”
His hand plunges into his hair again when he steps away. His fingernails scrape my hand in a final touch before moving on. Confusion and hesitation stop him halfway across the room.
“It’s still at the house. Probably in my room or one of the bedrooms.”
He turns sideways, an equal distance from me to the front door of his studio.
“I can go get it if you want to stay here or um, there’s probably a clean robe folded in the cabinet in the bathroom if you want to put them and sleep up there.”
