Page 19 of Worlds Collide

CJ gets him settled into bed while I go to the bathroom in search of a trash can. Carter’s snoring by the time I’m back beside the mattress, and I place it as close as possible to where his head is resting, but on the floor. Then I lean over and pull on his shoulder so he’ll lie on his side.

I turn and see CJ biting down on his lower lip while he looks at the couch.

“That’s my bed for the night,” I say lamely.

“You, uh.” He clears his throat and turns to look at me. It takes him a long moment, but he manages to look at my eyes and then he finishes his sentence. “You want to sleep in my room? I snore a lot less than Carter.”

As if he was waiting for a cue, the sound of a hungry lion leaves Carter’s nose a second later and CJ winces—adorably. No, Jesus. He’s not adorable in the least.

I look at CJ for an uncomfortable amount of time, waiting to see if he’ll look away, if he’ll retract his offer.

But he doesn’t.

His gaze is steady, and dare I say hopeful, on mine.

“Okay,” I agree simply, stupidly, unexpectedly.

What the fuck am I doing?

I don’t have an answer while my body just moves on autopilot. I grab my duffel and get my toiletries then follow him out of the room and down the endless hallway. I’m confused as to why CJ would offer me this when he has a room for himself—something I heard him tease Carter about during the wedding—but I won’t complain about not having to sleep next to someone who reeks of booze.

CJ’s room is exactly like the one we just came from, so I place my bag on the almost identical couch, then spin around as if fascinated by the decor or some shit, when CJ just goes right in.

I dodge him at the last millisecond.

Fucking Christ,that’s tequila.

It takes my brain a few seconds to understand what the hell CJ was trying to do.

He was... Damn, was he going to kiss me?

The bright red blotches growing on his perfect cheeks tell me he was. And he’s embarrassed. And he’s... not straight?

I’m too tired to try to figure out so many fucking things in one night.

But he looks so damn vulnerable—so sad, embarrassed, and mortified. I can’t not explain why I dodged him. I have to tell him.

“Your breath smells like tequila,” I blurt out before he can look even more like a lost puppy.

“What?”

Good, my words got him out of his head.

“Your breath smells like tequila and I’m sober.”

SIX

CJ

“But uh...”Wolf says, looking as lost as I felt a few seconds ago. “You’re queer then? Since when?” he asks, looking awkward and adorable.

“Since always,” I tell him simply. Then I dissolve and plop my ass down on the couch like my body lost all its strength.

A couple of revelations—giving and receiving, weirdly—will do that to a guy I suppose.

Did Wolf tell me about my breath and about being sober so I wouldn’t ever go near him again? Or did he tell me something so personal soIwouldn’t take his reaction personally?

Is that his way of saying he would kiss me if I didn’t smell like a bar?

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