Rafe runs a finger around my hole. “You okay?” he asks. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
I shake my head, reaching blindly for him so he’ll lie down again and stop talking. He gets the message and lies next to me, kissing me softly and running his hand over every part of me he can reach.
“I’ll be right back.”
I must doze off for a minute because I startle awake to a warm washcloth cleaning come off my stomach.
“Sorry,” Rafe says softly, hand on my hip. He drops the cloth on the floor, but I let it go, for once too warm and relaxed to get up and put it in the hamper.
Rafe slides down next to me and gathers me to him. “That was…. Mmm, damn,” he moans. And I know I should say something. Tell him he made me feel amazing. That I loved it. But I can’t. I’m afraid if I say any of it out loud, think about it for too long, the shame will hit. I just hum against Rafe’s shoulder and squeeze my eyes shut, sliding a hand into his hair and absently untangling it until I fall asleep.
Chapter 9
WHEN THE doorbell rings, I’m just getting out of the shower and I almost break my neck getting tangled up in my sweats as I drag them over still-wet skin.
Relief floods me when I see that it’s Rafe. I haven’t heard from him since he left my house Sunday morning. I even texted him a few times, but he didn’t respond, which isn’t like him.
I find myself smiling automatically, and Shelby practically climbs the leg of his jeans. Rafe gently detaches her from his leg, but sets her down on the floor without playing with her. Also not like him.
“Hey,” I say.
“I need to talk to you.” He sounds like he’s trying really hard to keep his temper.
“Okay.” I back away from the door.
“I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to be honest with me.”
I nod. He’s still standing just inside the door.
“Do you wanna sit down?”
But he shakes his head. He looks like a different person than the Rafe I woke up to on Sunday morning. The one with the warm, sleepy kisses. The one who told me I was beautiful—even if that did make me blush and smack him. The one who said he liked being at my house because his apartment felt lonely since Javier died. The one who cooked me breakfast and hugged me tight before he had to leave.
“Were you alone with Anders here on Monday night?” he asks, voice tight.
My heart starts to pound. “Uh… no? Not here. But yeah, he came to the shop. Wanted to talk.”
Rafe puts his head in his hand and groans, like Anders wanting to talk to me is some kind of horrible nightmare.
“I mean, I’m sure he’d have rather talked with you, but he didn’t know where you are when you’re not at YA and he knew where I worked, so….”
“I’m not—Jesus, Colin, I’m not jealous. I just can’t believe you would do something so monumentally stupid! Fuck!” Rafe drops down onto the back of the couch. “What were you thinking? Were you alone with him? Who else was there? Did people see him?”
“Hold the hell on. What are you implying? I didn’t… I didn’t do anything to him!”
“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s not the point. That’s why there are protocols for working with youth. You have to be absolutely beyond fucking reproach at all times or you leave yourself open to every accusation under the sun. And I’m the one who brought you on as a volunteer, so if it looks like you’re being inappropriate with the kids, then it’s on me!”
“Well, how do I know this shit? I was trying to help.” Okay, my first response had been irritation that Anders had come to the shop, but I got over it.
“You don’t know so there are times you can’t help,” Rafe says, like I’m an idiot. I hate it when he does this. Acts like there is this whole set of rules that I’ll never understand. Not that he’s wrong. It’d just be nice not to be reminded that I fuck up everything I touch.
“Look, he wanted to talk to me because I’m not… you know, because people don’t know about him. Being gay. Queer. Whatever. Like, he wanted to know should he tell his parents and shit. And I think he just wanted to know how it was for me.”
Rafe takes a deep breath like it’s all he can do to control his temper. “So, what did you tell him?” he asks slowly.
I’d been finishing up a repair when Anders slunk in. All I saw of him at first were his skinny legs encased in their usual black denim and ending in too-heavy black boots that scuffed the grimy concrete. Pop had left and I had pretty much scared off Brian and Sam by bringing up the idea of proposing more custom repairs to Pop. They’d both done the we-don’t-want-to-make-waves shuffle and I’d been pissed at them the rest of the day for being such cowards. So, chances were no one would see Anders, but I’d led him into the office anyway, not wanting to take any chances that we might be overheard.