“No, I’m not. I promise.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m being ignored and avoided?” His gaze darkens as he scowls at me. “You spent an extra long time in the shower, and then another fifteen minutes in your room, and you haven’t said a word to me since you got out here. If I did something I want to know.”
“Charlie,” I tell him gently but sternly. “I need you to trust me. You haven’t done anything. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I didn’t mean to. I guess I’ve just been lost in my own head is all, okay? But you are fine. We’re fine. If you do something that I don’t like, I will tell you. Got it?”
He locks eyes with me for a moment, as if studying me, before he nods.
“Thank you for making dinner,” I say. “It’s really good.”
He gives me a soft smile. “Thank you.”
We clean up together, and it feels like things are back to normal between us. He’s smiling and wiggling his hips as he hums a Lady Gaga tune and loads the dishwasher while I clean the pots and pans. My cock is soft again, thank goodness.
“You dance?” he asks, swaying even more and holding his arms up a little as he makes his way over to me. He sets down the glass he’s carrying and grips my arm, turning me to face him. Dirty water drips from my hand onto the floor and he just laughs when my eyes widen.
“Look at the mess you made,” he chides playfully, and every part of me wants to reach around him and smack that sassy ass. Instead I toss him a towel and he chuckles as he cleans up the mess, then steps towards me again and slides his hand in mine, his other hand gripping my arm and bringing it around his waist. Fuck, I can’t breathe. Electricity shoots up my arm as soon as his bare skin connects with my hand, and I have to not get any closer to him because there goes my hard on again.
“Charlie,” I whisper, and swallow. He just smiles at me and takes the lead as we move, very ungracefully across the kitchen floor, my heart beating wildly the entire time. I’m so terrified, and so fucking turned on, but he’s smiling so big I can’t stop. And he feels so good in my arms. I will myself to be okay, to just enjoy it, the way he feels, the way he moves, the way he’s gazing at me. I don’t miss how his eyes lower and linger on my lips for the briefest of moments. I tell myself I imagined it even though I know I didn’t, because if he wants the same things I do, this is going to erupt into something so big and terrible we’ll never get through it unscathed. One of us has to be able to say no.
“You’re not bad, Papa Bear,” he says softly, a warm smile on his face as he stops his movement. “We should go out dancing sometime.”
I blink at him. “Dancing?”
“Yeah, you know at a bar or a club?”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, still trying to calm my racing heart. “Sure.” I don’t know why the fuck I’m agreeing, because I’ve never been dancing in my life. Well, okay, maybe in my twenties, but that was a lifetime ago. I’m pretty sure my body can’t move like that anymore. Charlie would be embarrassed to pieces, dancing with me in public.
He smirks at me and then we’re back to loading the dishes and washing as if nothing ever happened.
I head to bed early that night. Partly because I’m exhausted and have work in the morning, plus I’m taking Charlie to get tested, but more so because my mind and my body need a break from him. I have to not look at him or talk to him because when I do my cock reacts.
I can’t want him the way I do. I can’t.
* * *
“Charlie?” I ask, knocking on his door the next morning. “Time to get up.”
I hear him grumble on the other side of the door. “Two more minutes.”
I sigh, but decide a couple more minutes won’t hurt. If he does have any STIs, finding out about them a couple of minutes later isn’t going to matter. I’m just anxious for him to see someone and find out what he might be dealing with, if anything. Even if he is, I know there’s treatment, and above everything, if he finds out he has anything—especially anything serious—I want to be there for him.
I make us both a cup of coffee and grab a package of Pop Tarts for him. I don’t put them in the toaster because I noticed he likes them better that way.
A couple of minutes later he stumbles into the kitchen, his red hair a tousled mess and his eyes blinking like he’s trying to figure out what he’s doing awake. He’s dressed in sweats and a T-shirt that we got on our shopping trip, and he’s positively adorable. He makes his way to the coffee on the counter, and pours about a tablespoon of sugar into it before opening the refrigerator for the cream.
“Want some coffee with your creamer?” I tease him when he keeps pouring it until the coffee is almost white. He grins at me and I can’t help but smile back. I hand him the Pop Tarts and he pecks me on the cheek.
“Thanks, Papa Bear,” he says. My face heats as I bite my lip. Jesus, this boy will be my undoing.
“Can you eat on the way?” I say, eager to get going, but also because I don’t want to be super late getting into work.
“Okay.” He pours his coffee into a to-go cup and snaps the lid on, holding the Pop Tarts, wrapper still on, between his teeth.
“You don’t want to do something with your hair?” I say, gesturing to the unruly mop. I think it’s fucking adorable, but I’m not sure he’d agree.
He shrugs. “It’s the Dr. I don’t care. I’ve looked worse than this before.”
I chuckle. “Suit yourself.” I grab my keys before we head out to the truck.
