Page 52 of Seeing Grayscale

I amhappyanother man’s heart is broken.

The relief shooting through my body and tickling my fingertips shouldterrifyme.

Only it doesn’t.

Tumultuous energy clings to every inch while I fight a very dangerous line of thinking. Somewhere along the way, some fuckinghowI’ve grown attached to Hunter. I didn’t think it was that serious, but if these wayward emotions rushing to the surface of my psyche are any indicator of how fucking screwed I am, then I’m well and trulyscrewed.

Hunter ending things with Brent means—hopefully—that there is no one else.

If there is no one else, it only leaves space for me.

Forthis.

Fuck—forus.

“Are you…disappointed?” I ask, cocking my head.

With his full attention on me, eyes never leaving mine, his instant response sends chills down my spine. “No.”

The soft clicking from Hunter’s keyboard isn’t keeping me awake, nor is the lamp light illuminating his side of the room. I’m on my back, hands clasped over my stomach with the heavy blanket up to my chin. By all means, I should be unconscious. This mattress is almost as soft as the couch in Hunter’s summer cabin. Usually, my environment makes it tough to find some shut-eye. I’m on high alert constantly.

I still am, in a way.

There’s this hyper-awareness of his soft breaths and the occasional hum. A few times, he grunted in frustration before typing faster. Since he came prepared this time, he also showered after our little talk, and I could smell his potent body wash all the way over in this bed.

My heart won’t stop sucker punching my rib cage, my body is wound tight, and I’m itching to turn my head and watch him.

I’ve tried to pretend I don’t notice just how attractive Hunter is this whole time. After all,I’mthe one who drew the thick, obvious line in the sand.

Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know I’m probably not well enough to acknowledge something as ridiculous as a physical attraction. Not that I could ever forget what was done to me, but I’m compartmentalizing. Eventually, I’ll deal with whatever fuckery that is bound to surface.

Tonight, though, I want to watch him.

I flip onto my side as casually and quietly as I can. Pretending to fluff my pillow, I get resituated and peek over. Lost in his laptop screen, Hunter doesn’t seem to notice while I skim over him. I trace the sharp lines of his jaw and let my eyes roam over his profile. He trimmed his beard in the shower, leaving just enough hair to cover his skin and accentuate his mouth. I have seen fuller, more pronounced, and plump lips, but I’m fascinated by the sight nonetheless.

They're…nice.

That straight nose, defined brow, and thick, silky hair isn't too bad either.

I swallow hard.

Wearing similar pajamas to the night we spent together, the loose t-shirt is dark blue this time, hiding his body. His long legs are also obscured by the red and black plaid sleep pants, but his toes wiggle when he types. I’m not a feet dude, but his are cute.

He scratches at his beard with a heavy sigh, then spots me creeping on him. “Did I wake you up?”

“I never really fell asleep,” I admit, those stomach flutters intensifying when he shuts the laptop.

“I was going to step out for a smoke. Do you want one?”

“Sure.”

He offers me a small smile and then gets up. I follow suit, resisting the urge to inhale when we maneuver around each other in the small space between our beds. I laugh when we both move simultaneously, bumping our arms. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“It’s okay,” he gestures for me to move first, so I do, “tight squeeze.”

“Yeah.”

We head out onto the balcony because this hotel hasbalconies, and he offers me a cigarette first. I take it, pop it between my lips, and just like every other time, he sparks his lighter, cupping the tip with one hand while I puff the ember to life.

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