Page 50 of Tell Me Again

I close my eyes and drop my chin down to my chest as my whole body shudders with some deep want or need or something. God, his touch—it feels so good.

“I don’t deserve a second chance, so I won’t ask you for one,” he says quietly. “But I need to say that I’m sorry. I fucked up. It was the worst decision I’ve ever made—to treat you how I did after... after what was the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I fucked up big time. And it cost me the best friendship I’ve ever had. And I’m so deeply sorry for how much I hurt you. I wish I could take away all that pain. Because I... Because you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry, Coop.”

His hands drop away from my back, and there’s this pulse in me that screams with want for his touch. God, I need it. My body craves it. And yet, I can’t make myself move. Instead, some strangled sound escapes me. I think it’s an attempt at his name, but I’m really not sure. All I know is that the very next second, he’s back and next to me. And as soon as I turn toward him, his arms wrap around me, and he pulls me up against him.

And god, it feels like coming home.

It feels like being surrounded by the most comfortable, comforting warmth. And it somehow feels safe in a way I haven’t known for a very, very long time. Because honestly, I can’t even remember the last time someone hugged me.

I might be shaking. Fuck, he might be shaking, too. And he’s murmuring something in my ear, although I can’t really make out the words. I can feel their warmth, though, and their intention. The same as his hand gently caressing my back.

“God, Josh, what the fuck, man? Why the fuck did it take you so long?” I mumble the words into his shoulder. I don’t expect any answers. They’re both rhetorical questions.

And he doesn’t really answer anyway, but his words become clearer as he pulls back just a little and says, “I’m so, so sorry, Coop. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.” Then his arms tighten around me, and he leans his head against mine. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s several minutes until either of us moves again, and then it’s him—because I still can’t seem to get my fucking feet to listen to my brain. He straightens up, and he’s looking at me with so much uncertainty in his eyes. He brings one hand up, and his fingers brush along my jaw before coming to settle on my neck.

It’s overwhelming again—a sensation like fire ripping through me. But it’s not painful. It’s fucking brilliant and hot and makes my heart leap.

There’s a lump in my throat, but I swallow it back and close my eyes. And because I don’t want to stop myself from saying it this time, I give myself permission.

“I want to kiss you so fucking badly right now,” I say, and when I open my eyes again and see him looking at me with this expression that’s just hopeful as hell, my heart does that thing again, leaping around wildly in my chest. But it still hurts, a lot. And I’m not sure.

He seems to know there’s a “but” coming, and he gives me this small nod, like he understands. Fuck. I screw my eyes shut and let myself lean forward until my forehead is touching his.

“I want to. I just don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

“Of course. That’s—of course,” he says quietly.

I feel his breath, hot and so close, and I know his lips are right there, less than an inch from mine. And fuck, I want it. I remember the taste. The heat. The dizzying overwhelm.

But I’m really not ready. I know, because I suddenly can’t fucking breathe again.

“Josh... I...” My voice sounds strangled and raspy, and I shake my head just a little, not really sure what I’d wanted to say. There’s so much that needs to be said. But right now, all I can do is just cling to what’s right here, and hope he won’t let me go.

God, please, don’t let me go.

His fingers play at the back of my neck but don’t leave, as though he knows or feels the same or understands. Shit, maybe all three. His other hand continues to rub in long, slow strokes along my lower back.

It’s a lot, though. No one’s ever touched me like this. This hug, his hands. And his hips pressed into mine, his chest flush against me. Fucking god, I’m feeling warm. I need a little space, I think. But my body doesn’t want it; it still won’t let me move.

He’s gonna have to go soon, though. What the fuck am I gonna do then? There’s an immediate reaction to the thought—a sinking feeling in my stomach—and I nearly gasp for breath as the knot low in my gut tightens.

He can’t leave. I can’t let him leave. Not again. Not... again.

And it’s as though he’s reading my mind. His hand on my neck slips forward a bit to cup my cheek, and he says, “God, Coop, I don’t—I don’t want to go.”

Shit. With a groan, I lean into the touch, and his thumb brushes along my skin. Why? Why does this feel so good? How can this feel so right?

And what the fuck am I gonna do?

“Josh, I . . .”

I finally convince my body to move, and both of his hands find their way to my chest as I pull back just enough to see his eyes. There’s hope in them again. Hope and so much more than that. I shake my head, but even as I do, my hand drifts around to his chest and then up to cup his cheek, as he had mine a moment ago. God, his skin is smooth and warm, and my hand seems to fit right there. Perfectly. Like that’s where it was made to be.

There’s some deep ache in my chest then. I don’t know why. Josh must be feeling it too, though, because he closes his eyes with a shuddering sigh. Then he brings his other hand up, his fingers caressing gently along my forearm until his hand covers mine.

“I can stay,” he says, his voice as soft as his touch. “I can stay if you want. I don’t have to go, Coop.”

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