Page 40 of Forever We Fall

“She said she was sorry for everything. I told her she had nothing to be sorry for, that I loved her too. She made some excuse and had to go.” His head shakes. “If I had just asked more questions.”

“If you had asked more questions, she would have gotten off the phone with you earlier or lied, like she lied about everything, about being normal, about going to classes.” I hold his face in my free hand. “It’s not her fault. It’s not yours either.”

His gaze drops to my mouth, then zips back up. Then it drops again.

My heart expands in my throat.

There’s nothing I want more in this world than for Arlo Judge to press his lips to mine. I just don’t want it when he’s so damn vulnerable. So cut open. I don’t want him to regret it when his mind is clear.

I drop my hand from his cheek.

“Wash your important bits, and then come to bed.” I give him the wash rag and hitch my thumb toward my bedroom. “If you lock this door again, I’ll remove the hinges and store it under my bed. You hear me?”

“Yes.” He gives a shadow of a smile.

“Good.”

His gaze slides over my body as though just realizing I’m in my wrestling singlet. “What about washing you?”

I’m pretty sure I’d pop a boner the second he grazed the rag over my neck. Even if he means me washing myself. Another minute in this small space with him is too much. Especially with that look in his eyes. Like he’s not catatonic with shock anymore. I’ll embarrass him. Hell, a few strokes of my hand, and I’d embarrass myself.

Then he’ll never let me touch him again.

I can’t believe he’s letting me touch him now.

His shock and anguish have knocked down his walls. I hate that he’s hurting, but helping him warms me so deeply. It thaws a forgotten place in my heart.

And that scares the shit out of me.

His vulnerability exposes the rawest and most tender parts of me.

Now that I’ve felt him, I don’t know if I can go back to how things were without losing myself.

My entire body hums with energy I haven’t felt in so long, and I almost don’t recognize it. Maybe that’s not true. This buzzing is louder and deeper than ever before. It radiates through my bones, in the hollow space of my marrow. It churns my blood and shifts my organs. One in particular.

It’s inappropriate.

The only person from my home country who still cared about me enough to reach out is dead. And suddenly, I’m eyeing my best friend like I’ve never eyed anyone before.

He practically flees the shower stall, closing the glass between us.

Still, his wide-set shoulders, the V of his back, the ample swell of his ass, and the muscled definition of his legs are visible, especially in the tight fabric of his wrestling uniform.

He reaches for a towel, and his wet hair hangs out, creating a curtain between his face and me. A face that I seriously wanted to taste seconds ago. I lick my lips, and my erection grows, harder and more insistent.

Had he looked down, he’d have noticed. Hell, if he turns around, there’d be no hiding it. Not even behind the door.

I peel my underwear off, wring them out, then toss them over the glass. They land by Hota’s feet. His head jerks down. He studies the material and makes the connection. I can see it hit him. Like a palm between the eyes, he reels back a step, putting us closer.

Still, he doesn’t turn around.

The water hits me where I need it, awakening my skin to touch. Then I remember his hands on me.

A comfort I hadn’t allowed in too long warms my insides.

His skin was smooth. His hair was thick and strong, like his arms and legs.

My cock twitches. I wrap my hand around it and stroke myself root to tip. My knees go weak. The cuts on my legs sting, but I ignore the pain.

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