Page 33 of Handle with Care
I blame my cock, which is showing signs of life that it really, really doesn’t need to show right now. Like it could fuck off and die, anytime. And I blame Will’s migraine. And his parents for having him. And the museum for my internship. And also, cronyism for his internship, while I’m at it.
“Dylan?” he asks thickly, opening his eyes a crack.
“Y-yes?” I whisper back, mid-spiral. God help me.
He smiles and closes his eyes again. A glorious, sweet smile. Like he’s actually pleased to see me?Me.Oh my God, he saw me in his bed and didn’t freak the fuck out. Like, what?
Like this is normal.
Fuck. Me.
I bite my lip. Partly to keep from talking and ruining the moment. Partly because God knows what I’d say. All I know is that my mouth is a complete, one hundred percent liability.
He shifts then, his head half on the pillow, half on my shoulder, and quickly falls asleep again. And I have no idea how long I stay frozen, not wanting to move, not wanting to ruin this moment that I’m going to imprint into my memory for all time.
He thinks he’s still dreaming. Don’t get excited.
But he said my name.
Fuck.
I study the ceiling, black timbered wood beams overhead. I have no idea how many people have lain here and stared awkwardly up at the ceiling and tried to make sense of their unlikely situation.
His arm is still across my chest.
When I wake up, it’s my turn to find Will gazing at me. My face warms instantly. He gives me a sheepish smile. I’m terribly disappointed he’s not touching me in any way.
It’s for the best, I tell myself sternly. Touching only leads to trouble. Just like thinking. No touching equals no trouble. Problem solved.
And, God, Will’s rumpled and delicious. There’s color in his face too. His eyes are confirmed blue. The way the slant of sunlight falls from the window, I can also see the gold flecks in his eyes.
“Hi,” I whisper unsteadily.
“Thanks for yesterday,” Will murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. He’s probably still dreaming. Or maybe I am.
“Feeling better?” I can barely draw in a breath. Or barely speak. Shit.
He’ll think you’re groggy from waking up, not from losing your mind. Act cool.
I search Will’s eyes, looking for some manner of explanation, some cue on what to do. After all, we’re undeniably still together in the same small bed. My heart thuds.
“Dylan?” he whispers.
“Yeah?”
“This is weird.” Confirmation he’s actually awake.
“Yeah.”
We’re quiet, the tension between us unspoken and thick. I can’t stand it and shift slightly to look at him better. Then he’s pressing close, and God help me, we’re nose to nose.
His eyelashes are magnificent.
“Dylan?” he asks again, his voice unsteady.
It’s impossible to speak. To hell with it. So, impulsively, I pull Will close, half onto me, and brush his lips with mine. And fuck, his mouth burns, in the best way possible.
And then, the most unbelievable thing happens.
