Page 85 of Breaking the Ice
Zach flopped back against the couch and the motion made his leg brush up against Gavin’s. Even through two pairs of jeans, Gavin felt it, and heat licked up his spine.
“You really gonna pretend you were actually watching?”
“Yes,” Gavin said primly.
Zach laughed again. “Not gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” He paused, his expression morphing into something a lot more serious. “Does it have anything to do with you pretending the holidays don’t exist?”
Shit. Gavin almost wished it did. And he did miss Noelle, he’d never stop missing her, never stop that little flare of anger that rose in him whenever he thought about how her life had been snatched away from her way too early. But no, that wasn’t why he was so distracted tonight and lying to Zach about it felt wrong on so many levels. He didn’t think he could do it, even though he probably should. It would give Zach the wrong idea if he told him the truth, but he couldn’t lie.
Not about this.
“No. No. Idon’tlike to celebrate the holidays anymore. It’s true that it’s a habit now. But no, it’s not why I’m distracted.”
Gavin tried to ignore the hope flaring in Zach’s eyes.
He’d sworn to himself when he’d had that horrible conversation that he’d only have to have it once. That he’d never give Zach any reason to think he might be changing his mind.
“You gonna tell me?”
If he said it out loud, then that would be breaking the promise he made to himself.
Gavin shook his head. “I . . .uh. . .it’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Zach said, gaze skimming over Gavin, melting his insides.
But it had to be.
Clearing his throat, Gavin reached for the remote and re-started the video.
Unlike before, this time he paid scrupulous attention. Made notes.
After the first game, he grabbed them another pair of beers and the pizza.
Zach didn’t ask again what he had on his mind, and Gavin told himself he was grateful for that, because he couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t tell the truth either.
They watched the second game, drank more beer, and made more notes.
At some point, Zach slung an arm across the back of the couch, and that should’ve made him tense, but it did the opposite. It was easier than it should be, to lean back, to imagine that if he moved even an inch to the left, Zach’s fingertips might brush his shoulder. But right now, it was still fine. Right up against the line, maybe, but they weren’t crossing it and that was all that mattered.
They started the third game, Zach murmuring as he got up to get them another pair of beers. When he came back, his arm went right back to where it had been.
Gavin settled even lower into the couch and told himself he was just imagining that he could feel the brush of Zach’s fingers. He didn’t keep them on his shoulder, just accidentally brushed them every once in awhile and that was fine too.
Accidents happened, right?
The room was warm, and then it felt like it got warmer, but Gavin didn’t even mind. He evenlikedit. And if he liked it, why shouldn’t he settle even farther into the cage of Zach’s arm? So what if their shoulders were touching? They were only shoulders. Shoulders were perfectly innocent body parts, even when they were Zach’s shoulders, which were big and broad and so fucking sexy.
Gavin finished his beer and couldn’t figure out why he’d been so stressed about this. Zach was warm and hard and comfy, the cotton of his hoody scratchy-soft against his cheek, and it would be so easy to just drift off . . .
And he did.
Or he must have, because what could’ve been a second or an hour later, he was jerking awake, horrified to discover that he’d literally been sleeping pressed up against Zach’s arm, a tiny patch of drool on his sweatshirt.
Zach was smiling down at him, affection and hope in his sleepy gaze. Looking like he wanted to wake up to Gavin like this for the rest of his life.
Fuck.
Gavin sprang backwards, blinking hard, trying to shake both the cobwebs and the thought—I could do it, too, forever,just like this—from his head.
