Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
GAGE
“Oh, thank fuck!” I threw myself down on one of the pristine white beds in the two-room hotel suite, arms and legs spread out like a very tired snow angel. “That. Was. Awesome. I’m exhausted.”
Knox tossed his keys on the little desk in the living room area with a clatter before appearing in the doorway. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“So?”
“So, aren’t teenagers like yourself supposed to be night owls?”
I lifted my head so he could see me roll my eyes before flopping back down on the bed.
Knox had decided we were on friendly-chatty terms now, and that was awesome.
I wasn’t complaining. Sure, it was a huge step down from what I would rather be doing with him—which would have involved us being a lot more friendly and a lot less chatty—but it was light-years better than the Cold War we’d been engaged in before.
And yet, for some reason, the man had insisted on reminding me ten times an hour all day long that I was so very young in a voice that made it sound like an insult. I was officially over it.
“Not when we’ve woken up at the literal crack of dawn, summoned all our bravery to confront two cows—or, like, a cow and a half—in their natural milieu, put up with some middle-aged dude’s incredible ignorance on important life topics as determined by BuzzFeed, single-handedly hunted and gathered a crap ton of tensiometers, seen the birthplace of the American Revolution, eaten our own weight in cannoli, and strolled all the way from Boston Common to Chinatown because that same dude didn’t remember where he was going.
I might sparkle like a unicorn, but I do occasionally get tired, Knox. ”
I rubbed a hand idly up and down my stomach over my T-shirt—a retro Godzilla one Fenn had gotten me two Christmases before that was soft from a billion washings.
The guy behind the counter at the cannoli place had complimented me on it and then schooled me on all things Godzilla while a line had formed behind me, which I’d found hilarious.
It was fun seeing people geek out over something.
“In retrospect, that fourth cannoli on an otherwise empty stomach probably wasn’t a great idea.” I groaned. “Getting older sucks. When a man finally has the freedom to eat all the cannoli he wants, it’s a travesty of justice if his stomach refuses to get on board.”
Knox leaned against the doorframe. “Welcome to adulthood,” he said wryly. “Where you learn the benefits of self-restraint or pay the consequences.”
His voice was extra deep for some reason, so I lifted my head again to see him better. He seemed relaxed enough, with his slouchy posture, but his eyes followed my hand as I made a slow circle from my waistband to my breastbone, almost as if he…
I swallowed hard, acutely aware of the two-inch gap where my shirt had ridden up because I felt Knox’s stare linger there. Then his green gaze lifted to mine, and the air in the room went electric in an instant, alive with chaotic possibility like a storm on the horizon.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Despite the half second of maybe-attraction I’d gotten from him the day I’d arrived at the orchard, I had not foreseen this. I’d caught zero sexual energy from him in the last two weeks, and I had for damn sure been looking.
I didn’t know what had changed on his end to get us here. But since not a damn thing had changed for me, I knew exactly where I wanted us to go.
“They were really good cannoli,” I whispered, trying to sound offhanded and probably failing. “Worth it.”
I bit my lip and let my pinkie finger catch on the hem of my shirt as my hand continued circling, widening the gap.
Knox glanced down and blinked once, and when his eyes came back to mine, they were molten hot and shimmery—exactly as they’d been that first day, I realized triumphantly.
Everything that could be between us—all the laughter and passion and the gorgeous relief—passed through my brain in a single heartbeat, and then Knox closed his eyes and turned away, shutting it all down.
“I’m going out,” he said, heading over to the second bed, which he’d claimed after we’d checked in earlier.
“Out,” I repeated stupidly. “Out?”
“While you were busy flirting with Shane, I texted a friend and told him I was in town.”
“Shane.” I frowned hard, trying to remember flirting with anyone. “Shane?”
“Cannoli guy.” Knox extracted a button-down shirt—one from his extensive collection—from the bag and put it on the bed next to a fresh pair of jeans.
“That wasn’t flirting! God. That was just a guy being enthusiastic over his hobby.”
He snorted without turning around. “You’re delusional.”
“Me?” I scoffed. “Me?” I was not the one of us who wanted someone and was pretending I didn’t.
Oh. Shit. Maybe I was. Well, damn.
“Stop repeating words. It’s annoying.” Knox flipped the suitcase lid closed and then hesitated. He half turned, like he wanted to look at me but wouldn’t let himself, and darted a glance at the bathroom door.
As if I had a front-row seat inside his head, I knew the precise moment when he decided it would be more awkward to go into the other room to change—like it would make that unguarded moment between us real and un-ignorable—and sure enough, he shucked his shirt and pants in the next second, leaving him wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and acres and acres of gorgeous, freckled skin dusted with light brown hair.
Since Knox had clearly closed the road to Hookup Town, whether he wanted me or not, I tried to pretend I was unaffected by the sight—even as I also contemplated how far up the Creeper Scale I would be if I just took a tiny, quick picture as a memento.
Yes, yes, I know. That would make me a Level 10 Creeper.
So, I tried very hard to memorize the image instead.
Casually.
Not creepily.
Like, Level 5 at most.
But when he bent over to pull on his new jeans and his underwear pulled tight over the globes of his truly majestic ass, I couldn’t help sucking in a quick breath.
Knox paused with his pants halfway up his broad thighs and did that half-turn thing again, but he recovered fast and worked his jeans up the rest of the way.
Yes, I said worked. Because these were not just jeans, they were fuck-me jeans, and apparently Knox had a pair, too.
Fucking. Fuck.
“So, um, where are you and your fuck buddy going?” I asked when the silence started to feel oppressive.
Knox shrugged into his shirt and finally turned his head in my direction, though he still didn’t meet my eyes. He did not correct my interpretation of friend. “Myles said we’d hit up a bar in his neighborhood first. Then… who knows.”
“Ah.” I was pretty sure I knew what came after the bar, and it made my stomach hurt in a way that had nothing to do with the cannoli.
I was so stupid.
When we’d been walking down Long Wharf by the harbor earlier—just to say I’d seen it—I’d been a little shocked at how that choppy, green-gray water was in any way connected to the clear turquoise waters around Whispering Key.
It was like it had gotten a total makeover on its way north and turned itself into something different.
Something full of potential and secrets.
But the truth was, it was still water, no matter where it was. Still a couple of hydrogens and an oxygen. Still salty as fuck. Just like I was still the same geeky guy who’d left Whispering Key because there hadn’t been anything for me there, because I hadn’t fit… and lo and behold, I still didn’t.
Which just meant I had to try harder to get over this crush. Or try at all.
I put my feet flat on the bed and pushed myself backward until I was propped up on the pillows, and then I took out my phone.
A second after I opened my app, my phone trilled with a tap from a guy called Diccrater, and I snorted. A guy named uNoUwanna sent me an unsolicited picture of an erect penis that I was 97.64 percent sure wasn’t his, and I made a gagging sound.
“What?” Knox demanded. “Is it someone from back hom—I mean, the Hollow?”
I shook my head. “Nah.” I scrolled past a guy named Blue4You and shook my head.
“These names. Sweet Gay Jesus. If a guy calls himself Diccrater, does that mean he wants to rate my dick? Or like… he wants to put his dick in my crater? Because either way, I am not turned on. Wait until after I click your picture to try to play mind games with me, thanks.”
“Is that right, LumberjackLuvr?” Knox mocked, and then he froze.
My eyes flew to his in shock and more than a little horror. “You know my profile name?”
Knox finished buttoning his shirt so efficiently he almost seemed angry. “Yes. So? Was it a secret? If I open the app, I can’t help but see you on my Nearby page since you’re practically on top of me at all times— I mean…” He paused and swallowed. “You know what I mean.”
“You saw my dick pics?” I demanded.
“What? You don’t have any—” He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath as he saw how neatly he’d fallen into my trap.
“You clicked on it,” I accused. “You clicked my profile.”
“Curiosity.” He waved a hand and tucked his shirt into his jeans, though a flush climbed high on his cheekbones. “And I saw nothing I haven’t seen before, since you waltz around with your abs on display constantly.”
“Constantly? Constantly?”
“Why, Jesus?” he demanded of the hotel’s popcorn ceiling. “Why, if I’m forced to spend time with this man-child, must he also have developed this tendency to repeat himself? Is it because I teased Webb yesterday? Is it payback for the sandwich rectangles?”
“Don’t try to be cute.” I sat up straighter and swung my feet onto the floor. “Here I was, attempting valiantly not to be a creeper—or, like, not an excessive creeper,” I corrected, “while I watched you changing, and meanwhile, you’ve been looking at pictures of me on Grindr!”
“I… you were watching me change?” He sounded bewildered.