8. Not Sneaking Around #2
He slides the box toward me across the counter while I fill the kettle with water. Chamomile. Mint. Lavender. Any flavor of tea I could possibly imagine. I grab one without really reading it. Blackberry Sage it looks like.
“Honey?” he asks.
I whip my head toward him too quickly.
He blinks. “For the tea.”
“Oh.” I exhale sharply through my nose. “Yeah. Honey’s fine.”
“We have agave if you want that instead.”
“Honey is fine,” I repeat, and now he’s definitely trying not to laugh at me.
The kettle clicks onto its base between us.
We’re standing too close. Close enough that if either of us shifted even slightly our arms would brush against each other.
“If something’s wrong, you can talk to me,” Anders says quietly. “I might not be able to help, but I can listen.”
That shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. I’m supposed to be the one looking after him, making sure he’s okay. It’s not supposed to be the other way around.
“I’m okay,” I tell him softly. “But thank you.”
“Well, I don’t believe you.”
My heart stutters hard enough that I’m convinced he can hear it. “I’m just tired,” I murmur, not necessarily a lie, but not the full truth. “Long day.”
“But you’re still awake.”
God.
Anders lets the silence sit between us for a moment before leaning back against the counter.
“I like having you here,” he says finally.
Something in my chest tightens painfully.
“That surprises me,” I admit before I can stop myself. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all weekend.”
His brows pull together immediately. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I just…” He hesitates. “You’re so different around Luca.”
“Different how?”
Anders shrugs, eyes dropping briefly to the counter before lifting back to mine. “Like you’re his friend and not mine.”
I can only stare at him, because somehow, this kid knows exactly what to say to get under my skin.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I say quietly. “I’m yours, too.”
“Yeah, but Luca has this way of reminding me that he had you first.”
The room suddenly feels unbearably hot.
Anders reaches toward the counter between us, and his pinky brushes mine. My breath catches instantly.
He notices. Of course he notices.
“It’s stupid,” he says softly, eyes fixed on our hands. “I just…” He swallows hard. “Sometimes I want things that aren’t really mine, Park.”
Every warning bell in my body starts screaming. Because suddenly I understand exactly what this is. This isn’t one-sided. It never has been.
“And I don’t know what do to about it.”
I should pull away. Instead I tighten my pinky around his before I can stop myself.
Anders looks up immediately. His expression changes so fast it nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
Fuck.
“I like it when it’s just the two of us,” I admit quietly.
His cheeks flush pink almost instantly. “Do you?”
“I like spending time with you.”
The smile he tries to suppress almost kills me.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” I tell him softly. “Please don’t do that to me.”
Anders pauses for a minute before inching a little closer. “I just want you all to myself.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
The kettle starts rumbling softly behind us, but neither of us move. Anders steps closer instead. Close enough now that I can smell the scent of his soap.
“Pet’ka,” he murmurs.
I look down at him and realize with horrifying clarity that if he kissed me right now, I would let him.
My pulse pounds violently in my ears.
He reaches out and snakes his hand around my waist, but I move quicker than he does. I back him up against the counter, bending down and quickly setting him down on top. My hand finds its way through his hair, threading my fingers through his soft, damp curls.
Electricity surges through me, my body prickling with unbearable heat.
Anders lets out an unbelievably soft gasp as I lean in.
Our noses brush and our mouths are so close that I can practically taste the toothpaste on his breath.
He slides a hand down the front of my shirt before yanking the collar down and pressing his hot mouth to the nape of my neck.
My jaw ticks as he latches on, his tongue burning like fire against my skin.
“We can go,” he whispers against me. “We can go right now…find somewhere and leave this house.”
The desperation in his voice kills me.
“Please,” he begs, holding the side of my face and pulling my head down to his. Our foreheads rest against each other. “Be my Parker. Not his.”
Fuck.
“Anders.” My voice shakes. I swipe my thumb right below his bottom lip. “I’m a grown man. I’m not sneaking around.”
Terrifying clarity crashes into me the moment the words leave me. I pull back a little and force myself to pretend the immediate hurt look on his face doesn’t kill me.
He laughs coldly. “Of course.”
“Anders—”
“Why not?” Anders asks. There isn’t any confusion in his voice, though. It’s anger, which somehow hurts in a way it hasn’t before. “What—you don’t want me?”
“That’s not—” I shake my head, but the look he gives me steals the words right out of my mouth.
“You would kiss me if we were still in D.C.” he retorts.
I shake my head apologetically. Guiltily. Painfully.
“But we’re not,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Don’t fucking sweetheart me.” Anders lets out a huff as he slides down off the counter. “Whatever. Have fun playing with Luca tomorrow,” he mutters pointedly. “Waste of my fuckin’ time.”
He starts walking off, but I close my hand around his arm and stop him. “Hey,” I murmur quietly. “C’mon. Don’t leave it at this.”
“No.” Anders looks back at me with a glare. “Quit playing in my face.”
“I’m not—”
His eyes narrow. “You’re too old to be acting like this.”
And I don’t think I’ve ever been more stunned. And ashamed…because he’s right.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
Anders just stares at me with this pitying look, which sets something off inside me.
There’s something wrong with me. Now I’m absolutely certain.
I don’t take to being put in my place very easily, and I don’t think anyone truly has been able to shut me up that quickly.
“Okay,” I finally nod. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Good.” He looks me up and down once more before he walks off without another word.