Page 92 of Not Catching Love

“Sure would.”

Xander huffs. “Fine. Be mean. Whatever, I don’t care.”

“Uh-huh.” I grin as he pulls away from me and sits forward on the couch with his arms crossed. This is one of those moments where I want to wrap my arms around him from behind and smother him in kisses. I know it’s what he needs as well, which I think is why I want to do it so badly.

But kisses went in the no column, along with platonic sleepovers.

Cuddles and physical affection went in the yes.

I’m regretting absolutely all of it because clear rules mean that we can’t fudge things or “accidentally” be less than platonic.

Xander made sure of that, proving he’s more of a grown-up than I am.

“What if I leave, catch a cold, and then end up with pneumonia and die?” he asks, and I take back my grown-up assessment.

“When it’s hot as hell out, I think we can take our chances.”

“Gambling with my life. Wow. Thanks.”

I can’t help but laugh when he throws a grin back at me. My fingers card through Xander’s hair, and he immediately leans into my touch. Like a cat or a puppy. Definitely not like he’s being shitty with me over soliciting his impending death.

“You’re the one who made the rules,” I remind him.

“Actually, they’re your rules. I just wrote them down.”

My thumb skims the shell of his ear. “Are you not happy? Do we need to reassess?”

“I …” He sighs. “No, sorry. I’m fine. Mostly. Will be glad when we can be an actual couple and I can straddle your waist and suck face whenever I get the urge.”

My lips twitch. “How often do you get the urge?”

He runs an assessing glance over me. “At least four times a day.”

“All the great things I have to look forward to.”

“It would be nice to know you were struggling as well. Just a bit.”

Is he freaking kidding me? I ignore the still-playing TV show as I rest my forehead on his shoulder. Xander has to know this is fucking killing me too. The fact he’s here and actively advertising that he’s available and wants me makes everything so damn hard.

I remember what he feels like, and tastes like, and how eager he was for my cock. Those things are going to ruin me, but I keep looking forward. Keep focused on what we could have ahead versus what a shitshow things would be if we gave in now and I wound up in front of the nurses’ board.

Will waiting the full two years suddenly make our relationship okay? Fuck no. But we’ll have a much better chance of proving it’s real and not some type of Nightingale syndrome.

I want that reassurance as well.

From my end, I know that my feelings are real. I know that when I look at Xander, I see a man who makes me happier than I’ve ever been. That I’m attracted to him, yes, but I’m also growing really strong feelings for him. Feelings a lot like love.

On his end, I want to believe he feels the same way. I know that Xander doesn’t think I’ve done anything wrong when it comes to us, but I also don’t know how he feels about me, specifically. And if it came out that his feelings only existed because I was some kind of safety for him, that would be uncomfortable.

“You know for a fact that this isn’t easy for me,” I remind him. “No need to be a brat about it.”

An email notification dings on my phone, and I reach over to grab it. Expecting junk, I’m about to swipe it off the screen when I pause.

Nursing International.

My free hand leaves Xander’s hair and presses to my mouth. Either this is an email telling me the interest I put in when I got back from Ghana is a no-go, or … or I’m going to have a very hard choice ahead of me. I almost don’t want to open and read it.

Almost.

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