I can’t stand Lex spying on me, he’s always fucking watching like a creeper. So, I push myself up and leave his apartment. I need space tofeelwithout him analyzing my every move. I order an Uber and before I can overthink it, I’m a block from August’s house. The skies have opened up on my way over and now it’s pouring rain. “Right here,” I tell the driver and slide out of the car, moving toward my final destination.
I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t stay away.
I sneak around the side of the house, hopping over the fence and then stand outside his window. I’m sure this qualifies as stalking. I’ve turned into a sociopath, but I’m too crazed to care. I just need a minute to get my shit together, to just be near him, and then I’ll go home.
This is insanity. But this whole situation was insanity to begin with, and I did it anyway.
I’m in the midst of my internal debate when suddenly the window is wrenched open, and August peers out.
“What the hell, Em?” he grumbles, popping the screen out and lifting the window up as far as it can go. “What the fuck are you doing lurking around like Sem? I actually thought you were Sem at first––figured he thought Magnus was here and came to kill me in a jealous rage.”
My teeth are chattering loudly as I stumble through the window. I skid on the wood floors and watch as water drips down my body and puddles near my feet. I stare down at the mess I’ve made and realize this is a fucking metaphor for my life. Hi, I’m Emery Evans and I’m an addict.
Are there support groups for people who are addicted to making out with members of their own family?
“You’re soaked,” August says, grabbing onto the zipper of my––his––sweater and helping me pull it off my shoulders. It falls to the floor with a plop. The sound reverberates around the room, and I wince.
I’m saturated and I can’t stop shaking. I’m not even sure it’s entirely from the cold; I think my brain has just decided that going into shock was the appropriate action for this moment. August’s hands are on me, peeling my shirt over my head.
“Why didn’t you just use the front door?” he asks.
“Our parents. Didn’t want to talk to them,” I mumble as he squats down and helps me out of my pants.
“Didn’t my mom tell you they were gone for the weekend?”
“I don’t know. She was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening. Couldn’t concentrate,” I mutter as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my boxers and pulls them down my thighs.
His warm breath hits my half hard dick, and a thousand scenarios filter through my head, but dissipate just as quickly when he stands and grabs onto a blanket and pulls it over my shoulders.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah.” But he doesn’t understand. He has no clue what I mean. I’m better simply because he’s near me. He’s the warmth that I’ve been craving my entire life. I didn’t realize I’d been missing it until I’d had it. And then I had to watch as it was snuffed out.
“Okay. I’m going to put your stuff in the dryer,” he says, gathering my heap of wet clothes in his arms. “Then we can talk.”
I nibble on my bottom lip because I don’t know what I’ll say when he asks me to open my mouth and spew something worth listening to.
“Be right back,” he says, but I just rush after him, shuffling closely behind him as he slips into the garage. I watch as he throws the wet clothes into the dryer and turns it on. He leans against the side of the machine and takes me in with those beautiful green eyes.
“About fifty minutes and they’ll be ready,” he says.
I nod my head, forcing my gaze away from his. I feel like he can so easily hypnotize me, bend me to his will.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Let’s go back inside. It’s warmer.”
When I move through the living room, August grabs a blue throw off the couch and wraps it around my shoulders, bundling me up even more. He tucks it right under my chin and then he runs those fingers across my face, tucking a wayward strand of wet hair behind my ear.
Unable to help myself, I just lean into him.
“Em, can we cut to the chase? Why are you here?”
I swallow and look away. I don’t know the answer. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell.
“Come on, let’s talk about this in my room. You can sit under the covers in there,” he says softly and places a hand on my lower back. I can barely feel it through the blankets, but I know it’s there. It’s a soft, reassuring pressure as he leads me down the short hallway. And when we step into his bedroom, he holds the covers away from his bed.
“I’m not going to…I won’t cross any lines. This is just until the dryer is done. Then I can drive you home after that,” he says and then adds softly, “If that’s what you want.”