Page 27 of Dirty Love

He doesn’t say anything right away, but I don’t miss the way he dips his head to hide his own grin. “No one.”

* * *

As soon as I’ve showered and washed the dirt from my body, I dress in a gray pair of sweats and grab the box of razor blades I keep stashed on the top shelf of my closet, too high for Nicky to reach without help.

It’s not that I don’t trust him, but we talked about it the last time I caught him cutting himself and he agreed that it was better this way, not just for him but for both of us.

I take a clean one out and put the box back, then I walk through to his bedroom and open the door, thankful he quit locking me out after I dragged him back to my room last weekend. He’s been sleeping in my bed every night since, but I know he’s still a little put out over what happened between us. I can tell by the way he’s acting, waiting for me in here instead of in my room, not coming to me as soon as the fight ended tonight, not asking me to shave him like he usually does when he wants it done…

He’s distancing himself from me on purpose, almost like he’s afraid I’ll reject him again if he comes too close. And even though I’m too chicken to call him out on it, it’s killing me on the inside.

I miss him even though he’s right fucking there.

Less than ten feet away from me, he’s sitting back against his headboard with his knees up and his headphones in his ears, once again touching his face while he watches something on his phone. I’m assuming he’s not getting himself off under his sweats considering his hands are nowhere near his dick, but I don’t miss the way he jumps and hides his phone in his lap when he catches me standing here.

“What are you doing?” I ask, cocking my head at him while I twist the razor in my hand.

“Nothing,” he lies, smiling shyly when he realizes what I’m holding. “What are you doing?”

I smile back and crook my finger at him, hiding a laugh when he jumps up like his ass is on fire, hot on my heels like he’s worried I’ll change my mind if he’s not fast enough. He hops up to sit on the bathroom counter and I fill the sink with warm water, tipping my chin at the hoodie he’s wearing.

“Take that off.”

He wiggles his arm out and pulls it up, but then his eyes widen and he stops, dipping his head to hide the heat creeping over his face. I frown and open the cabinet beneath us, doing a quick double take at him when my head goes someplace I wish it wouldn’t.

“Take it off,” I repeat slowly, straightening up to stand between his legs, placing my hands on the counter either side of him to ensure he can’t get away.

He looks embarrassed, but not ashamed or afraid like he’d be if he was hiding fresh cuts from me.

Knowing I won’t drop this, he takes the hoodie off and I scan the pale flesh on his arms, instantly relieved when I realize it’s not what I thought it was. Still blushing like a nun, he averts his eyes and wraps his arms around himself to hide the t-shirt he’s wearing—my t-shirt—lightly kicking my thigh when he catches the amusement on my face.

“Shut up,” he mutters, making me laugh for real this time. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you’re thinking a lot of things,” he throws back, frowning when I fist the hem of the shirt to pull it up over his abs. “Hey—”

“I’m not taking it,” I assure him, clutching the fabric at his ribs. “You can have it back after, okay?”

He nods and allows me to pull it the rest of the way off, chewing his lip while I lean over to grab the shaving cream. I stand between his legs again and squeeze a bit into my palm, gently moving his chin up to spread it out over his face. He doesn’t have many hairs besides the few at the corners of his mouth, maybe a couple tiny ones on his cheeks and his chin, but he still insists on me shaving his whole face the way I do mine.

I dip the razor into the water and hold the back of his head, keeping him as still as possible as I drag the blade over his skin, carefully and slowly to ensure I don’t cut him. He remains quiet and watches my face the entire time, his eyes moving between mine and my mouth, almost like he can’t decide where to look.

“Why didn’t you ask me to do this for you?” I ask, tipping his head back to shave the edge of his jaw.

He shrugs a little bit and I grit my teeth, warning him with my eyes not to fucking move like that again. He rolls his lips and I fist his hair, stretching his neck a little more to drag the blade over his throat. As soon as I’m finished, I toss the razor into the sink and wipe the excess cream with a warm washcloth, gently dabbing a towel over his face to dry him off. A few drops of water slide over his chest and I dry those, too, enjoying the way his mouth parts with my hands on his body.

“What were you watching before?”

He blinks at that, but then he leans back and raises a brow, easily reading my mind the way he’s been able to since we were kids. “Why do you keep asking me questions you already know the answers to?”

Because I’m an idiot.

“Nicky.”

He cocks his head and stares at me for a long second, highly amused by whatever he sees there. “Porn.”

“What kind of porn?” I force out, working my jaw when he raises that cocky little eyebrow again. “Tell me.”

---