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I take a step toward Donnie, and he takes a step back. I take another step forward, and he bumps into the wall. He’s trapped and I smile like Jack Nicholson coming through the door in The Shining.

Except Donnie’s faster than I give him credit for. Before I manage to pounce, he crouches and surges toward me, catching me around the middle. I stumble backward and tumble to the floor, bringing him with me. He lands on top of me with an oomph, and we both launch into a full-on tickle fight.

It isn’t a fair competition at all. Donnie’s not ticklish. I, on the other hand, I’m extremely ticklish. I squirm, trying to protect my sides. It feels like Donnie’s evil-ass fingers are everywhere, all at once, and I can’t fight him off fast enough. I can’t breathe when I’m fighting for my life like this and my lungs burn until I feel like I’m going to pass out.

Donnie’s totally the superior tickler. I’m a complete wuss. “Stahp! Please! I surrender!”

Donnie relents, finally, and I lay on the floor gasping for air. He’s still on top of me, his chest rising and falling against mine. His one leg is between my thighs, pressed snugly against my groin—I might have accidentally trapped it there when I was flapping around like a dying fish.

Earlier, when he was giving me a hug, I’m pretty sure I felt something against my thigh. Donnie shifted away and when I shifted back, it was there again. It was at the right height, the right shape, and the right firmness too. I’m feeling it again now, on my hip.

His lips hover an inch above mine. We’re touching from shoulders to knees. His sweater is rucked up and my hands burn where they’re in direct contact with his skin. Donnie’s eyes darken as he gazes down at me and my dick responds, roaring to life.

I want to slide my palms under his sweater. I want to run my fingers along the valley of his spine. I want to angle my chin up and brush my lips over his. I want to tilt my hips and bring our erections together.

I lift my knee and Donnie gasps as my thigh nudges his cock. That sound. Holy shit, that sound. It’s shaky and soft, like he’s really sensitive, and it rips through me like a beast who’s zeroed in on his prey.

My fingers tighten on his waist, holding him still as I grind my hips against his.

“Connor, fuck.” Donnie breathes my name and drops his forehead to my shoulder. He exhales hot puffs of air onto my neck and I gasp at how delicate it feels.

I slide my hands down to cup Donnie’s thick, muscled ass. He shudders violently in my arms.

“Oh god, wait. Wait, wait.” He’s on top of me for one more minute, sucking in a deep breath, then he’s rolling off.

I let him go, even though it feels wrong.

He sits next to me, hunched forward, arms draped over his raised knees. His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes through whatever is going on in his head.

I stare at the ceiling, shivering now that I don’t have Donnie to keep me warm.

It’s only been twenty-four hours since I walked in on Miles and Wyatt. When I think about them, the rage and pain crash through me so hard it feels like I’m having some sort of panic attack. But when I don’t think about them, when I’m with Donnie and we’re laughing and smiling, I don’t give a flying fuck what Miles and Wyatt did.

When I’m touching Donnie, all I want is to press up on him, get as close as possible to him, and crawl inside his skin. It’s so comfortable there. It’s so safe and warm. I want to tangle myself up with him and never let go.

He’s still wearing his wedding ring. Roger’s office is still sitting up there, untouched. I’m a random stray he’s picked up off the side of the road. He doesn’t need me humping him on the kitchen floor.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sitting up.

Donnie starts, his shoulders shooting up to his ears. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

What does he have to be sorry for? He’s been nothing but kind and generous and caring.

“Is your ankle okay?”

I rotate it to the left, then to the right. “It feels fine.”

He nods and stands up. “Come on,” he says, not looking at me. “Let’s finish up the dishes.”

I grab the towel from the floor and switch it out for a clean one. When I take the next plate from Donnie, our fingers brush and he sucks in a silent gasp.

I really hope I haven’t crossed a line. It’s not even about having a place to stay. I like Donnie. I’d like us to be friends, if we can. The last thing I want is for him to regret having invited me into his home.

CHAPTER TEN

DONNIE

We end up going down to the theater room after dinner for my so-called re-education. Connor has declared that my lack of film knowledge is unacceptable and he can’t possibly share the same roof with someone who hasn’t watched Alfred Hitchcock’s entire filmography. I don’t mention that I can’t name a single Hitchcock film. There’s one with birds, isn’t there?

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