Page 28 of Necessary Time

“This is mine.”

He twisted the knob and stepped in, flipping on the light in one swift motion. His bedroom was sparse, but probably as big as my apartment. I chose to not make a comment about it. He had a simple bedframe made from unfinished slats of light wood and a dresser that matched. One wall was almost all window, much like the living room and I went toward it, admiring the view.

“I guess when you’re up this high, you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing in,” I said. Across the street, waves lapped against the sand, the moon reflecting off the black ocean and against the panes of glass.

“It’s really nice at sunset.”

Wesley was close behind me. I froze, not willing to move, not even wanting to breathe.

“I bet,” I rasped.

“I don’t have much here,” he said softly, still too close.

“It’s a fresh start for you.”

“It was an ending,” he said.

“Leaving was an ending. Getting here was a beginning. This is a beginning.” I turned, finding him closer than I’d anticipated. Wesley tipped his head back again, looking down the length of his nose at me even though I was taller by at least half a foot.

“It’s a lonely beginning.”

“It won’t always be that way.”

“I don’t even know how to make friends,” he confessed. “I met Grayson because of Hendrix. I met you because of Hendrix. I don’t know a single person here that I’ve met on my own.”

I ached to reach out and comfort him, but instead I flexed my hand into a fist at my side. My fingers needed to move, but I wasn’t going to let them move the way they wanted.

“You just have to be patient.”

Wesley quirked up a brow. “Is that it?”

The question was loaded, and we both knew it.

“That’s it,” I whispered.

“Colin, I…”

I pressed my fingertips against his lips, shivering at the cold when he sucked in a sharp breath. I swallowed, giving him a small shake of my head.

“You just have to be patient,” I said again.

“It’s never been a strong suit.” His lips moved against my fingers, chapped on the outside, but moist in the places his tongue had touched. Something unwelcome stirred between my legs, and I snatched my hand back, sidestepping away from him at the same time.

“Are you saying good things come to those who wait?”

Even as I’d moved toward the door, his voice stayed near the window. I stopped with my hand on the doorknob, knowing what he meant with the question, understanding how it fit together with the conversation we’d had at the pub. If I closed my eyes, I could feel the brush of his arm against mine as we yelled for our turtles in the race. I remembered the dig of his nails into the flesh of my wrist as his first choice neared the finish line. Every touch a sharp and scalding memory that I had no right to recall the way I was. The feeling between my legs only grew headier, my brain turning to static in my head when I tried to think about anything else.

“I’m too old, Wesley.”

“For what?”

“For this.”

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I should go.”

I dared a look over my shoulder, finding Wesley rooted where I’d last seen him. Hardly any space between his back and the window, he’d been so close and now there was so much distance between us.