Chapter 30
NEIL
Luke rolled away to the far side of the bed in the night—who can blame him?
Under anything more substantial than a thin sheet, I sizzle like a furnace.
Folded inside one of my old T-shirts, he’s hunched on his side facing away from me, his spine a narrow clean line down to the curve of his waist. I watch the rise and fall of his ribcage, my own swelling.
Why the fuck do I find him sleeping so compelling?
I’m not big on declarations, not sober, fully conscious ones, at any rate.
If Luke doesn’t know how much I like him by now, then he never will.
But it’s become a hell of a lot more than like, as drunk and bleeding out me already knew.
Something about the way I don’t want to move, the way I don’t want to disturb him—the way I want to make him fucking Marmite soldiers and then hang around to be sure he eats them—keeps my useless eyes glued to him.
Later, we shower together, as if neither of us can stand to be apart even to ablute.
He directs my bad arm out of the way as I wash us down.
We kiss for what feels like forever under the scalding hot streams, but nothing sexy happens.
My dick is knackered, and my arm and arse ache.
He fucked me again a few hours later, and I blew him a couple of hours after that.
In fact, I lost count of the number of times either Luke or I orgasmed last night.
The wet puddle underneath us indicates several.
“What shall we do today?” I ask as he puts breakfast in front of me before taking the seat beside me. Life hack: get yourself a man who can and enjoys cooking. Grabbing the back of the chair, I drag it closer still until our legs touch.
“You’ve still got the energy to do something today?”
His arm curls around my back. His coppery hair is uncovered; it’s especially tufty around his ears, with a biggish bald patch at the back. But when I told him he was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen? I wasn’t lying.
“Some parts of me need a rest,” he admits with a grin. “But we can’t just lounge around all day.”
“Can’t we?”
“No. I do enough of that when I’m feeling low. Today, I’m feeling great.”
“I bet.”
Luke grins widely. Normally, I’d be downstairs by now, stocking up, prepping for our busiest day and night of the week.
But Ezra insists I’m on sick leave from work, thanks to my arm.
Regardless, I’ve been turning up and getting under his feet.
My injury was self-inflicted. I feel guilty lolling around while he’s working, even though, he reminded me, I covered for four weeks without complaint when he took an extended break.
“Okay, what do you normally do on Saturdays?” I ask.
Luke shrugs. “Sometimes I swim. I try to go to the pool at least four or five times a week.”
“Are you up to swimming today? I mean, it’s not like we got a lot of sleep.” I bop his forehead with mine. “I tried, but someone refused to leave me alone.”
“Pretty sure that was the other way around,” he answers coolly. “Especially around one a.m. when you insisted I fuck you again.”
Who am I to argue? And he got better and better; I’m gonna have to start calling him my prostate sniper. My skin still itches with the need to touch him, and my arse is definitely reminding me where he’s been. Obediently, I swallow down a spoonful of granola.
“Do you do any regular sport?” he queries, spreading a thick layer of marmalade on a piece of heavily buttered toast. Why is it just me on the retinal health diet?
I laugh. “Does running away from my RP prognosis count?”
“Ah.” Luke waggles a sticky finger at me. “I’m glad you brought that up.” He swallows his toast. “I noticed an unopened box of acetazolamide in the bathroom.”
Trying and failing to seem innocent, I freeze, spoon halfway to my mouth. I shouldn’t like the way he calls me out when I’m being a twat. No fluff, no sugar-coating, even a little prissy. But I do. God help me, I kind of dig it. “Really?”
“Really.”
“They must have slipped past me. Bad eyesight and all that.”
Luke can fit an impressive amount of disappointment into one look.
“Are you still taking them as prescribed so that your retinal pressures decrease, and you optimise your bad eyesight for as long as possible? Or have you stopped because you were too impatient to wait for the side effects to subside?”
My old maths teacher used much the same exasperated tone. “Um. The second bit.”
Luke nods slowly, exhaling through his button nose.
How is something so small so irresistibly charming?
For the millionth time, I silently congratulate myself on bagging such a pretty man.
“I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.
I told you the diuresis effect would slow down once your body adjusted.
You need to be more patient, that’s all. ”
He purses his lips.
“And have you thought any more about attending another of the Fighting Blindness meetings? Or have you decided they’re not for you either?”
Another lip purse. So kissable. “Um… that second part. They seem to have slipped my busy schedule.”
“When’s the next?”
“There’s one every alternate Saturday afternoon. First and third Saturdays of the month.”
“Where are they held?”
“In a back room of a library over at Maida Vale.”
Luke tears another bite from his toast, munching neatly, and I realise I’ve said the wrong thing. “Today’s Saturday,” he observes. “The third one of this month.”
“Is it?”
He makes a resigned noise; I sense a lecture coming. “You’re impossible.”
“It took you this long to notice?”
He tries to glare, but a small smile creeps through anyhow. “No, but now I’m feeling better and reenergised. Before, when I was ill, I let you get away with it.”
I lean across and kiss him, dragging my teeth along his stubbled jaw. “At least you’ll never get bored.” Shuffling closer and cupping his chin, I kiss him more thoroughly, toast crumbs, granola, and all. Maybe I’ll suggest we return to bed.
“Stop trying to distract me.” Luke pushes me off. “You’re very sexy and everything, but it won’t work. This is serious, Neil.”
“Huh.”
Reluctantly, I pick up my spoon again. Luke tilts his head and narrows his eyes, gearing up to tell me off.
So he thinks I’m very sexy and everything.
Great, but the lecture’s coming whether I want it or not.
As we stare at each other, both trying to glare and both failing, something massive suddenly slots into place.
So huge I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh.
I don’t know whether he loves me yet; maybe he doesn’t know either.
But he cares, massively. That’s what being his best friend means.
I’m not simply an experienced hot lay, and he’s not simply doing his doctorly duty by me.
He showed me his scars because he cares.
He lets me pet his hair because he cares.
And he’s attempting to scold me because he cares.
It’s fucking awesome. And hot. I now want him to scold me some more whilst he’s sat in my lap and I’m petting his hair.
“Come here.” I pat my knee, scraping my seat back and away from the table. “I need you closer. Can’t see you properly over there—the light is shining too brightly behind you. Dazzling my cataract.”
I’m not sure Luke falls for it, but he’s too preoccupied with getting his point across to argue. Once he’s comfortable, his arm back around my shoulder and his arse nestled rather pleasantly on my semi, he carries on. “Going to that meeting isn’t a step back. It’s a step forward, Neil.”
“You’re right.” Yep, I legit find it hot.
“It’s part of the climb. Laying groundwork, preparing you for the future.”
I press my mouth to one of the bald spots on the side of his head. The hair around it is fluffy and soft. Did I ever mention my rash whisperer is cute? Cute and hot.
“You really should attend a few of the meetings,” he persists. “You’ll learn a few tips.”
“I daresay, but you haven’t met Derek. He dresses like a kids' TV presenter and talks like every sentence is underlined.”
Though Luke sighs, he doesn’t stop me nuzzling his head.
“Listen. Not everyone’s style suits you.
For instance, I don’t always gel with every patient referred to me.
Sometimes, as the patient walks out of a consultation, I think that didn’t go very well.
Not because I did a bad job, but because as two human beings who wouldn’t normally collide, we’re plunged into a serious, sometimes quite personal conversation.
Except maybe the way the patient’s punchy husband repeatedly talked over her irritated the hell out of me, and maybe it showed in my voice.
Or perhaps neither of them warmed to a guy with clumps of hair missing and a slightly effeminate manner.
Maybe they’re homophobic, or were hoping to see someone older, wearing a suit and with more gravitas.
But as long as I wave them off thinking I did my best, and she walks away with the information and treatment she needs, then our own in-built prejudices don’t matter.
That’s just how it goes sometimes. You and Derek aren’t planning a holiday together.
You’re trying to learn as much as you can about living with RP, and he’s trying to share all his information. ”
When the lecture comes to an end, Luke crunches on another mouthful of toast. Throughout, the hand around my shoulders absentmindedly strokes my ear.
“Is this you breaking the news that the world isn’t tailored specifically around me and my needs?” I pout, making him smile, then wipe away a crumb clinging to his upper lip. “In which case I demand a refund.”
Luke shrugs. “If it’s any consolation, isn’t especially tailored for me either, but we have to do the best we can. Derek’s style of imparting information isn’t purposely designed to alienate you.”