Page 25 of Room 1003

“Don’t think that I don’t want…” I sighed, trying to put my thoughts into words. “Give it time.”

Shane seemed relieved when it was clear how much I wanted him. “How much time?” he asked, his mouth pulling up in a smirk. “I’m not known for my patience.”

I laughed, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. Now I had this image of him in my bed, naked and needy, begging me to take him. Gods, I was going to hell. I cleared my throat. “I just want you to be certain. Because once we start something, I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop.” It was dangerous to admit even that much.

Our gazes locked, and his pupils dilated, swallowing the bronze irises in black. His throat bobbed with a gulp, and his tongue swiped across his lip once, slowly. Oh, how I wished I could see what images he was painting in his mind in this moment.

“How do you know I’m not ready now?” he asked, tilting his chin up defiantly, and it almost sounded like a challenge.

“Are you?” Regardless of the future I wanted, I knew I would take anything he was willing to give, even if it was only a single hour, because I was a greedy alpha when it came to him.

There was a good chance he would jump me right here and now, caution be damned, and part of me desperately hoped he did. I was holding on by a thread. But this wasn’t a fling to me, it wasn’t some temporary one-night fuck, so I appreciated that he stopped himself; that meant he wanted this to be more than just sex too.

He bit down on his lower lip, his brow scrunched in contemplation. Then, moving slowly, as if he were scared to spook a wild animal, he leaned up onto his tippytoes and brushed the softest of kisses against my lips. It was too gentle, too innocent, not even a swipe of tongues. It hardly counted at all, more like a ghost of a kiss. With the exception of our lips, our bodies did not touch. My fingers itched to grab him, to pull him close, and I clenched my fists, stopping myself from reaching for him.

“Soon,” he promised, his whisper fanning over my face.

But would it be soon enough?

I was terrified. With the job soon coming to a close, I could feel a final farewell looming just out of sight, though it was obvious neither of us was ready for it to end. The problem was that neither of us knew how to make itbegin, either.

15

Shane

Thehousewasalmostdone. The walls were once again plastered, and there were no holes in the ceiling. The shower ran without issue, and the lights all turned on and off, with no risk of starting a fire. Ben had done everything he could to get us to this point, and now it was my turn. I could handle the painting like a pro—heck, even Kit was helping with that part of it, enthusiastically running a paint roller over the bottom third of the walls—but now it was time to tackle the part I dreaded most. The furniture.

I had the pieces of Kit’s new bedframe spread out across the floor, organized by size, but no matter how I stared at the instructions in my hand, I couldn’t understand how they would come together to make a bed.

“I don’t think this is even in English,” I grumbled, feeling my blood pressure rising. I flipped the booklet upside down to see if it made more sense that way. It didn’t. “What, am I supposed to just figure it out based on these vague pictures of what each step should look like? How does that help?” There was an obnoxious little cartoon character in the top corner, and I glared at his stupid cartoon grin. Why was he so happy? Probably because he didn’t have to figure out these fucking instructions.

Putting furniture together had always been Embry’s job. I would run to the store, and by the time I got back, he’d have it all done. He certainly made it seem easier than it was. This was by far worse than crumbling plaster, and yes, even than an insect infestation.

My jaw ached from gritting my teeth. These were the worst moments, when I felt an Embry-shaped hole in my life, and I had no idea how to fill it. The edges of the hole weren’t as jagged as they used to be, the wound less tender, but I knew it would always be there. He was such a huge part of my life. We’d known each other since high school, and he was my first love. Heck, he was my firsteverything. First kiss, first lover. I never imagined there would be asecondperson to experience firsts with.

With eyes burning, I blew out a breath. I could do this. Crawling across the floor, I grabbed one plank that was the corner bedpost—maybe—and one that would run across the footboard—probably—and then I held them together like they were in the picture, and… nothing happened. I wanted to think I was a relatively smart guy, and I knew there needed to be some kind of bracket or screw that would connect these pieces, but the picture made zero sense. There were arrows and dotted lines that represented some kind of action.

Just as I was growling out my frustration, prepared to launch the boards across the room, Kit hopped through the door, humming a tune he’d learned in school. “Hey, Papa! What are you doing?”

I huffed out a breath through my nose, forcing myself to loosen my white-knuckled grip on the wood. “I’m building you a bed, buddy.” The lightness in my voice sounded stilted.

“Really? It doesn’t look like a bed,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Can I help?” he asked, totally oblivious to the tension in my body. He flopped down on the floor, crisscross applesauce, and started grabbing the pieces and moving them from their careful placement.

“Um, I don’t know…” I wanted to be the kind of parent who said yes, but seeing him scatter the wood made a panicky feeling descend over my brain. Just when I thought I was making some progress… Oh, who was I kidding?! There was no progress! A sharp pain began to pulse behind my right eye, the precursor of a migraine, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and clenched my eyes shut, trying to regain some measure of control.

Kit’s little fingers felt cool and slightly sticky on my hand where he patted me. “Are you okay, Papa?” he whispered. “Should I get Gramps?”

“No, it’s okay, bud. I’m fine. I just need to get a drink of water. I’ll be right back.” As I unfolded my legs and got up off the floor, I almost told him not to touch anything, but what was the point? I could be missing half the pieces and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

In the bathroom, I splashed some water over my face and tried to get some perspective. It was just a bed, and I was 99% sure it was inanimate and wasn’t out to get me. I didn’t need to launch into some personal vendetta against it (although there was a good chance wars had been started over flat-pack furniture). I popped a couple painkillers against the throbbing headache, then rolled my shoulders and braced myself to get back to it, this time with a more relaxedc’est-la-viementality. I’d had enough breakdowns over the past few years. I didn’t need Kit to see me cry over something so mundane.

Except, as I was walking back down the hall to Kit’s room, I heard voices. Ben’s deep rumble had a way of doing things to me—my heart soaring, my stomach fluttering. My pace increased until I was nearly jogging. I came around the corner and found Ben, his wide shoulders hunched, on the floor next to Kit, pointing to the instructions.

“See if you can find a piece that looks like this,” he said, and Kit jumped up and spun in circles a few times, eyes scanning the floor.

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