Chapter 6

We end up on the couch after dinner with the latest John Wick movie playing on the TV. I'm all for some blood and gore, especially to avenge a dead dog. Plus, Gavin's had a crush on Keanu Reeves since high school.

He's hogging the giant bowl of popcorn, cradling it in his arms so it's positioned right under his chin. The only way I can get any of the buttery stuff is if I scooch in right next to him and carefully slide my hand into the bowl, hoping he doesn't notice.

At some point, while Keanu is beating the shit out of the bad guys, Gavin settles deeper into the couch. His weight shifts and his arm presses up against mine. I can feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing getting slower and steadier until his head lands gently on my shoulder. I don't need to glance at him to know he's fast asleep.

Figures. The dude works way too many hours and doesn't sleep enough.

I pry the bowl out of his loose grasp to set it aside and drape a blanket across his lap. He mumbles something incoherent, then sinks more heavily into me. I gently maneuver us so my arm is around his shoulders and his forehead rests against my neck. His stubble is prickly on my collarbone and his hair is impossibly soft against my cheek.

There's something comforting and safe about sitting with Gavin like this. It's a feeling I haven't had in a long time and didn't realize I was missing until now. I soak it up—the weight of another body against mine, the rise and fall of someone else's breathing, their warmth seeping into me. The fact that it's Gavin in my arms is, well…

There's a part of my brain waving caution signs: Gavin and I have been best friends for a long time, but we've never had that kind of relationship. I'm into girls. He's a guy. Hugs and stuff are fine, but when does a hug turn into cuddling?

I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to examine it too closely. It feels good and that's all that matters right now.

By the time the credits roll, my arm is numb, but I don't want to get up. My eyes have drifted shut and even though I haven't fallen asleep, I feel like I'm in some sort of trance where everything is perfect and nothing bad can happen. My nose is buried in Gavin's curls. His arms have snaked around my waist.

I lean slightly to the right and we ease down onto the couch. I'm on my back. Gavin's tucked in between my side and the couch cushions. He stirs a bit at the change in position, but he doesn't wake.

That's when I feel it—a bulge pressing against my thigh. It can only be one thing and my heart rate picks up at the realization. Gavin's dreaming. Probably of Keanu. It has nothing to do with me or how our bodies are flush against each other. It's nothing more than a natural bodily response. It doesn't mean anything.

So then why the fuck is my dick getting hard too? My arm tightens involuntarily around Gavin's back and he snuggles even closer to me. Heat pools in my joints, in my stomach, in my groin. My balls draw up, feeling heavy and tender. My cock is starting to tent the front of my sweatpants.

Jesus. What the fuck?

I should get up. I should slip away while Gavin's still unconscious. He never needs to know about me perving out on him. Except I can't. Or I won't. I don't know the difference at this point. I'm stuck underneath him like I'm paralyzed. All my limbs are languid and limp. I want to turn into him. I want to lift my hips and grind myself against him. I want to feel his bulge rub against mine.

Oh, Christ almighty. This isn't right. This isn't me. I must be more out of my mind than I thought if I'm getting turned on by being Gavin's human pillow. Am I really that starved for touch? For attention? For intimacy?

Gavin's breath skitters over the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. A shudder runs through me. I dig my fingers into the couch cushions. I don't know how long I can stay like this. I don't know how much longer I can resist.