Page 32 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
“Because love is rarely pretty. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s often ugly, but that’s how you know when it’s right. Pretty doesn’t always last. It’s the things you have to work at that make the reward that much sweeter.”
“And you’ve been in love and know this firsthand?”
He falls silent but never averts his gaze. “I’ve loved a lot of things in my life. A lot of people. But I can’t say I’ve ever been so head over heels in love with someone that I’d want to stay with them no matter the cost.”
“No matter the cost?” There’s that phrase again. “That’s your criteria?”
“No matter the cost.” He nods, and our eyes hold across the dimly lit room as seconds tick by. “Unfortunately, when it comes to me, the cost is too great to ask someone to pay to be with me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The muscle in his jaw pulses as he chews over the answer I can sense he knows but isn’t going to verbalize. Then, without warning, he shifts and sits beside me. “Show me how you do it, will you?”
And once again, he changes the topic.
“Show you how to do what?” I ask to buy time and make my heart settle since it has decided to use my ribs as a bounce house.
“Play. Write. I don’t know. Just show me how you work. I’m interested.”
I laugh nervously as his arm brushes against mine and he takes my guitar from my hands. “It takes an awful lot more than me telling you where to press the strings to make a song.”
“I’m good at manipulating things to make them sing my praises, Dylan.”
My breath shutters. I hope he doesn’t notice, because I think he just made an innuendo I really don’t want to touch, given how close we are and how much closer we’re about to be.
“So . . . hold it like this,” I say as I avoid responding and show him how to hold the guitar. After a few attempts, I realize it’s impossible to teach Grady without being more hands on. I shift behind him so my arms can shadow his and my fingers can help him press the correct strings when needed.
He laughs as he messes the chords up over and over, but I just keep my hands where they are and guide his.
“You need to be patient,” I tease.
“Patience is not something I’m good at.” He groans in frustration as the notes fall flat again. “You need to sing.”
“Is that the problem?” I laugh.
“Yes, if you sing, it will mask my horrible guitar playing skills.”
I press my forehead against his back as I laugh some more before I agree. “Okay. Hands in the ready position.” I guide him back to them when he doesn’t get it right the first time. “Your tongue on my skin . . .”
And we play through the lyrics I’ve been working on. It isn’t pretty but it’s the break in concentration I didn’t realize I needed. We end with a laugh, and right when I shift to the side of him, he turns to face me.
It’s a sudden movement that neither of us expects and leaves us closer than expected. So close, I can feel the heat of his breath feather against my lips.
Everything zooms in and out of focus in those first few seconds. The hitch of his breath. Th
e scent of his soap. The zap of his touch where his fingers rest on my forearm. The firestorm of want burning through me, which is nothing at all like I felt with Wes Winters last week.
There can only be distance.
There can only be adjusting to a life without Jett.
There can only be not wanting this.
And yet, he’s right here. A whisper away. With piercing eyes and full lips and that body that begs to be touched. Explored. Tasted.
“Thanks for showing me,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking to where my tongue darts out to wet my lower lip.
“You’re welcome.”
