Page 90 of Feeling the Heat: Part Two
I grin at River. “Uh, duh. I’m using you as an excuse to make myself pancakes.”
His laugh warms my belly. God, has his laugh always been so raspy and attractive?
He pulls out two plates. “Well, then I’m glad to be of assistance.”
Silence stretches between us as I heat the griddle. I can hear him moving around and setting things out for our snack-turned-meal, as well as his occasional low sighs of discomfort.
From the sound of it, his pain is worse than he’s letting on. My stomach twists, wishing I could do more to help him. And that’s my excuse for why I go temporarily insane and words fall out of my mouth before I consider them properly. “Do you want a massage after pancakes?”
Utensils clatter against the table, and when I look over at River, his expression is wary. Guarded.
“For your back,” I clarify hurriedly. “Because Ambrose and Camille won’t be home until late and will most likely want to fool around after their hot date, and you’re in pain, so I can help out.”
“Thank you for offering, but that’s not a good idea.”
I look back at the griddle, taking off the golden pancake and setting it on a plate. I should leave it at that. And I would, if he’d just said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Why not?” I ask, idly stirring the batter while I wait for his response.
“Jackson…”
I set the spatula down and turn to look at him. My heart is racing, and I don’t understand why. His lips twist into a frown, and he’s having a hard time meeting my eye. “What? It’s not weird. We’re packmates. I’ve seen your dick, dude. I’ll probably touch it at some point.”
Oh my god, stop talking about his dick.
River’s cheeks burnish as he lets out a choked sound.
“I meant by accident!” I huff, wishing I could vanish on the spot so I didn’t have to deal with my embarrassment and word vomit.
I turn back to work on the pancakes, but end up staring down at the sizzling griddle as I try, and fail, not to be butthurt that my best friend sounded disgusted by the idea of me touching him.
I don’t even care. I don’t want to touch his dick either.
Idon’t.
My pulse pounds.
Fuck, Ido. I want to touch my best friend’s dick.
I turn off the stove, not trusting myself around burning hot objects right now. Not while I’m freaking the fuck out.
“Are you upset?” River asks as I rake a hand through my hair and go over to the sink to wash my hands for no reason.
“I’m fine,” I grunt unconvincingly.
“You’re not. Why are you mad I won’t let you give me a massage?”
“Because you don’t trust me to help you.” It’s a shitty excuse, given that he’s letting me help him by making the pancakes, but I can’t tell him it’s because I feel rejected when he doesn’t even know I have any interest in him.
He doesn’t protest, which makes my stomach churn.
“I… I need to tell you something.” The tension and fear leaking from his bond take me aback as he speaks.
I turn off the faucet and dry my hands. “Okay.”
He swallows hard, eyes dropping to the floor.
The churning dread in my gut intensifies. I have no clue what he’s going to say, but I can’t imagine it’s going to be anything but painful. “It’s that bad?”
