Page 57 of Teach Me To Sin
He steps forward, like he’s going to walk past me into the room, and I instinctively block him with my shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”
A frown darkens his face as he looks me over with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Your help was appreciated, but we can take him off your hands now.” He makes another attempt to get inside, but I body check him lightly, sending him back a step.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll tell him you’re here, and if he wants to go with you, then fine. I’ll be back in a–”
When I start to close the door, he shoves it into me and tries to barge through. I’ve never played a contact sport, never play-wrestled with siblings, and I’ve certainly never fought someone. I have all the defensive instincts of a newborn calf–either stand and stare, or run away. Luckily for me, I’m a couple inches taller than this guy and vain enough to work out regularly. When I plant my hands on his chest and push, he stumbles back in surprise. “Hey! What the fuck?”
That doesn’t satisfy the heat burning through my veins, so I step forward and grab the front of his shirt. “You do not touch me, and you donottouch him. If I see youanywhereon this property, I will find one of the many reasons you deserve to go to prison and I will pin you to the fucking courtroom wall and flay you open. Understood?”
He grabs my wrist and tries to twist it, but I just throw him as hard as I can, landing him on his ass with his back against the far wall. Fortunately, the hallway seems to be deserted this morning. I want to shut the door and lock it before he sees that my hands are shaking, but I stand firm and watch him until he gets to his feet. By the time he gets to the elevator, he’s already on the phone. Something tells me I’ve only made our problem worse.
When the door is closed and secure, I rest my back against it and close my eyes until my heart stops racing. Underneath the adrenaline, there’s something else–the same overwhelming, frantic urge to protect that flooded me on the sidewalk outside the burning building. It’s too much, too strange, and I want it to stop.
To my relief, Alek slept through the whole thing. I’m about to check the window and see if I can get a vehicle description on the creep as he drives away when I hear coughing from the bedroom. Benji’s sitting up, and he lifts his head when he hears the door open. It takes me a second to remember that he can’t see. “It’s me. Now that you’re up, I think you’re due for a bandage change.”
The dry, hacking cough keeps shaking his lean frame as I collect the supplies from the hospital and check the instructions. At the follow-up appointment, I’ll ask if he can have some kind of inhaler. “Is Alek sleeping?” he croaks.
“He’s out cold, hasn’t moved for an hour.”
He sighs. “Good. I don’t remember much from last night, but I think it was bad.”
“Lift your arm.” I slip his massively oversized, flimsy t-shirt off his good arm, then over his head and down around his cast.
“They said you saved my life,” he muses as I fiddle with the edge of the dressings. “Did you sling me over your shoulder and run outside to the theme song fromChariots of Fire?”
I can’t help but snort. “I found you, dragged you about three inches, strained my back, then went and found a strong, handsome firefighter to save you.”
The corner of his mouth tips up, but he can’t quite manage a laugh. I don’t mention how much scarier and more disorienting it was in real life than in a movie, how I couldn’t breathe, how horrifying it was to find him on his face with a broken door pinning his shoulder and wonder if he was dead. Or, even worse, if he was alive but might die in front of me before I could save him.
He hisses softly as I peel off the old dressings. I braced myself for horrific burns, but it’s not so bad–mostly redness with some faint blistering. It takes no time at all to gently swipe some moisturizer over the skin and stick on a fresh bandage. When I’m finished, I drop a kiss on the nape of his neck before undoing the wrap around his eyes. He keeps them closed until I push a pair of chunky black hospital sunglasses up his nose, then looks around the room.
“Can you see?”
He shrugs one bare shoulder. “Just light and blurs. They said it should get better in a day or so.” Feeling the shape of the shades, he sticks out his tongue playfully. “Could I at least get some Ray Bans or something?”
I pinch his nose gently, which earns me a real smile. “They’ll go great with the sexy hospital outfit. How about you get something to eat, and then I’ll help you change?”
He catches my hand before I can walk away. “I don’t want to go out there yet,” he murmurs. “What am I supposed to say to him? I never thought it would end like this.”
I sit down wearily on the mattress next to him. “Does anything lead you to believe I have an ounce of understanding on how to handle conflict in a relationship?” The uncertain pause makes me realize what I said. “Or a friendship. Whatever. I don’t fucking know.”
He rests his forehead against my shoulder. “I’m not tired, but I can’t do anything in bed because I can’t see.”
I remember something Gray talked about doing with his dyslexic husband Jonah. At the time, I teased him mercilessly for it because I was a dick who hated the way his words made me feel empty inside. “Do you want me to read you a book?”
He perks up immediately and wiggles backward until he’s leaning against the headboard, patting the bed next to him. “Read me my Instagram feed.”
“Pardon me?” He can’t see the difference, so I pull off my stiff jeans and settle comfortably next to him in my boxers. Earlier on the couch, Alek eased into cuddling one hesitant, fragile inch at a time. Benji snuggles up against me without a thought, resting his head on my chest and curling his fingers in the hem of my shirt. Taking his absurdly large phone, I study his feed full of luxury sneakers, food, and women crouching suggestively in front of scenic locations.
I start reading the first caption aloud, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “‘Use my coupon code for twenty percent off your first order of my new–’”
“Woah woah.” Benji prods me firmly. “Not thewords. Tell me the pictures,” he explains, like it’s terribly obvious.
“Well, there’s a woman dressed in a lot of tight, flesh-toned clothes.”
He slips his hand just under the edge of my shirt to rest against my skin. “So? Does she look good or bad?”
I study the picture again more carefully. “She kind of looks like a penis.”