Page 31 of Until We Kiss

I stare at the ceiling, listening to him breathe. For the first time in six months, I see the pattern. See all the things that brought me here. How everything folded together. This trip. The one bed. The whale. Carter taking care of me after my surgeries. Meeting him freshman year.

Even my knee. If Brody Hazlemacher hadn’t slammed into me, I’d be prepping for the draft right now. I wouldn’t be here, in this bed, with Carter. The thought of that hurts.

I’ve never believed the universe had any sort of plan—definitely not a dick sucking plan—but now something locks into place. Like it fits perfectly.Ifeel kinda perfect.

At least in Carter’s eyes.

Carter even sleeps big. Stealing way more than his half of the bed, arms and legs everywhere, not quite snoring, but almost.

And he’s a furnace. I wake clammy-warm, my hair tangled as I swipe a hand through it. I slide my bare ass towards the side of the bed and force myself to sit.

I ache in places I’ve never ached before. My mouth, my dick, my balls, my armpits.

My knee is stiff too. Carter was probably right about the shower, even though I'd never admit it. I grit my molars as Istraighten my leg. It hurts, but it’s livable. The Cluan humidity and warmth help a lot more than the snow-packed Colorado winter.

I get up and take a piss, then put my contacts in before snagging our discarded shorts from the shower floor, wringing them out, and hanging them on the towel rack, and shit… I stare at those bananas.

What now?

I’d spent all this time worrying about Carter’s reaction. Thinking he was going to do the same thing as Jason.

And I was flat-out wrong.

I step into the room and drink in Carter.

His leg’s thrown over my empty place now, his chest rising and falling, dick nestled quietly on his thigh. The blond hair looks soft on his shins, the faint stubble across his square jaw rougher, a cowlick sticking out on the right side of his head. He always smooths it down absentmindedly.

Do I owe him an apology for assuming he’d turn away from me with the truth? I dunno.

I head towards my suitcase and pull out a clean pair of shorts, tug them on, and root around for a tank top. The questions resume in my head.What now?

Should I play it off like no big deal?

That’s probably the safest route.

But I don’t want to.

I slide my feet into Carter’s flip-flops and then reach for the room keycard and my wallet. One last look at him—solidly sleeping—before I slip out.

Downstairs there’s a food truck, and I wait in line, rubbing at my neck.

What happens when he looks at me in the daylight? Will it still be in that same way?

Will he regret the things he said? The words he called me.

Perfect. Good. Sexy.Pretty. My name falling off his lips as he moaned into his release.

I need to stop thinking about it.

And be prepared for whatever happens. Maybe he’ll go back to laughing and slapping me on the shoulder and calling me “bro.”

Maybe it’ll be easy for him.

I swallow whatever emotion is thick in my throat as I order a coffee with almond milk for myself and a Chai Tea for Carter. Then a carrot muffin because that sounds fucking fantastic for no reason at all, and I debate the options for him, finally settling on a churro.

I stop by the villa store, balancing the food and drinks and thinking I should have done that first. But, whatever—Carter had mentioned maybe doing a few other things last night. Things that would require supplies—like lube. And condoms. I remember both being at the villa shop before, but when I get there, I discover spring break apparently means a raid on lube and condoms.

Jesus, leave some for everyone, assholes.

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