Page 40 of The Idiot

Tracing the lines at the top of Jesse’s knee socks with my fingertips was supposed to be a methodical mindfulness technique to keep my breathing under control. I needed somewhere to put my damn hand when he used me as furniture—after Philip took up residence in the chair next to us—but it’s not as mundane an action as I hoped. The sensitive flesh on the underside of my arm is brushing against the soft hairs on his legs. It’s warmth against warmth. And I can…

Fuck. I feel like such a perv, but… I can smell him.

That little gap in the openings of his short legs is enough to vent the heat from his groin in my direction. I smellman, and that man is Jesse. I feel like a damn vampire right now. I just need to remember that there’s someone with a wooden stake sitting next to us and that touching Jesse any further would be like walking into the sunlight.

One unbearably long hour later, the Avengers have finally saved the world, or possibly the universe. I couldn’t tell you. I feign a yawn and stretch.

“Well, I’m beat. Think I’ll head up to my room,” I announce loud enough for Philip to hear, so he knows he can cease his clinger duties for the evening.

Rising, his demeanor instantly turns sunshiny. “Perfect! I’ll walk up with you and keep you company.”

Fuck. Fucking fuck.

Can’t someone adopt him? Why me?

I truly hate myself for flashing a terrified look at Jesse. He shouldn’t have to fake gay for me. That seems to go beyond the duties of friendship, but my pulse quells when he turns a brilliant smile on Philip.

“That’s so sweet,” he coos, standing and dusting popcorn flecks off his shirt. “You can tell me more about yourself on our way.”

Philip does not like that, not at all. How freaking long are we going to have to keep up this charade?

Jesse’s hand appears in my line of vision. I understand why he’s offering, God bless him, but… it’sJesse’shand. Would he be offering if he knew how many times I’ve imagined us walking through our orchards together, fingers intertwined?

Making a come-hither motion, he chirps, “Come on, sleepyhead. Looks like it’s time to tuck you in.”

Kill me. Kill me now.

When he pulls me up, my heart skips a beat. I’m holding a hand I’ve only looked at my entire life. One I want to hold for the rest of my life because, of course, it just had to feel like it was meant to be in mine.

Through my mental pep talk to act cool, I catch bits of the conversation as we walk the two levels up to my cabin. Philip’s tone is less than cordial, while Jesse’s inquiries sound like hisgenuine, innocent self. He doesn’t deserve to be talked to like that, nor to put up with this treatment because of me.

I realize I’m giving his hand an apologetic squeeze for Philip’s last barb when I feel his thumb brush across my knuckles. It’s making it difficult to remember this is just a ruse and not a dream come true.

Get a grip, Murph.

When we reach my door, there’s an awkward moment of silence as Philip scrutinizes us like he’s waiting to see our next move. I am so done with this. If he follows us tomorrow, I’m going to have a heart-to-heart with him. I can’t keep letting Jesse touch me without fucking up our friendship or my grasp on reality.

Sliding my key in the door, I nod to them. “Have a nice night.”

I step inside, sighing in relief, but then a warm body bumps into my back. I know that warm body. Spinning around, I watch the door shut behind Jesse.

“What are you doing?”

“If he thinks you’re alone in here, he’ll be all up in your back pocket again tomorrow,” he whispers.

He noticed that? And why does he sound jealous?

Sure he is. My straight friend is jealous of another guy copping a feel of my ass.

“Look. I’m sorry about today. Thanks for playing along, but you don’t have to—”

“Holy shit!” He smacks me in the chest, shoving past me. “Dude! You have a balcony?”

“Uh, yeah. Not much of one, though.”

“Anda couch! What?” he shrieks. “Your room is like twice the size of mine! All I have is a bed that I can barely walk around and a tiny window.”

“I take it you just booked a stateroom?” I ask, folding my arms and quirking a brow. Why am I not surprised that Jesse picked the lowest rate?

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