Not Catching Love (Accidental Love #5)

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Derek

I’m not convinced that having sex with Xander has helped. At all. Actually, no, I know it hasn’t helped. Fucking him has made everything so much worse.

Whenever we’re together and he laughs, the hairs on my arms prickle. When he brushes against me, my gut swoops. When he’s giving me that cheeky, challenging stare, my blood heats to unreasonable levels.

And whenever he’s unreasonably tired and irritable, this ache starts behind my sternum, and it’s impossible not to hold him and never let go.

Yeah, my dumb ass has gone and fallen for him.

There are days when I question what the point of all this waiting is. We’ve already had sex, I’ve already crossed all kinds of ethical lines, and fuck—it’s been a year. Clearly, nothing predatory is going on between us .

Yet there’s this deep sense of responsibility urging me to take my time. I don’t want to look at Xander as fragile, especially when I know what he’s been through and what he’s capable of, but I get the feeling the wait is good for him too. He’s naturally impulsive, has fuck all emotional regulation, and this, making us both wait, it’s giving me the confidence that we’re in this for the right reasons.

Those reasons get murky sometimes, though, especially when he has his ass hanging out of his shorts or he’s curled up at my side.

For a grown-ass man, I’ve been jerking off worse than a teenager.

Xander lets out a long yawn from where he’s tucked under my arm. We’re watching some mockumentary he found, and while I don’t have a huge interest in professional dancers, I sit through it for him.

“I could never be that athletic,” he says sleepily. “Not like certain football players.”

“Yeah, I don’t classify as athletic either. Playing ball is more about fun for me.”

“You always win though.”

I didn’t think he’d noticed. “Lucky streak,” I say, playing it off while feeling way too good about myself.

He blinks up at me innocently, and it’s one of those days where he isn’t wearing his contacts. Even though he knows I love his natural color, he’s also explained that sometimes, the purple contacts are like armor. On days where he isn’t feeling great, or loveable, or like he’s worryingly close to the edge, he’ll wear them.

Today isn’t one of those days.

“If I was super, super tired and accidentally fell asleep, would that violate our rules?”

“Yes.”

“But— ”

“If you think you’re going to fall asleep at four in the afternoon, you should probably head home now.”

He groans, pouting prettily up at me. “But I’m so warm and comfy. You wouldn’t really kick me out, would you?”

“Sure would.”

Xander huffs. “Fine. Be mean. Whatever, I don’t care.”

“Uh-huh.” I grin as he pulls away from me and sits forward on the couch with his arms crossed. This is one of those moments where I want to wrap my arms around him from behind and smother him in kisses. I know it’s what he needs as well, which I think is why I want to do it so badly.

But kisses went in the no column, along with platonic sleepovers.

Cuddles and physical affection went in the yes.

I’m regretting absolutely all of it because clear rules mean that we can’t fudge things or “accidentally” be less than platonic.

Xander made sure of that, proving he’s more of a grown-up than I am.

“What if I leave, catch a cold, and then end up with pneumonia and die?” he asks, and I take back my grown-up assessment.

“When it’s hot as hell out, I think we can take our chances.”

“Gambling with my life. Wow. Thanks.”

I can’t help but laugh when he throws a grin back at me. My fingers card through Xander’s hair, and he immediately leans into my touch. Like a cat or a puppy. Definitely not like he’s being shitty with me over soliciting his impending death.

“You’re the one who made the rules,” I remind him.

“Actually, they’re your rules. I just wrote them down.”

My thumb skims the shell of his ear. “Are you not happy? Do we need to reassess?”

“I …” He sighs. “No, sorry. I’m fine. Mostly. Will be glad wh en we can be an actual couple and I can straddle your waist and suck face whenever I get the urge.”

My lips twitch. “How often do you get the urge?”

He runs an assessing glance over me. “At least four times a day.”

“All the great things I have to look forward to.”

“It would be nice to know you were struggling as well. Just a bit.”

Is he freaking kidding me? I ignore the still-playing TV show as I rest my forehead on his shoulder. Xander has to know this is fucking killing me too. The fact he’s here and actively advertising that he’s available and wants me makes everything so damn hard.

I remember what he feels like, and tastes like, and how eager he was for my cock. Those things are going to ruin me, but I keep looking forward. Keep focused on what we could have ahead versus what a shitshow things would be if we gave in now and I wound up in front of the nurses’ board.

Will waiting the full two years suddenly make our relationship okay? Fuck no. But we’ll have a much better chance of proving it’s real and not some type of Nightingale syndrome.

I want that reassurance as well.

From my end, I know that my feelings are real. I know that when I look at Xander, I see a man who makes me happier than I’ve ever been. That I’m attracted to him, yes, but I’m also growing really strong feelings for him. Feelings a lot like love.

On his end, I want to believe he feels the same way. I know that Xander doesn’t think I’ve done anything wrong when it comes to us, but I also don’t know how he feels about me, specifically. And if it came out that his feelings only existed because I was some kind of safety for him, that would be uncomfortable .

“You know for a fact that this isn’t easy for me,” I remind him. “No need to be a brat about it.”

An email notification dings on my phone, and I reach over to grab it. Expecting junk, I’m about to swipe it off the screen when I pause.

Nursing International.

My free hand leaves Xander’s hair and presses to my mouth. Either this is an email telling me the interest I put in when I got back from Ghana is a no-go, or … or I’m going to have a very hard choice ahead of me. I almost don’t want to open and read it.

Almost.

I’m way too fucking curious not to though.

And when I scan over what’s there, I’m torn between happy or depressed.

They want me to go to Cambodia.

The screen goes out of focus, as my heart slowly rips apart.

I have to say no … right?

All the amazing feelings from Ghana hit me again. That sense of purpose, of knowing I was making a difference. It was hard at points, and I hated being away from here, but it also had this deep sense of rightness that I’ve never experienced before.

But if it was hard to leave Xander then when he was only my patient and a guy I cared about, it’s going to be nearly impossible now.

Especially when I know how vulnerable he is about people leaving him.

The problem is, it’s also getting increasingly harder for me to be around him. I’m no saint, but I like to think I’m a decent guy who genuinely wants to do the right thing, and this relationship has become a mess. My feelings for Xander go way too deeply for us to keep up this casual, flirty friendship … bo yfriendship … which means before long, we’ll end up sleeping together again.

And again.

And again.

There’s no way for me to argue my case that I was trying to keep boundaries when I’m fucking him every way from Sunday.

This would give us a forced break. Time apart where we can’t be tempted, and once I’m back, well … we deal with that when I’m back.

But how do I do what’s best for me if it isn’t best for Xander?

I’m not sure what gives me away, but Xander suddenly turns toward me. He studies my face for a moment, and I pretend not to notice.

“What is it?”

What the fuck do I say?

Obviously, I have to lie because there’s no way I can take this. It doesn’t matter how many reasons I find for why I should go, there’s one more important reason for why I shouldn’t. Being away from Xander would kill me.

And that’s part of why I should be going. Should accept and fuck off and try to block out my feelings for a little bit longer.

Xander steps in before I get the chance to lie to him.

He plucks my phone from my hand and scans the email himself.

Then he looks up, and the expression on his face wrecks me. “You’re going to Cambodia?”