12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Paul
Andre wraps his arms around me, and a huge weight falls from my shoulders.
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his waist and take a deep breath.
He still smells like sunscreen and chlorine, but there’s an underlying scent of sweat, too, but it’s not a bad smell.
In fact, it’s weirdly comforting. Familiar.
His skin is warm where I touch him, but his chest, his hips, his back are anything but smooth. My palms settle over the thick muscle of his back; his solid foundation grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
I don’t know how long we stand in his kitchen. All I know is that I don’t want him to let go.
But he does, and when he does, I feel more exhausted. Like I could pass out right here.
“Come on,” he says, his voice steady and calm as he nods for me to follow him.
I do so without question as he leads me to the living room.
He plops down on the couch, putting one arm over the back of the couch cushions, one hand landing in his lap.
It’s then that I realize he’s still in his trunks from earlier. Just like me.
I take in the sight of him—skin flushed and golden from the sun, his defined chest and hips standing out, even in the relaxed position he’s in.
Combined with his messy, dark hair, I can’t help but think how much he’s changed since college.
But I guess we all have, right? No one stays the same. Change is inevitable.
But there’s also a part of me that feels like nothing has changed, too.
I shake off my weird thoughts as he flips through the movies on Netflix and take a seat next to him. I lean back into the soft cushions with a groan because the soft, plush feel against my tense muscles feels good. Too good.
This might be the most comfortable couch I’ve ever had the opportunity to crash on.
“Any requests?” he asks, staring straight at the screen.
I look at him, at his profound profile, at the way his eyelashes stand out in the spray of artificial television light.
“Nope. Pretty sure I’m going to pass out in twenty seconds, anyway.”
I hear his faint chuckle as I get comfortable, kicking off my flip-flops and pulling my legs up onto the couch, and then I feel him shift beside me.
Getting up. My stomach flips again, but not in a pleasant way.
It’s weird. It’s like I feel worse knowing he’s not here.
Like just his presence alone is enough to make me feel better.
But I guess that’s just how it is when you’re close like we are.
It’s how we’ve always been, and something about that feels important, but I’m too tired to think about it.
I’m halfway into my descent when he sits beside me again, shaking my body gently.
I grumble something unintelligible, and hear his chuckle as he says, “Come on,” in that soothing, warm tone that makes me feel better.
I open my eyes to see him offering me a pair of sweatpants. The ones I returned.
I take them from him, sighing in defeat. I’m too comfortable on this couch to move, but I need to at least get out of my damp trunks.
Maybe I should change in the bathroom, but I’m too tired, so I hurriedly shove my trunks off while Dre turns his attention back to the movie selection.
I pull on the sweatpants quickly, shifting positions so I can get comfortable, and a moment later, I see him start a movie.
Looks like Black Hawk Down. I don’t think twice about leaning my head down against the cushion, curling closer to his warmth.
Between the heat emanating from him, and from my own skin inside these comfy ass sweatpants, and the exhaustion from everything else, my eyes fall shut immediately.
And I swear, as I fall deep into the relief of sleep, I feel his weight, his chin settled on top of my head; his fingertips sliding against my exposed shoulder, and for the briefest moment, I feel like everything’s going to be okay now.
I wake to something solid beneath me; the need to piss prevalent but my head is hazy and I’m too comfortable to move.
I bury my head into something, but it’s not a cushion, though it’s comfortable.
Smooth. warm. My fingers graze something equally hard, and that’s what wakes me up.
Because I know what I’m grabbing and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t belong to me.
“Shit,” I grumble as I move my hand away and pull back, blinking my eyes open just as the rumble of a familiar voice hits me. Along with a smaller, sweeter voice.
Maddox and Rylee. Panic and anxiety flood me as memories of last night—the fire, coming here—hits me and I push myself off Dre only to realize how hard I am at the moment.
And I know it’s not just because I have to piss like a racehorse.
I curse under my breath. My gaze flashes to Andre, who looks like he’s seen a ghost—as he adjusts his cock in his sweatpants and I do the same, feeling my cheeks flush in embarrassment.
But before I can say anything, the heavy, quick footsteps echo as they race down the stairs, laughter filling the room.
Andre moves back, getting up off the couch, and I turn to see both Maddox and Rylee barreling into the living room. Rylee’s clutching her stuffed cow, while Maddox keeps mooing and I see he’s got her pig tucked under his arm.
“Hey!” I call out, my parental instinct overriding embarrassment. Both kids stop dead in the middle of the room and look at me like they are truly terrified. I soften my voice, though I feel on edge. But I don’t need to take my weird ass feelings out on the kids.
“No running in the house, Maddox, you know that. Just because you’re not home, doesn’t mean the rules change.”
Maddox frowns, but relents.
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t say sorry to me. It’s not my house.”
Maddox flashes his gaze to Dre, who I realize is right behind me. Closer than he was a minute ago. So close, I can feel the warmth from his proximity. Or maybe that’s just me…
“Sorry,” Maddox says, and I almost cave because he looks so damn sad.
“It’s okay,” Andre says, clearing his throat. The air between us shifts as his voice changes, turning to something steadier. Firmer. “You guys hungry?”
Rylee nods. Dre heads over to her and my son, and I get a good look at him from behind.
His broad, defined shoulders, the way his back tapers to his waist, the way the waistband hangs around his hips.
He adjusts them nonchalantly, and from this angle, it’s hard not to notice how the fabric settles over his ass, drawing attention to it.
Andre’s always been a fit guy, but I don’t remember him having a solid ass before.
That’s new.
My stomach flips and my cock twitches, reminding me what I need to do just as the kids exclaim loudly that yes, they are starving. Rylee says she wants s’mores for breakfast, which Andre laughs and says isn’t breakfast. I watch as he gently pushes her into the kitchen, nodding at Maddox.
“What about you? What do you want? And don’t say S’mores.”
Maddox laughs, really laughs, and I don’t miss the way his smile reaches his ears when he looks at my best friend. It warms my heart more than it should.
“Pancakes!” he shouts, following Andre into the kitchen.
I make my way to the bathroom to do my business, and when I’m done, I wash my hands, feeling a strange sort of tingling in my chest. I ignore my aching dick, knowing now is certainly not the time for…
that. Awkward as it is, I know Dre probably doesn’t care.
Why would he? He’s a guy. He knows how it is sometimes.
It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just nature.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I splash cold water on my face and take a deep breath, pushing aside the thoughts. When I make my way to the kitchen, though, I can’t help but smile at the sight of Rylee cracking eggs into a bowl that Maddox is stirring.
And when Andre’s gaze drifts up to mine, that familiar smile killing the anxiety in my stomach, I can’t deny how warm my chest feels.
“Hope you like pancakes,” he says with a smirk.