Chapter 9 #2
I have an odd sensation in my chest, right in the centre, as I nod at him.
It’s a slightly sad, sinking sort of feeling.
But when all is said and done, being friends is doable.
Friends means that I could still spend time with him after this tattoo is done without having to make up a new tattoo to guarantee further appointments with him.
I’d end up looking like a walking manuscript, and run out of space on my skin before I was anywhere near done with him.
And friends can do other stuff, too, I think as he turns his back so I can put my top back on.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, but I’m craving more physical contact with him.
Here. Now. Contact that doesn’t involve needles and his job.
I want his hands on me without an excuse for them to be there.
Just because he wants to touch me. Because he needs to, craves to.
And if I can’t have that, then I will ask for the next best thing.
“I’m decent,” I say, like I always do, and he turns back to face me. “ So, since we’re friends, can I hug my friend to say thank you for remembering my birthday?”
His eyes flicker a little, and then the mask is back on. His warm, friendly, professional mask.
Sure, of course.
He stands the other side of the chair from me, looking fidgety, like he might bolt any second. But in his eyes, I see something that gives me a spark of hope.
Yearning.
Just a hint of it, like dust on the breeze, but it’s there. He wants me to hug him. I’m not being a weird, pushy creep. And this is absolutely not one sided.
I walk slowly around the chair and look up into the depths of his blue eyes for a couple of seconds before I gently put my arms around him. With a tentativeness that makes my heart ache, he puts his arms around me.
And, in an instant, my whole world changes.
I’m holding him, and he’s holding me right back.
He’s a head taller than me, and my own fits neatly under his chin.
We align exactly, a perfect fit. And in his arms, I’m warm, and safe, and excited.
It’s a heady combination that feels, quite simply, like home.
Like a place I never knew I was looking for all this time.
I’m dizzy, almost intoxicated with this undreamt-of feeling, and I want to stay here.
Right here, in his embrace, with the lingering traces of his lemony body wash filling my senses and giving me a kind of peace I’ve never known.
With my body pressed against his, I can feel that he stays in shape, hard, wiry muscle engulfing me.
And he’s hard in another place, too.
He’s not pressing himself against me, but I can still feel that he definitely has an erection. And I want it. I want to pin him to the nearest flat service and climb all over it.
We’re hardly breathing, both aware that we’ve been hugging for longer than is normal for friends. Especially when one of those friends has a rock-on in his underpants. But neither of us want to break the moment.
Well, except perhaps to take it further, speaking purely for myself.
Before I even realise what I’m going to do, my lips brush very lightly across his neck.
Not even a kiss, just a glancing touch as I turn my head.
His skin feels rougher and textured here, and I realise in a split second that these are his bullet wound scars, torn and ragged and obvious.
I feel a shiver go through him as his breath catches, and then he’s letting go of me like I’ve burned him, backing away in a hurry and knocking some things over on the table behind him.
He stares at me, gulping, his eyes huge.
“I…” I want to say something to make everything go back to how it was, feeling guilty that I inadvertently spooked him, but he shakes his head. His eyes close as he takes a deep breath. His fists clench rhythmically at his sides, and his lips press together.
There’s that mask again, back in place. It took him a little longer this time, and the warm smile is trembling slightly, but the wall is back up.
If it makes him feel more secure, I’m not going to rattle that fence. But I wish, I wish, I wish he would take it down and let me in. I wish I was worthy of that, because that would be up there with my doctorate as an achievement.
Oh. Oh, boy . My affections are properly engaged. That’s what’s happening here, and it’s a problem I’m going to have to think over tonight, once I’m alone. He’s the most complex puzzle I’ve ever found, and my brain is already whirring with the effort of trying to suss him out.
I just wish my heart didn’t feel so tender and jumpy. It’s distracting, and it hurts. I feel for him. Not pity, not sadness. Just…
Why have words deserted me and left me lost and flailing in their wake? I know so many. Where have they all gone?
I feel for him. That’s the best I can come up with. My chest aches with feelings , too many of them all at once, and all of them too strong and unfamiliar and overwhelming to make sense.
He pushes the door open, looking anywhere but at me, and I quickly gather my things and follow him out of the studio door.
Leo and Eli are talking on reception, looking at Emily’s laptop. Eli immediately takes in Dean’s jitteriness, but Leo just grins at me and winks. “Liaden, just the person I wanted to talk to.”
“Oh?” I want to get out of here and be alone with my thoughts, but I’m curious about what he wants to say.
“How do you feel about karaoke? Passionately enthusiastic, I hope?”
I frown. He’s surely not asking me out on a date. That would be too awkward for words.
“The Wishbone gang are going to the eighties karaoke cheese-fest at the Red Lion this Saturday,” he continues smoothly, perhaps perceptive enough to interpret my pause. “You in?”
Thank goodness.
I glance at Dean, who isn’t looking at me. In fact, he seems to be having a rather intense, wordless conversation with Eli using just their eyes.
Call it an educated guess, but I don’t think he’ll be in attendance.
I consider making my polite excuses, but if he’s not going to be there, and if I’d like the opportunity to forge friendships with Sadie and Emily at least, and preferably all of them, then why not?
I love to sing, and this might be fun. I don’t think Leo would allow it to be anything but.
And besides, I might be able to get some inside track on Dean, and find out what I did wrong at the end of this session.
I know what I felt, both in terms of my emotions and of what was semi-pressed up against me.
Those guys may know the reason why he reacted like that.
Perhaps I triggered a specific memory of his?
“Sure,” I say, “I’m free this weekend. That sounds like fun.”
Dean blinks.
“Awesome,” Leo replies, looking at me, then Dean, and then back at me. He’s clearly aware of the odd vibe, and his eyes gentle as he looks at me sympathetically. “We’ll meet you there at seven on Saturday, then. ”
“Fine,” I reply with the closest I can manage to a smile right now, and Dean gives him an even look that sends a little chill up my spine as he opens the front door for me.
To my surprise, he still walks with me as I leave, walking me back to where I usually park my car the way he always does. I would have thought that would have gone out of the window this time, but he’s clearly a gentleman.
He sure is walking fast, though.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I try to keep pace with him. He shakes his head impatiently.
This two minute walk cannot end soon enough. I feel awful. I’m not sure I deserve to, but it doesn’t change the fact that I do. What did I do wrong?
When we finally get to my Mondeo, he stops abruptly and sighs, finally looking at me with apologetic eyes. I’M the one who’s sorry , he signs. You did nothing wrong.
“I didn’t mean to - ” He cuts me off by putting his thumb on my lips, his fingers gently cupping my chin. They remain there for a handful of second, before he drops his hand.
There’s a tingle on my lower lip, and I lick it reflexively. It draws his gaze, and his whole face is intent. His limbs ready themselves as though a some impulse has been set off, and I can almost hear him thinking about pinning me to my car door and…
He gulps again, his face clearing, and I try not to show my sad disappointment. We look at each other for a long moment, and it’s raw and real because neither of us have our usual masks on. Just locked eyes full of want and regret that neither of us can hide.
He offers me the tiniest smile, and then heads back up the hill to the parlour.
And all I can do is melt, and burn, and wish.
Dean
I am so fucked.