Page 40 of Roleplay at Randy's
I don’t want to let him go. I want to tighten my hold and press my face to his stomach, just breathe him in, because I’m already this far gone tonight.
But I don’t. Because the line is as blurry as ever, and if I don’t let him step away now, I might ask him to stay.
Not just for this moment.
Or for tonight.
I know better, but every time we touch, all rationale goes out the window. All that exists is rampant desire and a bottle of barely contained adoration.
Matty walks away, and I slump back on the cushion, squeezing my eyes shut tight.
My sister will be all too thrilled to see Matty and I all coupled up at her wedding, but a part of me wishes he had declined. Because if he had told me no, I would have accepted it. No questions asked. Just like I’ll take every touch, every kind word, all at face value.
Would it be such a bad thing? To see where this could take us? Cal has already taken a liking to him. Matty adores Cal. Using my son’s potential feelings as a scapegoat isn’t fair. If I was really worried about his possible attachment, I never should have moved Matty in.
“I care about fostering a relationship with you.”
But then I remember Matty crouched on the floor.Wiping away tears in hopes I wouldn’t see. Clinging to me as they tracked down his cheeks.
That was after one mild meltdown.
He hasn’t seen the worst of us yet. Not just Cal—but of me. Matty thinks I’m some great parent when in reality it’s taken a lot of trial and error for me to get on the same wavelength as Cal, and sometimes I still slip.
Signing on to being with me is signing up for all of the baggage I come with.
I’ll take what I can get from Matty, but I can’t give him too much. Not without risking his heart.
The smell of the hot chocolate permeates through the room, and I strain my neck to see the progress in the kitchen. All I can see is Matty’s back as he stands by the stove, a pot of boiling milk and chocolate powder on the eye.
Distance would be a good thing for us both.
So why are my feet moving? Why am I standing in the threshold between the living room and kitchen clutching the frame for support?
Matty throws a look over his shoulder, smiling when he sees me.
I really like his smile.
The way it reaches his eyes.
I'm not in control of my body, I don’t think. Padding across the kitchen, stopping to stir the chocolate milk concoction and checking Matty out in the process.
He’s leaning against the counter on his elbows, scrolling through something on his phone. My fingers twitch at my side.
Matty spoiled me tonight—from the moment I got home, we've been in near constant contact. I don't need it to be anything sexual. Or romantic even.
I just need to have my hands on him. To settle the worrywarring with the exhaustion and the bundle of feelings I'm trying to keep under wraps.
I can't even bring myself to say his name. Everything in my head feels so heavy, like a weighted blanket thrown on top of a pillow fort.
I slide my fingers over his waist, just a graze while I wait for a response. It's instantaneous. He threads the fingers of his free hand through mine and hums.
I tighten my grip and step fully behind him, letting the heaviness weigh me down. My forehead drops to his shoulder.
“Maybe you should head to bed.”
My throat aches with a groan, and all I can do is tug us closer, his back to my chest.
“You're wearing my clothes.” I know I sound indignant, like a whining toddler.
