10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

LEWIS

Arrow searches my face for a second. There's something in his gaze that feels like he's stripping me, not just out of my clothes but out of my skin too, seeing all the way down to my squishy, vulnerable insides. I resist the urge to retreat, to curl up like a hedgehog so all of my emotional weak spots are protected by a spiky exterior.

He takes the glass from me and throws back the equivalent of probably two shots in a couple of quick swallows, his throat bobbing. I gulp down about half of mine, feeling the burn of the alcohol on my tongue and all the way down my throat. It settles heavily in my stomach and makes my head swim almost instantly.

"How's your hand?" I ask, lifting the ice pack off so I can look at it. I can't remember if I already asked or if I just started subtly grilling him about what happened. If I did, I don't think he answered.

He looks at it, his knuckles even more red now, either from the ice pack or the swelling, I'm not sure. Arrow curls his fingers slowly into a fist and then relaxes them just as carefully.

"I'll live." He leans forward and sets his glass aside, then he takes the ice pack from me and puts it down next to his empty glass. "So, what are we watching?" He nods at the TV.

I frown. I completely forgot the TV was even on. My god, it says a hell of a lot about Arrow that he can make me forget about David Tennant. I take another small sip from my drink and shift around on the couch, so instead of facing Arrow, we're shoulder to shoulder. I prop my feet up on the coffee table next to his.

"You've never seen Good Omens ?"

He shakes his head, lifting his arm to splay it across the back of the couch, not quite putting it around me, but not exactly not putting it around me. Jesus, Lew, get it together, this isn't middle school. Arrow lets his arm slide down until the full weight of it finally does land on my shoulders and I give a little internal squeal.

A totally chill, in control squeal, obviously. I'm definitely not mentally doodling our names inside of a big cartoon heart. Does that even sound like me?

I put my hand on his thigh and give him a rundown of the show. Lucky for him, I started a re-watch yesterday, so I'm only on episode three tonight. Even still, I sound batshit crazy trying to summarize this show. Arrow listens though, smiling and nodding.

"I have big envy for Crowley's indoor green space, but I don't love the way he yells at his plants."

"Because you prefer to talk nicely to your plants," he concludes.

"Exactly."

Arrow purses his lips like he's holding something back.

"What?" I ask, sliding my hand up his thigh a little more, feeling the heat of his body through the denim of his jeans. I really should be kissing him or trying to undo his pants instead of talking to him about my favorite show or my plants. That's how I always end up getting attached. My dumb ass is trying to bond while he's just here to get laid.

He runs his fingers softly over my arm.

"I was just wondering if you ever sing to them," he says.

My face heats and I laugh. "No."

"You're lying. You sing to your plants." Arrow squeezes me a little tighter and chuckles. "What do you sing?"

"Nothing," I scoff, sliding my hand up and cupping the soft bulge between his legs.

The amusement shining in his eyes sizzles into something hotter, but he puts his injured hand over mine to stop me.

"Sorry, you don't have to tell me. I'm pushing. I was just curious… about you." He lets go of my hand again, but now I'm not sure what I should do. "I do this. I push too hard with guys who aren't half as interested in me as I am in them." Arrow lets out a wry laugh, moving his hand from my arm to rest on the back of my neck. The way his fingers press into my skin feels claiming and possessive, lighting a fire in the pit of my stomach. "Clearly that's a lesson that still hasn't sunk in," he finishes with one last humorless chuckle.

Uh… what?

I blink and shake my head, my hand still resting on Arrow's dick while I open and close my mouth like the idiot I always manage to be in front of this man. I understand each of the individual words he's saying, but together they don't make any sense. He's curious about me? He has a tendency to fall harder for guys than they fall for him? My heart beats faster, and no matter how hard I try to figure out what to say, all my brain is willing to provide me with is a grinding sound like a broken garbage disposal.

Arrow's fingers tighten against the back of my neck again, and he takes pity on me, pulling me in for a kiss. The warm, firm feeling of his lips on mine settles the tornado of panic and confusion that his words unleashed, and I sink into it. This is simple. The stroke of his tongue, the drugging rhythm of his mouth moving against mine, the harshness of our breathing drowning out the sound of the TV—it's all easy to understand. No one gets hurt when this is what we focus on.

Right?

Why do I feel less sure about that than I did earlier?

"It's really stupid," I say as my lips brush against his, "but they always grow best when I sing them eighties rock ballads."

He rests his forehead against mine and the puff of air he exhales with his laugh washes over my face.

"Sure, they must love ‘Every Rose' by Poison," he says.

"They really do." I grin and tease my lips over his. My heart is beating even more wildly now than it was two minutes ago when I was on the verge of a panic attack. The taste of Arrow on my tongue is already becoming my favorite drug.

"Anything I can do to convince you to belt out a few bars?" he murmurs, nipping at my bottom lip.

"Absolutely not." I swing my leg over to straddle his lap and he fists the back of my shirt.

Arrow flinches and I break the kiss.

"Sorry, forgot my hand was fucked up for a second."

"Shit." I twist around to try and look at it again. "Maybe we should just watch the show?"

His cock is straining hard against mine now, and we're both breathing heavily, but the last thing I want is for him to hurt his hand any worse than it is.

"I guess we'd better," he agrees.

I crawl off his lap carefully and grab the ice pack again. Arrow grits his teeth as I gently place it back on his knuckles.

"Should we…" I weigh the suggestion on the tip of my tongue, aware of how much it might change this simple, hot, sex-focused dynamic we've already agreed on. "Order a pizza or something?"

"Pizza sounds good." His stomach growls loudly as soon as he says it.

I laugh and pick up my phone to place an order on the app. "Do you have any preferences? And please be advised that I will be judging your choice of pizza toppings."

"I never doubted it," he says solemnly. "I order olives, mushrooms, and green peppers for myself, but I'll eat anything except anchovies."

"Acceptable choices."

"Glad I passed the test." A brief grin flickers on his lips, then disappears.

I put in the order then toss my phone down on the cushion on my other side. This is totally fine. Hanging out without having sex doesn't have to change anything else. We're adults, and whatever Arrow was trying to tell me earlier, I'm sure the last thing he actually wants is for me to get all needy and embarrass myself.

"Now I want to make a club with my friends so we can wear matching jackets." I circle our conversation back to the topic from earlier and lean into Arrow again, making myself comfortable in the crook of his arm. "Oh, I know, gardening club. I'm going to need a lot more friends though, because if it's just Row and me with matching jackets, it might be a little sad."

Amusement rumbles in Arrow's chest. "I'll start asking around for you," he says. "What will you name your gardening club?"

"Thyme Lords." I snort and giggle at my own pun. "Ooh, no wait, Best Buds…" I pause for effect and crane my neck to look over at him. "Get it?"

He looks like he's holding back laughter, his silver eyes warm as they devour me again. This time, I feel a lot less compelled to curl up like a hedgehog.

"Pot Heads," he suggests, and I throw my head back to cackle.

"Yes, I can see the cute matching outfits now."

A little of the nervous tension inside me unravels. Talking and joking around with Arrow is just as easy as sex with him is. The conversation doesn't lag, moving easily from joking about me starting a motorcycle club style gardening club to our favorite shows and movies while we wait for our pizza. Without even realizing it, I end up holding his hand so I can keep the ice pack on his knuckles for him, his warm palm against mine.

Butterflies dance in my stomach, and the more his deep, calm voice washes over me, the more I want it to. I want to know about him. I want to understand what he meant earlier. I want to peek into his world and find out who he really is.

Fuck. I'm in so much trouble.

ARROW

The empty pizza box sits on the table and Lewis is snoring softly on the couch next to me. His head rests heavily on my shoulder while Good Omens continues to play on the TV. When I planted my foot firmly in my mouth earlier, I thought I'd blown everything. He said he wanted to see my flaws, but when I started to take the lid off, I could see the panic in his eyes. But in spite of the near disaster, I can't complain about the direction the night took.

Would I have liked to have sex with Lewis again? Hell yes. But talking over pizza and watching his favorite TV show was a hell of a lot better. I can practically see the knowing looks from my friends dancing in my mind, but that doesn't stop me carefully pushing the hair off Lewis's forehead and brushing a soft kiss there. My heart flutters and I sigh.

It's been hours since I had that drink, and half a pizza certainly did the trick of soaking up any lingering buzz. As tempting as it is to torture myself by sleeping in Lewis's bed tonight, I'd better not.

I turn off the TV and ease off the couch quietly. Lewis flops down with a sleepy grumble, wiggling around until he seems to be comfortable before starting to snore again. I grab a throw blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over him, then I pull my phone out of my pocket and type a message to send to him, so he won't think I just ducked out on him without explanation.

ARROW: I had fun tonight. Thanks for the pizza. See you soon, beautiful.

I linger over the too-sweet pet name for a minute before saying fuck it and sending it anyway. His phone lights up on the coffee table with the received text, and I bend over to give him one more quick kiss before slipping out.

It's dead quiet outside as I mount my bike, the roar of the engine cutting through the middle-of-the-night silence. I glance up at Lewis's window on the second floor, unhelpful fantasies filling my mind of Lewis asking me to stay the night and pulling me into his bed, the two of us having a whispered conversation about life and love and all the shit you can't just talk about with people until the sun starts to come up. My chest aches at the thought and I force a laugh to ease the tension. Jesus, I need to start daydreaming about fucking him again before I go and do something stupid like break my own heart.

I tear my gaze away from his window and pull out of the parking lot. The ride back to my place doesn't take long, but it's enough to help me clear my head a bit. There's a car in my driveway when I pull in. I roll my bike into the garage and then go in through the attached door. The skitter of Gregory's nails on the wood floor greets me seconds before he comes sprinting around the corner, his whole body wiggling with excitement.

"There's my little man." I bend down and scoop him up, chuckling at the thorough face bath he gives me.

I carry him down the short hall, stopping in the living room and shaking my head. There's a big lump fast asleep on my couch and a documentary about ancient Rome playing on the TV. I stride over and drop Gregory right on top of him like I'm releasing a bomb. The little fluff monster goes crazy licking his face, even wiggling his little pink tongue up into a nostril for good measure. He grunts and then startles awake.

"Your boyfriend finally get tired of you and kick you out?" I tease, nudging my brother's legs so he'll make some space for me on the couch.

He rubs his hands over his eyes and yawns.

"No, asshole. I came by to see you because I was worrying about you. I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?"

I shrug. "Two maybe. Why the hell are you worried about me? I'm fine."

I'm always fine.

Henry's eyes land on my swollen hand. I flex my fingers.

"It's not broken."

"You would know," he says wryly, and I snort. "Is that why you were out so late? Getting into bar fights like the good old days?"

I roll my eyes. "No. I was with someone."

"Really?" That perks him up. "Who? Why didn't you tell me you had a new boyfriend?"

"I don't. It's a casual thing, that's all. There's nothing to tell."

"Is it the guy you fucked during the rainstorm last month?" he asks.

I sputter out a disgruntled sound. "How the hell—"

"Riggs," Henry says smugly.

"Of course." I sigh. I thought I'd gotten away without him noticing me, but I guess I was wrong. "Like I said, it's no big deal."

"Not the first time you've used that lie," he points out.

"You get all loved up and suddenly you think you're the relationship expert around here?" I raise an eyebrow at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head, seeming to take my point.

"Hey, give me a break, I was a terrible, absent brother for years. I have to make up for some of that neglect."

"Well, maybe start by letting me give you a couple of tattoos instead of prying into my sex life." I bump my shoulder against his affectionately.

"I'm definitely not going to agree to that." He laughs. "Seriously though, I'll drop it if you just tell me that you're good."

I look him right in the eyes and say firmly, "I'm good, man."

Henry stares back for a minute, then nods. "Alright. But I'm going to say the one thing I should have said the last time some loser broke your heart. You deserve someone who's as into you as you are. You deserve someone who's crazy, over the moon about what a fucking cool guy you are."

His words sting and ache in a weird way, making my throat tighten. I grunt to try to clear it and turn my attention to the TV so he won't see the moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes. Of course, I know what he's saying is true. Everyone deserves that.

" I have trust issues. " Lewis's words from earlier echo in my mind, and a memory of the way he smiled and laughed while we talked and joked around pushes to the forefront.

Maybe it's wishful thinking, maybe I'm setting myself up just like I always do, but it feels like there might be something there.