Page 167 of In at the Deep End

Matt stared at him. “You’re a thief.”

“A successful one.” He popped the piece into his mouth.

Matt shoved his shoulder.

Owen laughed, caught his wrist and held it.

The laughter faded between them. Matt looked down at Owen’s hand around his wrist, then back at his face.

Owen’s thumb traced the inside of his wrist, a slow, almost absent-minded gesture, the same touch he’d given Matt dozens of times, almost without thinking.

Matt’s pulse skipped. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps he’d imagined the earlier hesitation. Maybe nothing had changed after all.

Owen’s gaze dropped briefly to his mouth.

Then he released him. “Sorry.”

Matt frowned. “For what?”

Owen looked back at the television. “Nothing.”

The answer bothered him more than an explanation would have.

Matt studied him for a moment, then reached for another piece of popcorn. “You know, you’re terrible at being innocent.”

Owen laughed. “I’m not even going to ask what that means.”

“Good.”

Matt turned back to the film, but the moment stayed with him.

Ten minutes later, he shifted sideways until his shoulder rested against Owen’s.

Owen didn’t move away, and for several minutes, they stayed like that.

Matt relaxed.

There. This was them. Whatever little oddness he’d noticed earlier, it meant nothing.

Then Owen shifted his arm along the back of the sofa. His hand came to rest just behind Matt’s shoulder, not touching, but close enough that Matt could feel the warmth of him.

Matt resisted the urge to lean back into it. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because some part of him had suddenly become afraid that if he moved, Owen would too.

So he stayed where he was.

The film played on, and for a while, everything felt almost normal.

Almost.

The film had reached the point where Owen could have recited the dialogue himself, yet he was paying very little attention to what was happening on screen. Matt was sitting beside him now, close enough that their thighs brushed whenever either of them shifted, and every accidental contact sent a small reminder through Owen that he was supposed to be keeping his distance.

He’d spent the last week telling himself to be careful.

This was what careful looked like.

Except careful apparently required an extraordinary amount of concentration.

So when Matt edged a little closer, Owen shifted too, creating just enough space between them to make the movement seem natural rather than deliberate. He kept his eyes on the television, although he could feel Matt gazing at him.