Page 38 of State of Mind

Luca’s cheeks went dusky with a very faint blush, his eyes darting back and forth like pieces of him couldn’t sit still, even though his grip on Wilder was painfully tight. “That’s a lot.”

“I know,” Wilder said. He bowed his head. “I know, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. Just friendship with you is enough, if that’s what you need.”

Luca swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat. “I don’t want your friendship.” Wilder winced, reeling back like he’d been slapped, but before he could stand up, Luca detached his hand from where they were tangled together and bracketed Wilder’s head, thumbs near his temple in a hold so gentle, he could barely feel it. “I mean, I do, but I also want so much more, and I don’t know how to deserve you.” His voice dropped again so low, Wilder had to strain to hear it, to read what he missed on his lips. “All I have to give is myself, and I’m not sure that’ll ever be enough.”

Wilder felt those words rip through him—so much to unpack, so much he wanted to undo. He wanted Luca to feel his own worth, but at the same time, some people needed to be loved anyway—even when they couldn’t love themselves.

And he could do that.

Given time, he could do that.

Closing his hands around Luca’s wrists, he held him tight. “I can think of a thousand ways you’ve already come to matter to me, just by being you.”

Luca’s eyes closed, and his breath shook. “I really want to kiss you.”

And God—God—Wilder wanted that too. He needed it. The first kiss he’d share in so many years, he’d forgotten what it was like to want to feel someone’s lips on his. He didn’t know how to open himself up to it anymore, but things felt easier, suddenly, when Luca took the lead. His hands moved to cup Wilder’s cheeks, and his left thumb brushed over his lower lip.

“Slow,” he said, and Wilder knew he meant more than the kiss—and that was everything.

“Slow.” The word fell from his lips before Luca closed the distance between them, and their mouths brushed. It was more breath than anything, the press so gentle he wasn’t sure it happened until Luca surged forward again. And then again—harder, with a swipe of tongue that made Wilder gasp. He opened to it then, pushing his body into Luca’s, letting him invade his mouth in careful sweeps, like he was trying to taste the essence of him.

He was so gone. He groaned and clawed his nails into Luca’s wrists where he held on for dear life, and his heart thudded so hard it drowned out what little he could hear.

He thought for a moment he could lose himself entirely in this kiss, and then Luca’s entire body stiffened, and he let out a pained, agonizing groan and wrenched back. “I can’t,” he gasped.

For a moment, Wilder panicked, like maybe the whole thing was too much, or maybe he went too far. Then he saw Luca cupping his hand over his crotch, saw his face drawn and pale, and he realized why.

“Oh God, your balls.”

There was a man standing to the left that burst into laughter, and Luca groaned louder as he buried his face in Wilder’s neck. “If public humiliation is the price I have to pay for kissing you—I’ll gladly pony up. But it sucks.”

Wilder couldn’t stop his laughter. It was rich and full, and it filled his entire body. It was fueled by so much more than just humor. It was filled with wonder, and his own strength, and the elation that he had taken this step and it meant something to him that no one could ever take it away.

He composed himself a second later, then extended a hand to Luca, who had managed to breathe again, and together they headed for the parking lot. They didn’t say much after that, the ride in the car too dark, but Luca held his hand the entire way, and Wilder stared ahead at the sea of stars low on the horizon as they made their way back to Savannah. And, for the first time in forever, he understood what it meant to feel content.

CHAPTER 13

Luca shifted from foot to foot, leaning in to press the buzzer with his elbow, his arms occupied with three Tupperware containers of food and sauce. He had Raphael’s crumpled address in his pocket and a knot in his gut, because he had never in his life just showed up to someone’s house without making concrete plans—after convincing himself they wouldn’t hate it if he was there.

After a bit, Luca started to panic like maybe Raphael wasn’t home, or maybe he’d seen through the peephole and had decided not to answer. He took a breath and reminded himself that Raphael might need a few minutes to get to the door, and that was proved true when it opened and Raphael was there, leaning heavily on a cane.

His brows lifted, his mouth parting in faint surprise, then he smiled. “Is that my dinner?”

“Yes.” Luca dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, then shrugged. “You said to come by whenever, so I thought…if you’re not busy…”

“I am never busy when someone wants to cook for me.” He stepped back, letting the door swing wide, and Luca walked in. The place was small, with polished wood floors and wide doorways. It was a great room with the kitchen against the far wall and nothing more than a TV stand and a sofa.

He wasn’t sure if it was out of necessity or if Raphael was a minimalist, but either way, it fit him. The place had a sort of rich, woodsy smell from a little oil diffuser on the kitchen counter, and the air was cooler than Luca normally kept his place.

“Can I just,” he gestured with his elbow to the kitchen counter, and Raphael nodded, walking behind him at a slower pace. “Most of this is pre-cooked. My mom’s trick with her sauce is to cook it all up, and then let it sit in the fridge for like four or five days so the flavors really marry together. Then you have to eat it right away, but it never lasted in our house.” He was well aware of the high tension in his tone and the fact that he was rambling.

And from the way Raphael laughed behind him, he was pretty sure the other man noticed too. “I have wine somewhere if you want some.”

“I still need a pill at night, so I’m not supposed to be drinking,” Luca said, ducking his head low toward the counter as he picked at the seal on the container.

Raphael let out a small sigh, then shuffled around the counter, using it for balance with one hand as he reached for Luca’s arm. “Water is great. You didn’t need to do all this.”

“I promised. And you brought me food and drugs,” Luca reminded him. Raphael’s hand was warm as it encircled his wrist, and it was grounding. He’d never had a friend like this—who liked to touch, who liked to be in his space without wanting something physical. It made him nervous, but it made him hungry for it. He used to envy people who had those kinds of friendships, the easy casual affection that seemed so deep and so genuine.

---