Page 57 of Forever We Fall

Arlo’s gaze meets mine then. His eyes are wet and wide with shock.

“I told him he was a day late, a dollar short, and that you were perfectly fine.” I suck on my teeth to keep from saying anything ugly. It’s the last thing he needs.

“Thank you.”

I nod and then bow. “Aishitemasu.”

Then I leave him in the hallway before I throw myself at his feet and beg him to love me back.

That night, when I crouch to place my daily Japanese word under his door, I see a scrap of paper on my side.

I pluck it up and read it as though it’s my only source of oxygen.

Libro

Book

I hug it to my chest and sleep with it under my fucking pillow. I fold it into a neat square, tuck it into my pocket, and carry it with me the next day until I replace it with the next word, then the next one, and the next one.

I put the final touches on the code and message my client that he’ll have a great night. It’s the first commission I’ve taken since Arlo came back. A big part of me didn’t want to do it. Porn or getting myself off has been the furthest thing from my mind lately.

As it turns out, though, nothing is free in this world. I need money. My dad stopped feeding my account the small allowance they’d—I cut myself off with a grimace. Then I mentally correct myself for the hundredth time. He’d given me since I turned twelve.

That was four weeks ago, and also when my world decided to shake under my feet.

Money had been the least of my worries. Now, I needed new shoes. My feet were growing at an alarming rate. Which, up until a few weeks ago, was great news. Bigger feet. Bigger dick.

Currently, I don’t give two shits about my dick size. And that’s a first.

My bladder reminds me I’ve had to pee for the last twenty minutes. I strain my ears for any sign that Arlo is still inthe bathroom. Nothing comes. The water shut off a solid ten minutes ago.

He never procrastinates in our shared space. In and out. Out of sight is his MO. I grimace again. It’s a new feature. One I don’t particularly like. One that seems hell-bent on hanging around.

I shove from my desk, cross to the door, and the handle gives under my fingers.

When the hinges move seamlessly, I’m suddenly staring at the expanse of Arlo’s back. He faces the towel rack as though he just got there.

He’s covered. His bottom half, anyway. A towel wraps snugly around his hips.

Fuck me. Please.

The swell of his ass is utter perfection in the white terry cloth. His hair gleams dark, almost black from the shower. Water drips from its ends, beading between the swell of his traps and along his spine.

Even his legs are thicker and ripped, and dripping with water.

I’m suddenly thirsty and unable to swallow.

I must have made a noise. Arlo whips around as though he’s been caught shoplifting. I hope I didn’t moan, but I can’t be trusted around him not to.

“Sorry,” I manage to strain out between my dry throat and Sahara-like mouth.

My gaze soaks him in. The breadth of his shoulders. The swell of his pecs. The small mountains of his shoulders sweep into the rolling hills of his biceps and heavy forearms. The delineated segments of his abdomen and the etched lines of his obliques point the way to the party, which tents the front of his towel.

It takes every ounce of control I never knew I possessed to pull my gaze away from his body. I do. Arlo is more to me thana fucking cream-worthy dessert, and this is my chance to show him as much.

His cheeks are pink, and his lips are parted. I force my eyes to keep moving. To not think about his perfectly kissable mouth or the sounds I could pull from it.

I meet his wide gaze.

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