Page 75 of Catcher's Lock

His lips quirk, even as he shakes his head.

“You’re an asshole.”

“That’s always been true. You still find me irresistible.”Please find me irresistible.

“You can’t fix everything with sex, Gem. You of all people should know that.”

“I do. But I’ve also never tried it with someone I loved before.”

“Don’t.” A muscle tics in his jaw as he shoves his hands in hispockets and looks away. “Don’t just throw that out there like you know what it fucking means.”

“I know what it means.” I place a hand on his chest, fingers splayed to catch the thunder of his heart.

He studies me for a long moment. “Okay.”

“Okay, I’m allowed to love you, or…?”

“Okay, we can try.”

“To be clear,” I say, inching closer to peek up at him through my lashes, because I never promised to fightfair. “Trying includes more sex stuff, right? Because I’ve been doing a lot of research, and there’s about a million things I wanna try.”

“You’ve been doing—wait. A million?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been watching gay porn since you discovered what your dick was for.”

“I think a million is a little ambitious.” He pulls his hands from his pockets to cover mine, and the brush of his thumb along my wrist is enough to make my knees tremble.

Relief and desire make a potent fucking cocktail.

“You want me to make a list?” I ask.

“How about you pick one thing, and we go take that shower?”

“Threethings.”

“Fine. But I’m serious about the rest of it. Including the meetings. We’re not spending the next four days in bed. I’ve got work at Big Top, and we need to fix your bike so you have a way to get around and—”

“Rocket.”

“What?”

“Stop talking and let me fucking seduce you.”

25

Fragile

Gemiah

Age 24 (Now)

There’s something strangely vulnerable about sharing a shower with Josha.

We move in careful, shuffling circles, pretending each brush of wet skin isn’t made of taffy and tension rather than body wash and bubbles. Despite the unexpected awkwardness—why was I less nervous on my knees about to take his cock in my mouth?—we’re both half hard. Which is mildly frustrating in a vague way because I can’t figure out why we’re not doing anything about it.

Maybe it’s because I watched him learn to shave in this bathroom—me perched on the narrow counter while he pinched his lips between his teeth to drag the disposable razor over his chin.

Maybe it’s because Zombie insists on joining us, paws hooked over the edge of the tub and peeking around the shower curtain with his one good eye—only to shake his head in injured surprise every time the spray ricochets his way.