Chapter 21
Jack
I’m so aware of every interaction we’ve had, I know without even having to think about it that this is the fifth time I’ve touched Desmond in a way that a boyfriend would.
It’s gotten easier each time, as though my nervous system is starting to recognize that not every form of human contact is a threat.
Certainly not contact from Desmond, who’s so patient and kind, and makes me feel ten feet tall when he’s in my arms. I still haven’t gotten used to the narrowness of his frame, or the way it makes me burn with protectiveness.
I’d like to curl around him and keep him warm.
Right now, sitting on the floor in the shadowy living room of his apartment, I’m so content that I’m not even nervous.
My anxiety, which so often feels like an entity separate from me—an uninvited hanger-on that only ever causes me problems—is dormant.
Smothered by the smooth, syrupy comfort that Desmond seems to exude from his pores.
We haven’t spoken in minutes, but it’s a comfortable sort of silence.
He rested his cheek down against me, and is breathing so slowly I almost wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
It doesn’t matter how many parts of my body go numb, or tingle with pain—I’ll sit here all damn night if that’s what he wants to do.
The squeaking of a door hinge breaks us from our stupor, the peaceful bubble popping as Desmond lifts his head and fixes his eyes on the hallway.
I wonder if I should move my arm before Parker arrives.
Desmond, whose hand hasn’t left my leg since he put it there, tightens his fingers just enough to let me know not to move.
I’m disappointed in myself when my head buzzes with nerves as Parker inches into the room.
He looks twice as nervous as I feel, discomfort evident in the curl of his shoulders and the way he’s wringing the hem of his shirt. I don’t know him well enough to directly pinpoint the expression, but if I met a kid on the street and they looked at me like this, I’d think they were afraid.
“Hey, little buddy,” Desmond says, voice calm and even, body relaxed against me.
“What are you doing?” he asks stepping closer, eyes bouncing between the laundry and us lounging on the floor.
“Just sitting,” I reply. Parker’s eyes snap to mine, hands twisting more vigorously into his shirt. I wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. “Ready for some Minecraft?”
Desmond squeezes my leg again, which I read as approval. The offer takes Parker by surprise, his eyes widening and shoulders loosening. He shakes his head.
“I’ll just sit,” he says, walking around the end of the coffee table and dropping down next to me. I turn my head and find Desmond already looking at me, smiling.
“Washing or YouTube?” he asks lightly .
“YouTube,” Parker answers swiftly, accepting the remote Desmond passes across me.
Parker leans into my arm as he scrolls through the videos, looking for one he hasn’t watched. I stare at the television, Desmond’s head lying back on my arm, hair tickling my skin; Parker’s bony shoulder digging into my bicep. I think this must be what it feels like to be part of a family.
Later, with Parker dozing off in the back seat, Desmond drives me home.
It’s fully dark, lamps casting round pools of warm light over the parking lot as we creep through the campus.
When he pulls to a stop at the same spot he dropped me off after the beach date, I turn and look at Parker behind me.
His forehead is pressed against the glass, eyes closed, and arms loose in a way that makes me think he’s probably not awake.
I glance over at Desmond, who simply climbs from the vehicle.
I close my door gently, trying not to startle Parker awake, and immediately reach for Desmond.
Unlike the first time, when I was cautious and a little bit anxious about it, this hug is perfectly natural.
I grab hold of him and cling on tighter than I did before, face turned into his hair.
He does the same, except, being shorter than me, this puts his face directly against my neck.
I swallow back a groan, face heating in a furious blush at the feel of his lips against my skin.
Even though I wouldn’t have complained about a solid fifteen-minute hug, Parker’s sleepy presence in the car has us stepping apart after only a few moments.
He touches the tips of his fingers lightly to the side of my jaw, and my cheeks prickle with a different kind of heat.
I don’t know how anyone could stand to have someone’s hand on their dick.
Desmond barely touches my face and I’m practically a puddle of longing and apprehension .
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jacko. Thank you for…well, thank you for being there. Sorry again about all the drama.” He looks so tired, too sapped to even smile.
“It’s okay. I had fun.” Groaning, I close my eyes. Great. “No, I just meant?—”
“I know what you meant,” he replies, finally summoning a smile. Maybe it’s worth being awkward, if only because I occasionally get a treat at the end.
When I get upstairs, I check my cell and see a message from Nate that I’d missed.
Yawning, I toss my phone down onto the bed and change into sweats.
I should probably try and go to sleep, but what I’d really like to do is read some of my shifter romance book and imagine Desmond as the main character; distract myself from the real world with a fictional one.
Climbing into bed, I situate my pillow behind my back and grab my book. When my phone buzzes again, I remember Nate’s message and set the novel off to the side with a sigh. Sometimes, I wish life would just leave me alone for a day or two, and I could read in peace.
Nate
Mick Mick Mickyyyyy
Are you with Desmond?
Jack
Hey, sorry, I forgot to respond earlier. Yeah, how did you guess?
Nate
Figured you weren’t ignoring me for just anyone. Still hurts my feelings though.
Jack
I wasn’t ignoring you!
I didn’t actually hurt your feelings, right?
Seriously, I would never ignore you.
Nate
I know, I know. Just giving you a hard time. How’s the Aussie hottie doing?
You know what I realized?
Desmond = Daddy
Jack
NATE I SWEAR TO GOD.
Nate
I know you’ve thought it.
Jack
Unless you need something, I’m putting the phone down.
Nate
No, just bored. Go snuggle up to Daddy.
Sighing, I tip my head back until it thumps against the wall. Admitting defeat, I go to my recent calls—which is almost entirely made up of calls to Nate—and press his name. He answers on the first ring, because I’m predictable and he knows exactly what he was doing.
“Don’t say it,” I warn him, because I’m pretty sure hearing the words Daddy Desmond will send me into anaphylactic shock.
“I won’t, I won’t.” He yawns, which sets me off in response. I play with the corner of my book, staring down at the shirtless man on the cover. “What are you doing?”
“I was going to read a little before bed.”
“I wish I could go to bed, but Vas is over and Atlas’ room is right next to mine. I’m lying down on the couch because I don’t know what they’re doing in there.”
“Oh, I see how it is. Vas gets privacy, and I get Daddy Desmond jokes.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I groan. Nate cracks up laughing.
“You’re so red right now,” he comments as though he’s in the room and can see that yes, my face is on fire.
“What’s Marcos up to tonight?” I ask, combatting the embarrassment with the tried and true method of changing the subject.
“Nothing. He’s at his place.” He pauses, jaw popping as he yawns again. “Practice ran super late, though, and I try to spend one night a week at my house and not his.”
“Why?”
“Just to prove that I can,” Nate replies stoutly, making me laugh. “I’m an independent man, Micky Mouse. I can go to bed without a kiss goodnight.”
“Can you?” I ask, amused.
“Dude, no. I don’t want to be an independent man, I want Marcos to put a ring on it.”
I snort so violently, I throw myself into a coughing fit. Nate laughs as though I’m not fighting for my life.
“Jesus,” I say on a gasp, “I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”
“You’re welcome.” He groans dramatically, fabric rustling in the background as though he’s leveraging himself up off the couch. “I really do need to go to bed though, I’m tired as hell. You coming to the game this weekend?”
“Yeah, probably.” I perk up a little bit, thinking that maybe I could go with Parker. Desmond said he’s not super into hockey, but that he had fun the time he sat with Anthony. “Maybe I’ll see if Parker wants to go, so Desmond doesn’t have to get a babysitter.”
“Daddy Micky,” Nate comments. He’s mid-laugh when I hang up on him.
Deliberately, I count down thirty seconds in my head. Heart racing, I open up our text message thread.
Jack
I’m sorry I hung up on you.
Nate
I’m honestly impressed. Who are you and what have you done with my Micky??
Jack
I’ve never hung up on someone before.
Figured you were safe to practice on.
Also, you deserved it.
Nate
Night, Micky Mouse. Talk to you tomorrow.
I guide Parker through the halls of the arena, glancing upward every now and then as I look for our section.
We’re right next to the bench, so the players will pass us on their way to the ice, and Desmond will be able to look over and see us throughout the game.
Up ahead, I see the sign for a concession stand.
Plucking gently at the back of Parker’s shirt to slow him down, I lean over to talk to him.
“Did you want something to eat?”
I’ve had more time to work recently, now that I’m not playing hockey, although I have picked up less shifts than I should have these past few weeks.
It’s hard to find the motivation to work at the ice-skating rink when I know I could be spending the weekends with Desmond.
Even so, I’ve got nearly three hundred dollars in my bank account right now. It feels like a fortune.