Page 43 of Making Choices

With effort, I swallow down my surprise to ask, “Are you sure?”

He gestures at his hair. It’s the same as Slash’s, a man bun with an undercut, and has been since he was a little boy whose only wish was to emulate the older brother he hero worshipped in every way possible. He might be more caramel-brown where Slash is dirty-blond, however, the resemblance between them when they’re both wearing their man bun is stark. “It’s time… I need to step out of his shadow—become my own man. Stop tryin’ to be like him.”

“You’re already your own man, Hunt, but I can’t think of anyone better to be like.”

“He’s not perfect, ya know.”

In the face of his hostility, I rock back on my heels and shoot a confused look at Toker. My cousin shrugs, and Sander and Cub match his reaction. I’m on my own here. Left to flounder with how to handle this request in a way that doesn’t end with Hunter refusing to come out of his room or look at himself in any reflective surfaces because he can’t cope when he discovers that he wasn’t actually ready for the change.

“Okay… but only if you’re sure.”

“Do as he says,” Slash barks as he rounds the corner with Zeke following him. “’Cause he’s right. Ain’t nothin’ perfect about me.”

Like last night, Slash is in a strange mood. He barely glances my way when I offer him a smile, choosing to march past me and lean on the wall opposite everyone else. I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when Zeke snags me by the waist and drags me back the way he arrived. I manage to toss the clippers at Toker, who hoots and hollers like an idiot, and begins taking bets over how long it’ll take Zeke to greet me properly.

Once we’re alone, my man nuzzles my cheek with his nose, then whispers, “Missed you, sweet thing.”

I slide my hands under his shirt, over the curve of his arse, slipping my fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. After running my tongue over the lightly healed cut I caused when I bit Zeke’s lip last night, I tell him, “Missed you more.”

“That’s like the sun saying it misses the moon. Impossible, metukà shelì.”

Zeke swallows my retort when he kisses me with the same hunger he exhibited last night in the shower. Breathless and panting after he’s taken his fill, I drag in a steadying breath then press a light peck to the underside of his jaw. After tracing the sharp line of his jawbone with my tongue, I nibble on his ear lobe.

“You’re bein’ very forward for a woman who’s about to break up with me.”

His reminder of our plan hits me like a cold bucket of water. It douses my need for him and reopens the wound that Slash inadvertently created last night with his question about second chances. It’s ironic how much my insides are starting to match my exterior. It’s even more satirical when I take in the bruises on Zeke’s face from some arsehole cop’s boot.

We’re both bruised and tender—inside and out.

Desperation winds around me like the tentacles on an octopus.

“Can we forget this idea please? Try something else first…” I trail off when Zeke pulls free of my embrace and steps out of my reach. In his eyes, I see the same agony that’s stalking me. He doesn’t like this strategy any more than I do. Unlike me, I can see that he believes it’s the only way forward. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything—”

Slash chooses that moment to duck his head around the corner. He’s upset, jaw tense with a vertical wrinkle that mars the tanned skin between his drawn-together eyebrows. “You gonna cut our hair sometime to-fuckin’-day or what?”

Our friend doesn’t wait for an answer, just drops out of sight, shaking his head, still grumbling to himself. When Zeke makes a move to chase down his unnecessarily hostile SAA, I surge forward and wrap my arms around his waist. He drags me a couple steps, but I manage to stop him. “Take it easy. He’s struggling with his feelings for Dr. Du Bois.”

“Since when?”

I shrug, leaning my weight against my man as I tell him, “Since the minute they met, I guess… hasn’t he said anything to you about it?”

“Nope.” Zeke chucks me under the chin, then slants an indecipherable look at me. His narrow-eyed gaze scrutinises mine for a moment before he asks, “When the fuck did you have time to talk to him about the doc?”

“Last night,” I mumble. The rumble in my fiancé’s chest alerts me to his irritation at what he sees as me avoiding him again. In a rush, I plead my case, “I couldn’t sleep. Heard him and Hunter in the hallway so I suggested we watch a movie. I didn’t want to wake you up, especially when it’s my fault you’ve barely slept in days.”

Rather than respond to my excuses, Zeke uses his body to crowd me against the side of the building. I gasp when my shoulder blades hit the cinder block then huff a second time as he grips my hips and lifts me off my feet in one fluid motion. Stepping between my spread legs, my man cradles my arse with his hands and presses his groin to my denim-covered core. A needy whimper tumbles from my lips when he grinds against me until I am writhing in his hold.

“Do you hear yourself, sweet thing, gettin’ worked up as soon as I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Remember that.”

My eyes are unfocused as I try to make sense of what he’s saying. “Remember what?”

“This. Us. How we feel together.” He grows hard, moving against me, teasing me to the point where I’m biting back another moan. Palming my left breast over my thin T-shirt, he kneads the flesh. With his ring and index fingers, he tweaks my nipple until it peaks. I drag my teeth over his throat, then latch onto the skin that covers the pulse point in his neck and suck hard. Every nerve ending in my body flares to life as Zeke grinds faster, heat pools in my lower belly and my skin breaks out in goosebumps, only to be left hanging when he lowers me back to my feet and braces with his forearms on the wall next to my head. “Next time you can’t sleep, you wake me the fuck up. I don’t give a shit if I’ve had five minutes or five hours rest, you tell me if you need me.”

“Okay.”

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