Page 116 of Dean

“Good idea,” Avery says and then pushes up on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips. I sink into it, feeling my heart swell with happiness. First a ride with Ben and my best friends, and then I get to come home to Avery.

Things have been good. I hope he hasn’t had any trouble with Nick…

I pull away and meet his hooded stare. “Did you have any trouble today?”

“Oh no. I locked the doors and windows and nothing happened.” He blinks slowly. “But I did get another threatening message. I finally decided to let the cops know. So I had Kit go with me to the station and I made a report…”

“Good. I have Ben’s friend Lex’s number, and I’ll message him now to get those cameras set up. I don’t want you to feel unsafe here.”

“I don’t feel unsafe. Not here. But I wouldn’t mind cameras. I want to catch him in the act if he decides to fuck with me again.”

“He won’t. We’ll get this sorted. What did the police say?”

“Not much. They just took my statement and copies of the texts.”

“Good. That’s all we can do for now. Unless you want me to contact Anthony.”

“Absolutely not,” Avery replies and then sighs. “Come see what I’ve painted. It’s for your room.”

I let him lead me forward and I see the canvas. Color spills over the entirety of it, with the shape of a man in blues and greens.

“Who is that?”

“You,” he says and then bites his bottom lip. “I like abstract art more than anything realistic. Maybe it’s because I’m not that good…”

“I love it. I can’t wait to hang it in my room, right above my bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad you like it. I think it’s…well, I really like it.”

“Me too.”

“I got fast food with Kit. Did you eat?” Avery asks as he moves back to work on his painting, looking so fucking pretty. I sit on the kitchen chair and just stare at him. I can’t believe he’s mine.

“What?” he asks when I don’t answer and he turns to catch me staring.

“Nothing. Yes, I ate at Ford’s house.” But I can’t meet his eyes. My gaze is locked on his legs.

“It’s something. What’s up?”

“Fine, it’s you. You’re fucking distracting.”

“Am I?” he asks, his fingers pulling my shirt up his legs, exposing his panties to me, and I feel my chest expand on an inhale.

“You fucking know you are.”

“Do I?” he bats his eyelashes at me, and I fist my hands.

“You know you are. Come here.”

He slides onto my lap, his legs straddling mine, his arms wrapping around my neck.

“Is this better?”

“Yeah, it fucking is.”

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