Page 61 of The Idiot

“Don’t touch my phone,” he grumbles, making his way around the bed to sit on the mattress.

“I didn’t.”

Leveling me with a look, he says nothing, so I avert my gaze. I’m not starting this with him again. It’s a phone. Not a freaking million-dollar satellite.

Fingers brush against my hairline. I pinch my eyes closed, half-expecting him to go savage on me, but he’s gentle, peeling off the pastie with extreme care. His touch is soothing as he dabs some kind of liquid on my cut. It stings a little, but I’m determined not to show any more weakness since he’s already doctoring me up.

Something tickles my cheek. Cool breath alleviates the sting of the antiseptic. He’s… blowing on my cut. That’s very… thorough.

It’s quiet, save for the low volume of that awful shipwreck show in the background. My stomach still feels a little swirly, but in a different way than before. I can’t get the words of that catchy tune from his phone out of my head with him this close. It feels kind of intimate, like that song. Okay, maybe not quite as intimate. It was about fucking. Two dudes fucking. Now, all I can think about is two dudes fucking. And Murph.

I think I’ve always known he smells like woodsy soap, but now that we’re not in our natural habitat and everyone here reeks of suntan lotion, his scent is more prominent. It’s a good smell and makes me feel relaxed. Even when he sets and holdsa cloth full of ice over my eyebrow, the throbbing can’t hold a candle to his presence, his heat, and his Murph scent.

“What’s abussy?” I wonder aloud before I can think better of it.

Sighing, he lifts the ice. “I knew you touched my phone. You fucking liar.”

“I was bored!” I protest, yanking his wrist back down to return the compress, so he can’t see the guilt in my eyes.

It’s quiet for a moment, making me all fidgety. Why does he get like this whenever I ask about gay stuff? I don’t understand him. He was so cool through that whole bj thing this morning, and now he’s like keeper of the ‘bussy.’ All I asked for was a definition.

“So, you’re not going to tell me?” I press.

Lifting the compress, he sets it on the nightstand. Placing a hand on either side of my shoulders on the mattress, he looms over me, frowning.

“What’s going on with you? Are you serious about all of this? Are you planning to go out and practice your blowjob game or something? Is that why you came on this cruise?”

“What? No! I’d never even thought about it until this morning when I saw your dick.”

Pinching his eyes closed, he gives his head a shake before speaking. “You said at least now you won’t look like an ass when you try it out on some guy. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be exploring with strangers?”

Throwing my hands up, I can feel my face burning. “I didn’t plan on it! I’m not going to go ice-cream-cone some stranger. I was just going to explore with you when you offered, but then you got all pissed off at me afterward, so… that’s the end ofthat. I guess I’ll just watch porn and stay away from sandwich makers.”

“You want to explore withme?” he asks, sounding mystified.

Shrugging, I try to sound casual. “I mean, we know each other, and we do everything together already. I showed you how to rebuild a transmission—it’s not much different. I’d be more comfortable with you than some guy I’m not even attracted to showing mehistransmission.”

And you smell good. And I won’t feel like a pervert if you say it’s okay.

He just looks at me for a long time, his expression indiscernible. When he gets up off the bed and starts toward the door, I swear my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. Did my transmission metaphors ruin it?

The light turns out. As I adjust to the darkness, I hear the sound of shoes hitting the floor.

The sheets rustle and Murph’s warm body slides in next to mine. His arms wrap around me, tugging me close to him. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I was home until now. Man, he’s good at hugging.

My pulse is pinging all over the place, wondering what he has in mind. I hear the crunch of the ice, though, and the compress is back on my forehead. Through the glow of the worst show in history, I can see his profile staring at the TV.

What’s going on? I thought this meant we were going to explore.

“Ask me again in the morning,” he says softly, without tearing his gaze off Gilligan.

Is he putting it off to give me an out or himself? Or maybe he’s just still playing mother hen because he’s worried about my wound. He’s such a sap, that one. Sighing, I rest my headon his chest and close my eyes. I’ve got news for him. I better not have gotten a head injury from that knock to the noggin earlier. Because the first thing I’m going to do when I wake up, if my memory is intact, is let him know I haven't changed my mind. Inquiring minds need to know.

CHAPTER 20

Murphy

That cocoon of warmth you amass underneath your sheets in the night swaddles me as I fight the cognizance that’s creeping in. I can’t remember the last time I slept this well, and I don’t want it to end.

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