Page 35 of Not Catching Love

The music playing comes to a gentle end, and Xander steps down off my feet. It takes me a second to release him.

Then the clapping starts, and it’s like all my good sense switches back on at once. I glance around to find everyone has stopped dancing to watch us, and heat rushes to my cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, back to it,” I say, trying to brush off how I’d forgotten any of them were even here.

Xander cuts me a sly look. “No booty tap?”

I harden my jaw and stalk off without a word.

Chapter Thirteen

Xander

I love dancing. It’s the single greatest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. Fuck art, fuck dying, fuck everything except spending the rest of my life plastered against Derek.

I drift inside after Seven has picked me up and head straight to my room. I don’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone or do anything except keep reliving that moment over.

I’ll wrap it around me and live there forever.

Derek’s eyes are my weakness. Every time I look into them, I’m convinced he sees me. They’re sweet and welcoming and fill me with so many messy nerves it’s like I’m going to vibrate out of my skin.

Why can’t he want me the same way I want him? Why can’t he feel this same body-prickling need? All I could think about with his hands on me was him ducking his head to bring our lips together, and even imagining that has such violentbutterflies taking off in my stomach that I worry I’m going to throw up.

But it eases, and when I step inside my room, I lock my door.

This isn’t something I do often. Despite what I tell my roommates, I’m not constantly horny. Sometimes listening to them go at it will be enough to get me there, especially if I pick up murmured, loving words, but my dick is always triggered by something. Someone. Spontaneous horniness is rare.

I’m hard now though.

Dancing up close, getting the hint of a slightly citrusy cologne, watching those sweet eyes watch me, it short-circuited my brain. I barely made it through the end of the dance hour.

And now … now Derek and I have a date with my fantasies.

I pushed my luck today, and he one hundred percent let me get away with it. He should never have let that happen because I know me. With every little inch he gives me, I’ll go after two more. I’m greedy when it comes to what I want, and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Derek.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone at all.

I strip my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor, then my shorts and underwear go next. Even with how turned on I am, there’s an edge of sadness to it too. I’m desperately lonely, and I wonder if, one day, I’ll ever get to do this with another person. If I’ll ever feel hands on me and a cock against my cock and not feel anxious or used or like it’s all going to slip away.

Maybe one day, I’ll feel wanted.

Until then, I can only imagine what it will be like.

My gaze snags on my reflection in the huge mirror I have set against the opposite wall. I see myself too much, and none of it is worth looking at. I’m too thin. Too short. My dick is nothing special.

Better stick to those memories, Z. There’s no way a man like Derek could ever want all this.

My eyes squeeze tight, and I fight against the voice. The voice that sounds too much like Seven’s, saying words he’d never say. I rock on my feet, that dark impulse trying to get me to stay put while I fight against it. My dick is flagging, but I want this. I want so badly to remember Derek and how he felt and have this split moment in time where I enjoy myself and nothing else.

I take a weak step forward, then another. Just focus on moving until my knees hit my bed and I collapse down onto it.

“And you’re a much better painter than dancer.”

“Teach me.”

That moment swims back to life in my memories. The way I’d wanted to know what Derek’s stubble would feel like. How safe it was in his hands. How I’d counted the colors in his eyes and knew I’d never be able to paint them all.

I slide my hand down and wrap it loosely around my dick. It’s thickening again, and relief washes over me. I didn’t lose it.

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