Page 2 of Here In Your Arms

Kyle’s leaning against the frame, looking like the snack he is. He’s tall, like me, but maybe a couple of inches taller. His shaggy brown hair is hanging damply from his head as he smiles. This man is so fucking gorgeous and I get to keep him.

I jog over and we chat before I run over to snag my duffle from the side of the court. Waving at the guys, I head back to Kyle.

“You gonna be around next week?” one of the guys yells out.

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be around. Need me to show you who’s boss again?” I chirp back.

“You wish, man!” The guy laughs out loud as he waves me off.

Once I’m in front of Kyle, I’m smiling as he looks me over.

“I do not understand your need to jog,” he tells me as we head for the exit of the building.

I flash him a smile. “What? I look good jogging; you gotta admit it.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“I could be full of you.”

My heart explodes in affection as his cheeks redden, and he ducks his head. Embarrassed Kyle is so damn adorable, and it’s easier to get to him when we’re in public. I can’t help myself. Smiling, I nudge him with my shoulder, letting him know I’m not upset and I don’t mind his embarrassment. He’s always been more private. He nudges me back, and I let the flirting go for now.

As we’re walking, I see an old buddy of mine behind the desk. He looks up and sees me, flagging me down to come say hi. Heading in his direction, I know Kyle will follow with his usual mild annoyance at the detour. He acts grumpier than he is when this happens.

“Wes! Buddy! How have you been?”

“Good. What have you been up to?” I reply.

“Ah you know, just fuc—I mean, messin’ around. Keeping myself busy and out of trouble,” he says.

I nod in understanding and my eyes wander as my old buddy talks. I notice Kyle is staring intently, so I shift my body, replying at the appropriate intervals during his stories of life lately. Kyle’s eyes are following a woman with what I’d say is an older child. I’m so bad at telling kids ages. Definitely not a teenager, but not a little kid either.

My eyes catch on the tall woman walking with the child, her long brown braid trailing down her back. She’s walking like she doesn’t want to be noticed, but every now and again straightens her body, as if she’s weighed down but trying not to show it. She stops and turns when the young girl gets distracted and I see a flash of green eyes when her face turns toward me. She’s gorgeous. No wonder he’s watching her.

I end the chat with my old friend, and we climb into the car to head home. Kyle is quieter than usual and seems preoccupied. My money is on that green-eyed beauty. Trying to dig out the information requires a subtle touch.

“You okay, man?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?” I poke. “Cuz I know you, remember?”

“You know me better than anyone. I just saw someone earlier and got distracted. I’m good now.”

Yeah, he saw someone alright. I don’t want to get my hopes up again, but I saw the same someone and now I want to figure out what’s got him so entranced with her. Just him, though; my interest is purely academic. Can’t get too excited yet. Just need to tell my dick to get the memo on that.

Chapter 2

Rory

The pool is always so fucking loud. There’s zero soundproofing, which I get, but it would be nice if someone could invent quieter materials for people watching the swimmers. I slide my headphones into my ears and start my audiobook up on my phone. My toxic trait? Listening to smut in public and not breaking a sweat. There’s probably something wrong with me, but I guess I knew that already. I decide to pull up a mindless game while I wait for lessons to be done.

Claire is older, so it’s not like I need to keep an eye on her or tell her to pay attention. I’m just here for transportation. Ten minutes into my audiobook and I’m already done with this. I don’t like crowds, tons of noise, or waiting for people. Seems ironic that I’m a bartender. Maybe I hate it all since I have to do it for work.

My mind starts wandering down the path of “Is this my life now?” and I’m hesitant to let it happen, but maybe it’s worth thinking about. I have my own one room apartment that suits me just fine. It’s not fancy, but I think fancy might be out of reach on a bartender’s budget. I don’t mind, I like things simple. That was something we never really agreed on. Simple doesn’t have to mean shabby, but that’s how he always saw it.

He walks around the apartment, looking at the white walls, minimal decorations, and my second-hand furniture. None of it’s in bad condition; there aren’t any rips or tears. There’s one stain and I just flip that couch cushion over so nobody can see it. His nose wrinkles as he takes it all in.

I stand to the side, nervous about what he’s going to think. He’s told me that money doesn’t matter to him, but a lot of people say that until faced with reality. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turns back to look at me. His dark eyes pull me in like always and I find myself eager to hear his approval, and terrified to be rejected.

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