Page 84 of Hidden But Not Safe

Naz shook his head. Eating around Meg was better than eating alone.

“Then is it—” She swallowed, the spoon slowing. “Is it because you came in your pants? You’re embarrassed or—” Her eyes widened and flew to his. “Oh shit, are you worried about me? Because I don’t like cum?”

Naz hadn’t even thought about her touching his cum stains. She hated cum. He should have taken his pants to the washer the night before, but she said—

Her laughter scattered his thoughts. “Of course you’d be worrying about me.” Her lips sobered, but there was still a brightness in her eyes. “I wanted the evidence, remember? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

There was hope in her eyes, hope that he’d obliterate when she realized he still couldn’t have sex.

Seb’s voice joined those in Naz’s head, reminding him that Meg liked to fuck.

“And you shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Meg continued, turning to the sink and pouring the runny oatmeal she’d made into the same plastic cup as the night before. “I found it really sweet, what happened. And sexy as hell.”

The tightness in his neck duplicated in his stomach. His limp dick would show her soon enough just how unsexy he was.

Meg brought the cup to him. “It’s still a little warm.”

At least that gave him an excuse for not trying to drink it right away. His mind churned too much to focus on opening his mouth and swallowing.

“Can I ask you something?” Meg asked, sounding a little hesitant.

She’d never asked permission before. She spoke whatever was on her mind, distracting him in the best way.

He tensed at what he knew was coming. She’d ask him to try to put his dick inside her.

Her hands played with the hem of his shirt, brushing against her legs.

“Are you mad I took your shirt?” she blurted out.

Naz blinked, struggling to absorb the question that didn’t follow the path his mind had carved. Anything he had was hers. The shirt looked better on her anyway.

Meg reached for the collar of his polo shirt, frowning as she tugged on the strangling edges. “I mean, you’re so uncomfortable in these clothes. The jeans needed to be washed, but the shirt was okay. I should take it off, let you at least—”

His hand covered her mouth, drawing her eyes away from his ridiculous clothing so she’d see him shake his head.

Her frown brushed against his palm, and she made a noise before pushing his hand away. “You can tell me the truth, Naz. I know I’m being selfish. It just smelled like you, and I…” Her eyes fell.

“Meg,” he said, her name easy again.

Her eyes narrowed on his. “Why did that sound like you’re annoyed or scolding me or something? That’s not the way I like to hear you say it.” Her fingers caressed his throat. “Say it again, the right way.”

He had to focus on swallowing first, too much saliva filling his mouth. “Meg,” he said, the sound of it different, just like she’d asked.

She let out the giggle he loved. “That’s it. Now drink up.” She stepped back to give him room, her gaze returning to his clothes. “You look awful in those clothes. Maybe I can find some scissors around here. If I cut off the sleeves and the collar, it wouldn’t be half bad.”

While she rambled on about making him a better outfit, Naz drank the breakfast she’d prepared, hardly needing to concentrate at all to swallow and finishing it long before she’d finished planning out their day, which, he was grateful to hear, did not include sex.

Naz’s nerves faded more and more throughout the day. For the first time in forever, he consumed three meals, each one taking less of an effort than the one before.

He’d left Meg with her scissors while he’d done a perimeter check, and again later, he’d left her on the couch for the same reason. So far, no one seemed to know they were there. Which made sense. That was why he’d chosen the location, though it had partially been an automatic pull toward Diego. Diego had become safety and freedom long ago, though those clingy defaults had eased over the years once Naz learned to hold his own.

He curled up on the couch near Meg, who took his hand, weaving and unweaving their fingers together on top of her thigh while she watched whatever rerun had captured her attention. Naz only watched her.

The way she’d cut up the polo was more comfortable, making it similar to one of his sleeveless undershirts, though a little on the short side. It molded to his chest, and left some skin visible above the waistband of his jeans. While that patch of skin on Meg drew his eyes, on him it looked ridiculous. He’d caught Meg staring a time or two.

She leaned forward, pressing the mute button on the remote as credits rolled on the screen. Her body angled toward his, and she didn’t release his hand.

“I want to talk about something, but tell me to shut up if it’s none of my business,” she said.

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