Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
XAVI
I’m trying not to hover. I’ve spent the last two days with Enfield as we alternated between kissing and his making or taking phone calls. He even kissed me in front of Sparrow last night before he went to bed.
This morning, Sparrow went home after breakfast. It’s the triplets’ birthday, so he’s spending the day with them. We had breakfast together—the three of us, and Shapiro. Enfield cleaned up after breakfast, and Sparrow took off.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I awkwardly lingered in the kitchen until right before Enfield finished. Then I took off, practically ran up the stairs, and holed up in my shop. Yeah, I’m super brave like that.
Sparrow took care of scheduling a whole bunch of teasers on ShareIt.
My phone hasn’t stopped dinging with comments and likes.
I have messages turned off unless we’re friends to avoid the constant spam, hate messages, and people expecting special treatment, thinking that if they reach out, I’ll sell them something special or hold an item for them or give them early access to the shop because they love that one piece.
No, buddy. You’re not special. You’re also one of a bajillion who think the same way, so you’re not even unique.
I should be contemplating when the first drop is going live. Sparrow made the graphics for me and everything. All I need to do is reschedule some of the teasers that are already there. Or keep them. I can just change the words to say LIVE NOW or WHAT YOU MISSED.
Instead, I’m making something new. I don’t have a design in mind. There’s nothing that inspired me to work. I just don’t want to prepare orders. Which is stupid. That’s why everything is already prepacked. All I need to do is print the damn label.
Nope, can’t be bothered. It can be time-consuming, and I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know when the lawyers will be back. I don’t know what they’ll require of us. What if I need to go somewhere? Who will ship the orders then?
The answer is obvious. Sparrow would. I know he would. That’s just the person he is. If I need help with anything, he’s right there. He’s always been right beside me. Every time I’ve said I needed him, and every time I couldn’t say the words.
Like a couple weeks ago.
When you’re an adult, there’s this misconception that you’re no longer allowed to ask for help. Being an adult means you need to deal with your shit all on your own. You’re a big boy/girl now and need to act like it. Handle your own issues. Navigate your own emotions.
It’s a strange lesson because it’s not something we’re necessarily taught. It’s something we learn through observation. Something we absorb by overhearing conversations, reading between the lines, and hearing what people don’t say.
It’s a lie. No matter your age, sometimes you just need some fucking help. For me, I needed the one person who has always given me support and strength. Sparrow knew that. His presence was all I truly needed.
His punching Enfield was just a bonus. I would never have done it. It never crossed my mind. I’m not sure Sparrow had actually hit someone before that.
But you know what? Sometimes, people just need to be hit.
I’m not saying that was the turning point with Enfield. It might have simply been a coincidence. Given all I know now, Enfield is tired. He’s been angry and fighting since he was a kid. That’s got to take its toll.
Then there are his kids. His driving force is the three kids he wants to provide for, or he’d walk away. I believe him. Especially after yesterday, when I listened to him on the phone for several hours. Getting temporary custody paperwork taken care of; checking in on Amelia; checking in on Ronan.
I listened to him having a conversation with Ronan, and I found myself smiling. He doesn’t know that his mother isn’t coming back. He just thinks he’s having an extended sleepover. He loves everything about it and is having the best time with his new brother.
I take a step back and look at the wire I’ve been wrapping. It looks like nothing but a hot mess right now. They usually do in the beginning, especially if the base is intricate. By this point, I can typically see the general shape that I’m designing.
Frowning, I shake my head. It doesn’t look like anything. Unlike crochet or knitting or something, this isn’t something I can simply undo. I can continue with this design as is or scrap it and waste all the material.
I’m not exactly frugal, but I don’t like to waste supplies. This isn’t the kind of material that recycling centers get excited about. It’s jewelry metal.
Shapiro jumps onto my workbench and leans over my new project. He sniffs the mess in a few places and then looks at me. Do I imagine his dubious expression?
I scratch behind his ears. “Yeah, I know. Needs some work, huh?”
He settles on the bench to watch me. I don’t start again since I really don’t know where to go from here. Do I just let my mind wander, and my hands work? See where it takes me?
A light tap on the door has me turning and my breath catches.
My first impression of Enfield when he walked into the room that first day was that he was handsome. He was a little scruffy, but it looked almost intentional. His face was drawn, and there was only a split second before he turned furious.
He was only moderately attractive in the following days. I increasingly avoided him, mostly because I’m not good with confrontation. Back to my point on adults feeling like they can’t ask for help, I also knew that I couldn’t avoid a conversation, so I tried.
It crossed my mind the second time he brought tears to my eyes that I’m far too sensitive. Even I knew that his anger wasn’t directed at me. When he spoke to me, he wasn’t angry or even hostile. He was indifferent. Not quite kind but not mean.
We had this contract between us that needed to be discussed, but by the third time I’d burst into tears… I was done talking about it. I was done trying. One week was all it took for me to throw in the towel. Arguably, that was pretty weak, right? Give up after one week?
What other options did I really have when he was insistent on having no part of this, though?
Now, when I look at him, he’s entirely different. That small, almost flirty smile makes all the difference in the world. It changes his features. It turns handsome into gorgeous.
“This is where you’re hiding, is it?” Enfield asks, his eyes moving around my shop.
I nod in answer. The only people who have ever been in my shop are my parents, Sparrow, and maybe one brother. I think Nelly has been in here before. Once or twice. As I watch Enfield looking around, I become self-conscious. What will he think? Is it too messy?
“Can I come in?”
I nod again, unable to find my voice. My gaze remains locked on him, tracking him as he slowly moves through my space, pausing to look at different things.
I didn’t realize I had so many pieces lingering around. I’ve always kept some of my favorite pieces, even though I don’t wear much jewelry. Everywhere he turns, he finds something new, and I try not to curl in on myself.
It’s one thing to read strangers’ comments about what I make. Their opinions truly don’t matter. I’m not sure Enfield’s would matter, but if he says they’re awful, ugly, and I’m wasting my time, I have a feeling it’ll crush me.
“You make these?” he asks as he stands beside Shapi at the bench and looks at the tangled mess I’ve been working on.
“This is not a good example,” I say quickly and push it away. “I was just… messing around with the wires.”
“So you do make them.”
Swallowing, I nod. “Yes.” I eye the offending mess. “Sometimes more successfully than others.”
Enfield smiles. I jump slightly when his hands gently cup my face and slide down to my neck. “Why are you so nervous, Xavi?”
I’m that transparent, huh? “I, uh… not many people see this side of what I do.”
“You’re self-conscious of making jewelry?”
“I guess I am a little.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. These are stunning. I can’t believe you make them. They look like they belong in stores.”
A breath whooshes out of me. “Thanks.”
“You’re too hard on yourself.”
I’m also distracted when his thumb rubs along my neck. It sends shivers down my spine.
“Am I distracting you? Do you need to work?”
I shake my head, but not much, because I don’t want him to remove his hands. “No. I was just messing around. That’s why it looks so chaotic. There’s no inspiration behind it.”
“Something to keep you occupied once you ran away this morning, is it?” he teases.
My cheeks flush. Wow. I really am transparent. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I… wasn’t sure you wanted me to hang around.”
“I deserve that. I’ve been kind of all over the place, haven’t I? Lots of mixed signals.”
“I wouldn’t call them mixed signals. Maybe a progression of shifting signals.”
Enfield chuckles. His eyes haven’t left mine in minutes. I’m trapped there. I’m not sure I mind at all.
“I’m sorry. I admit I’m not intentionally giving any signals. I’m just… tired of the road I’ve been stuck on for so long and maybe metaphorically jumped out of a speeding car to get off.”
I understand, and yet I have no idea what he’s truly telling me. Am I supposed to take that metaphor deeper? Like, if he jumped out of a speeding car, he’s probably in a full-body cast wherever he landed. Am I just his temporary home, here to take care of him until he gets back on his feet?
Yep, I think I took that metaphor too far.
“Want to take a break?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“I’m really not interrupting?”
I glance at the tangle of wires. “No. Maybe if I come back later, I’ll be able to figure out what to do with that, so I don’t have to throw it away.”
Enfield looks at the mess, too. “I think you’ll figure it out.”
I’m not convinced, but then his mouth is on mine, and I couldn’t care less.
The heap of metal is forgotten. I’m so very aware of everything about him as he kisses me.
Like the way he moves his hand down my chest to my stomach and then around my waist. He pulls me against him, and though he’s kissing me, as soon as my body comes against his, I gasp a little.
My hands nearly shake as I touch him. I don’t touch him anywhere specific—his arm, his shoulder, his biceps. Eventually, I wrap my arms around his neck and bring myself flush against him. Feeling his long, lean figure.
Enfield’s hands grip me tightly, digging into my back. I gasp again when he lifts me by my waist and sets me on the table just inside the door. It’s the only empty surface right now, with the massive piles of packed merchandise covering almost every other space.
He stands between my legs, hands on my thighs, and running up my stomach and around to my back. I groan and tangle my hands in his hair. Double-fisting. Making sure he doesn’t pull his mouth from mine.
I don’t know what’s going on here, and I may regret this decision later, but I don’t care. All I want is for it to continue. I want to keep kissing him. I want his hands to keep touching me, even though that touch is primarily PG-13. Okay, maybe we’re graduating to PG-17 by proximity.
He’s not standing close enough that I can tell if he’s turned on, but I know there’s no mistaking that I am. It’s been a long time since I was touched. A long time since anyone has shown me any kind of interest.
That’s mostly my fault since I rarely leave the house. You can’t have a hookup when you don’t make any attempt to find someone to get off with. I deleted Thrustr eons ago and simply haven’t entertained the idea of putting the effort in to hook up.
Which might be why his touch feels so charged. There’s a very good chance that it’s barely any good. Perhaps he’s hardly touching me at all, but I’m so sexually touch-starved that it feels like he’s just as aggressively desperate for some attention as I am.
Maybe he hasn’t hooked up in a while either. That might be why he’s willing to look beyond the fact that I’m a guy.
“Want to go somewhere more comfortable?” Enfield asks against my jaw as he follows it to my ear.
I grunt, and an aggressive shiver makes my entire body shake for a second. “Yeah, but… You remember that I’m a guy, right?”
Enfield laughs. “Yeah, Xavi. I know.”
If my brain weren’t fuzzy with arousal, I might have tried to make a joke of the fact that it’s a legitimate question since my gender is what made him lose his shit the moment he stepped into the house. Then again, this might not be the right time to bring that up unless I want this to stop.
I don’t want this to stop.
Enfield grips me under my thighs and picks me up. My cheeks flush as I wrap my legs around his waist to keep from falling. Not that I’m questioning his strength. It’s reflex, really. That’s what I’m going with. Reflex to wrap around him like a damn koala.
He carries me out of the room and makes an immediate right into the bedroom next door. The balcony door is open, and I wonder how long it’s been open. Maybe I need to take a walkthrough of the house more regularly.
Then again, there’s a blanket on the hanging bed that looks like it was recently being used. Sparrow, maybe? Or Enfield?
Enfield sets me on the hanging bed and then follows carefully, so as not to upend us and land on the hard ground.
As soon as we’re relatively certain that we’re not going to land on our asses, Enfield pulls me against his body again, and we continue kissing.
It feels more heated now that we’re lying down. Technically, on a bed.
The touch doesn’t progress beyond where it’s at, but it continues. Never ceases.
If he’s not careful, I’m going to get off just like this. Apparently, it’s been that long. How embarrassing.