CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TRAVIS

I wake up to the sensation of something rubbing my chest. No, not something. Someone.

Brenden.

I don’t need to open my eyes to know it’s him, and not just because I remember what happened last night and whose bed I slept in. It’s also because somehow, in such a short time, his touch has become that familiar to me.

He lightly drags his fingers through my chest hair, charting his way across my muscles and gently sweeping a thumb over my nipple, coaxing it to harden for him. His touch is soft, likely not meant to wake me. But for how aware I am of him, he might as well be branding his fingerprints into my skin.

I don’t think I’d mind that. In fact, I think maybe he branded himself on me a long time ago.

All those small touches, all those smiles. They stay with me after he leaves. And over the years, he’s managed to become a part of me. Maybe it’s okay that I’m grumpy on the outside, because I’m carrying his happiness inside of me.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. That’s some sappy shit.

I can’t do this. My feelings for him have been manageable all these years. I was able to suppress them enough in order to be his friend. Now suddenly, all those suppressed feelings have broken free, rushed to the surface with an intensity that’s impossible to ignore any longer.

But how can I be the man that he needs me to be for him?

I’m not boyfriend material. I’m not that guy.

Faking it is one thing, because I’m able to play a role, to be someone else. What if he expects me to be that person all the time? What if I disappoint him?

“Your heart is racing,” a soft voice says.

When I open my eyes, his face is right above mine, and his calm blue eyes immediately soothe my doubts. This connection between us is so strong it makes me feel like I can do anything. Like I can love him, and take care of him, and make him happy every day from now until forever.

Shit, did I say love?

He presses his palm over my heart, branding himself on me once more.

And yeah. I think I fucking love him.

So I lean up to kiss him, because what else can I do?

He kisses me back, but keeps his mouth closed, and when I lick at the seam of his lips to coax him to open for me, he pulls back. “I have morning breath,” he mumbles.

“I don’t care.”

“Oh,” he says softly, like that’s something to marvel at. But really, who the fuck cares about a little morning breath when you’ve got someone’s warm naked body against your side? When you’ve already been inside them?