Page 67 of As the Years Pass
He shakes his head, and the elevator doors open. He pushes off the wall and walks into the hallway, nearly bumping into the opposite wall. I follow him, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other so I don’t trip and fall on my face.
We get into the room, and he goes to the small fridge, pulling out two bottles of water and hands me one.
“I don’t want that,” I say, shoving his hand away.
“Okay.”
“I want to know why you said that.”
He takes a long sip of his water, then asks, “Said what?”
“How was I looking at you?” I demand. “Tell me.”
“Forget it,” he says, putting down the bottle of water and going toward the bathroom.
I put my hand out before he can shut the door.
“Don’t walk away from me, Emmet. Tell me what you meant. How was I looking at you?”
He turns toward me, catching his balance with his hand on the door frame. “I have to piss, if you’ll excuse me.”
I cross my arms and plant my feet, not planning on moving an inch.
“Fine,” he says, unzipping his pants. “If you want to watch, who am I to stop you?”
I wish I could say I look away when he starts to pee, but I don’t. Like a creep, I take the moment to check him out.
Strong calves and thighs. Trim waste. Wide shoulders. Toned arms.
Fuck, he’s hot.
His back is to me, and I so badly wish I could see his dick from here.
Because I miss it.
“Wow, you’re still here,” he says with a laugh as he walks to the sink to wash his hands.
“Tell me what you meant,” I say, my voice not as strong as it was before.
“Adam, forget it,” he pleads, drying his hand on the towel.
He goes to walk by me. I grab his forearm.
“No,” I growl, moving to stand in front of him. I loosen my grip, sliding my hand up to his bicep. “No,” I repeat, this time softer, my gaze going to his arm.
He grits his teeth, looking past me.
“How was I looking at you?” I ask, brushing my thumb along the soft skin beneath the sleeve of his shirt as my gaze goes back to his face. “I want to know.”
His eyes fall closed, and he takes a deep breath. “Like you care.”
All the air leaves my lungs. “I do care.”
He gives a small shake of his head. “Not like that.” His voice breaks as he says the words, and it hits me.
Oh.
“Emmet, I—”
