Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry this is so hard,” I told Delaney. “I don’t know Grant, but I suppose he’s going through his own stuff too.”
“Definitely. His person died too. Grant always loved Rebecca best,” he murmured as he stared at a family photo on the fireplace mantel, one where they were all smiling and looking happy.
“There’s no chance that boy doesn’t love you.”
“He may love me, but I bet he wishes—” He screwed his eyes shut as if holding back tears. “There I go, trying to say the quiet part out loud. Why the fuck am I getting emotional about this? Goddamn it. Sorry.”
“It’s not like we’ve never cried in front of each other before.” I tried to comfort him by patting his knee. Hell, in group, everyone cried at one time or another. And one night, we both teared up at the bar and were afraid to bring attention to ourselves, so he told one of his corny jokes instead. “If only you could see me blubbering privately.”
“Yeah, but that’s privately,” Delaney said, frantically swiping at his tears.
“Hey, don’t try to hide from me. We’ve been to hell and back together,” I said, leaning forward and swiping my thumb under his eye. He gasped as if my touch had burned him, and it only made the emotion in his eyes grow more complex.
“Ah, shit, I’m drunk. It’s probably better if you let me snot all over myself alone.”
“No way,” I replied adamantly. I had the urge to touch him, to comfort him in a more tangible way. “Can I…give you a hug?”
His lips trembled as he nodded, and I didn’t waste any time, just scooted forward and pulled him into an embrace.
He was rigid at first, and I thought I’d made a mistake, but then he relented, winding his arms around my waist and melting into me. And fuck, I didn’t realize how good it would be to hold him—to hold anyone. Flesh and blood and heavy bones. Damn, it got me all emotional too, but one of us had to hold it together.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t been hugged since Carmen’s passing—by family, friends, and even a couple of customers. But somehow, this felt different. Like we’d crossed into new territory that could easily become addicting.
“Thanks for…for this,” he said against my neck, and fuck if feeling that whisper of lips, along with the scrape of his scruff against my skin, didn’t make me shiver. I didn’t want to let go. The tantalizing scent of his woodsy cologne or soap or whatever it was didn’t help either. Damn.
We stayed that way for another long moment before he had the sense to finally pull away. His cheeks were flushed, and he wouldn’t look at me, and I supposed I wasn’t much better because my pulse was throbbing and my ears were hot. All because I’d held another man. Another attractive man, who was also my friend.
If I was being honest, I’d felt the flicker of attraction from the very beginning when he’d first sat across from me in group. But that was a quiet and muted sort of awareness like it would be with any other guy. Tonight, when Delaney pulled open the door, wearing gray sweatpants, his feet bare, my immediate thought was how striking he was. He filled out his white T-shirt very nicely too.
“You all right?” My gut twisted as I wondered whether I’d crossed some imaginary line. Weren’t friends allowed to comfort each other when one of them was hurting? Just because we’d both admitted to being bisexual didn’t mean we weren’t still human beings offering comfort to each other. Just that there was an extra layer to that connection.
“I don’t know,” Delaney replied, pushing back to sit a few inches away from me on the couch.
Christ. Maybe I should’ve left.
“If this is about me hugging you…I just thought…” I swallowed the growl of frustration in my throat. “You were in pain, and I wanted to make you feel better. But maybe I should’ve…”
“I liked it a little too much, okay?” he admitted, his gaze fleetingly meeting mine.
“I don’t understand. I liked it too, but that doesn’t mean—”
“It’s been so fucking long, and being held by someone I care about felt too damned good.” He forked his fingers through his hair, then twisted the strands as if what he’d confessed was a bad thing.
“Why is that wrong? I’ll hold you anytime you ask me to. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than human contact.” I bit my lip, thinking it through another second. “We should be able to do that for each other after what we’ve been through.”
“I guess you’re right,” he murmured. “I might just…hold you to that. No pun intended.”
I chuckled, but damn. I liked that idea a little too much as well. Before I could get my thoughts together for a proper response, we heard the kitchen door open and then Grant’s tentative voice. “Dad? Is someone here?”