Page 44 of The Kiss Principle

“Don’t forget that time I made you eat radicchio.”

“It’s purple, Zé. Nobody in their right fucking mind eats things that are purple.”

“Actually—”

“Go sit down!”

That one was closer to a seven. Igz started to fuss, and Zé frowned. He reached for her.

“Believe it or not,” I said, “I can take care of her for five minutes. Let’s get you on the couch—do you want an ice pack?”

“But I’m fine—”

“Love to hear it,” I said as I steered him—gently—toward the living room.

When I planted him in front of the couch, though, he didn’t sit. “How are you going to make dinner while you’re holding Igz?”

“In the first place, you do that every day.”

He opened his mouth.

“Every day, Zé. And in second place, she’s got a swing, or I can put her in her pack-and-play, or I can even put her on a blanket on the floor. See how resourceful I am?”

“I’m getting a lot of masculine energy from you right now. Is this how you sound when you talk about tools?”

“And in the third place, I’m not making dinner, pigeon-dick. I’m going to order us dinner. On my phone. Which I can use with one hand.” I took a deep breath and smiled. “Sit down. Igz and I will get you an ice pack.”

The struggle showed in his face. Finally, he said, “Maybe I’ll soak it in the tub for a few minutes.”

“That sounds great. Now I won’t have to murder you.”

“Somebody else might find this confusing, just so you know.”

“José, I swear to God, I am this close.”

That slow smile, the one I thought of as mine, spread across his face. He put a hand on my arm to steady himself, bent to kiss Igz, and then limped toward the bathroom. I watched him go. I wasn’t a card-carrying member ofHomo eroticuslike Augustus, but let me tell you, those board shorts weren’t doing his ass any favors.

You might be shocked—shocked!—to learn that Zé had thrown away all my takeout menus, even the good one from Imperial Kingdom, and that one still had a coupon on the back Ihadn’t used. I thought about getting Imperial Kingdom without the coupon—or, maybe pizza, since it had been approximately an eternity since I’d had pizza. (Okay, to be fair, that’s not including all the meals with doctors when I cheated, which Zé didn’t need to know about, although, come to think of it, he probably did.)

After a few minutes of pulling my pud, though, I found a Greek place that delivered, and I ordered us some salads and, because I’m a hardass motherfucker alpha male, and nobody tells me what to do, a side of falafel.

I was rocking Igz when I heard the thud from the bathroom, and then Zé’s pained cry.

It took me approximately ten seconds to get Igz into her swing and sprint down the hall. I swear to God, I’m not sure my feet touched the floor. When I threw open the door, Zé lay on the floor. He was wet and naked, and whatever I’d seen (and, more vigorously, imagined) during my spank sessions, it was nothing compared to having the real thing in front of me. His body was defined and masculine and healthy and young. He had muscles that would probably never see the light of day again on my body. Everything seemed to register at once: the hint of tan lines, the dusting of dark hair on his thighs, the rose-brown of his nipples. And his dick, yes, because God help me, I looked.

But it all happened in an instant, because he sounded like he was hyperventilating, or about to cry, each inhalation ragged, and he was still lying on the floor.

“Are you okay? What—”

That was when I caught a look at his face, and I remembered the night I’d figured out he was sleeping in his car: when he’d stumbled and, for a moment, he thought he’d hurt his knee. That was nothing compared to this. This was unadulterated panic, his face blank and registering only that all-consuming fear as he lifted his head, trying to get a better look at himself.

I yanked a towel down and dropped to my knees next to him. He was still doing that awful breathing, still trying to sit up, so I said, “Hey, hey, Zé!” His eyes cut toward me, but I wasn’t sure he was seeing me. I shook out the towel and laid it over his waist—I mean, the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, but I figured I didn’t have to sit there and drool over him. He was still trying to sit up, so I put a hand on his chest. He was warm, his skin still slick with water from the bath, and I thought I could feel his heartbeat going a hundred miles an hour. “Hold on,” I said. “Don’t move for a minute.”

After another moment, I could see him behind those glassy eyes. He was still sucking in those panicked breaths. “My knee—”

“In a minute,” I said. I slid my hand behind his head and probed around. “How hard did you hit your head?”

“Oh God, my knee.”

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