Page 111 of With the Assist

I don’t know why I ever thought I could stop touching him.

I never want to stop touching him.

My hands crawl under his sweatshirt and along his back as I grip him tighter. A soft moan escapes from somewhere deep in my throat. His hips pin me in place the same way he’d pinned me to the mattress. My thighs clench together as if remembering exactly what might come next.

Fuck, this man can kiss.

His hands are pressed against the car at the side of my head, caging me in. I’d gladly stay locked in between them forever if it meant reality didn’t exist.

Instead, a car door sounds across the parking lot, snapping us back to ourselves.

My cheeks turn crimson. We were practically mauling each other in public. He pulls back. Our breath comes hard, foreheads nearly pressed together as we regain our bearings.

Almost as soon as his lips leave mine, my mind starts working.

As if he can read it on my face, his thumb traces my jaw. “Hey,” he says softly. “No worries. There is no pressure here. Not from me. As you said, it’s just some fun.”

The words should calm me.

They almost do.

Except something in his eyes doesn’t match them. Something unsteady, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me.

I nod anyway. “Right. I know.”

He steps back before I can say anything else. “Merry Christmas, Wesley.” He gives me one last look, then turns and walks to his car.

A moment later, he’s gone.

30

Nathan

Istand on the front porch longer than I need to.

The house looks exactly the same as it always has, though the white siding is in desperate need of a power wash. A wreath is on the door. The same one that mom insists on hanging every year, its pinecones and bows have faded to dull, pastel greens and reds. Warm light spills through the front windows, silhouettes moving inside.

It took me twenty-seven minutes to get here. After circling the block for fifteen minutes, I was officially late. I raise my hand to knock, hesitate, then consider the very real option of turning around and walking back to my car.

No one is physically stopping me.

Before I can go through with it, the door swings open.

“Nathan,” Delaney says brightly, already grinning. “You made it. Congratulations. You’re officially trapped.”

She grabs my arm and drags me inside before I can protest, the door closing behind me with a loud bang.

“Delaney,” I mumble, laughing despite myself. “I still had a chance to make a break for it.”

She gasps dramatically. “You wouldn’t dare leave your little sister on a holiday.” She yanks my coat off my body as if stealing it will make me stay. “Welcome home.”

The house smells like rosemary, like it did growing up. The only addition is the dessert baking in the oven. It smells like a memory, the scent settling onto my skin like a permanent reminder of how I’ve never quite fit here.

I follow Delaney toward the kitchen, every step feeling heavier than the last.

Mom is at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, and her hair is pulled back the way she always does when she cooks. Dad stands at the counter chopping vegetables with quiet precision, his sleeves rolled up.

They both look up when we enter, but neither one stops what they’re doing. It’s been six months since we’ve seen each other. Sure, we’ve had phone conversations, but considering we live in the same city, six months should seem too long. Instead, it’s already starting to feel like not long enough.