What He Left Behind(8)

Michael’s eyes flick up. “Help? How?”

“Um…”

And now we all remember why Josh didn’t last very long in drama classes once they got to the improv part…

Michael sets his coffee down and faces me again. “What do you have in mind?”

I rest my hands on the counter’s edge, resisting the urge to drum my fingers.

“Josh?” Michael tilts his head.

The pressure’s on, and my heart pounds as my stomach threatens to crawl up my throat. The counter is getting damp from my sweaty palms. Come on, come on…

Finally, I blurt out, “Do you trust me?” The question startles me, and Michael stares wide-eyed at me.

“What?”

“Do—” I clear my throat. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” he whispers. “You know that.”

“I do. Yeah. I just…” Well, Josh? I scrub a clammy hand over my face and exhale. “I was asking because…” Because I’m an inarticulate idiot at the moment.

“Josh.” He inclines his head. “Whatever’s on your mind, just say it.” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice, the faintest hint of fear, and I realize he probably has zero idea what I’m trying to say or how it relates to what we talked about yesterday. This must be unnerving him something fierce, and knowing that turns my stomach even harder.

I hesitate, then push myself away from the counter and step a little bit closer. Not quite enough to make him draw back, but enough I can almost reach him if I try. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

His gaze still locked on me, Michael nods.

“Then maybe…” The words refuse to come easily. “Maybe I can…” Staring into his eyes like this, certain he’ll duck away from me at any moment, I don’t know how to say this.

Abruptly, Michael’s spine straightens and his lips part. He raises his eyebrows. “Is this conversation going where I think it’s going?”

“That depends. Where do you think it’s going?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “You first.”

Damn it.

I clear my throat again, this time to get the air moving. Not that it helps.

“Just say it,” he says. “Be blunt. You know I can handle it.”

Not this time, I don’t.

But I inhale slowly, hold his gaze and manage to say, “What if I can help you get more comfortable in bed with a man?”

There. It’s out. And I don’t think his eyes can possibly get any wider.

I hold my breath, wondering where the hell this conversation is going to go now that it’s back in his court.

Michael folds his arms. Not tightly, not defensively and not quite enough to mask the shiver that goes through him. I can’t tell if he’s repulsed, uncomfortable or…something else.

His voice is soft when he says, “Am I right in assuming you’re volunteering to be that man?”

There’s no point in backpedaling or sugarcoating, so I just nod.

He breaks eye contact and stares at the floor between us. Michael’s not easy to read, and right now, I have zero clue what he’s thinking. The creases between his eyebrows, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders—they tell me he’s deep in thought, but I can’t begin to guess what those thoughts are.

He lifts his gaze again. “So you want to sleep together until I can handle it again?”

“If you don’t want to, that’s—”

“I haven’t even gotten that far yet.” He waves a hand. “I’m still trying to figure out what you’re suggesting.”

“Fair enough.” I shift under his scrutiny. “The thing is, we’ve been together before. I’m not an unknown to you.”

He studies me but doesn’t speak.

I start playing with my ring again. “You know for a fact you can trust me in bed. Maybe that’ll get you past those walls that keep tripping you up with guys you haven’t been with.”

“But…what about…” He gestures at my hands. “What about Ian?”

My fingers stop with my ring just above my second knuckle. “This was actually his idea.”

Michael’s eyes are huge. “Seriously?”

I push the ring all the way on, then hook my thumbs in my pockets and hope that’s enough to keep me from being so goddamned fidgety. “His thought was that it might give you a chance to get your bearings before you find yourself considering getting into bed with someone new.”

This time, Michael makes no attempt to hide the shudder. “You guys want me to use you? For, what, therapy?”

I shrug. “If you want to look at it like that.”

“I don’t want pity sex.”

“It’s not pity any more than it was pity when you slept with me the first time.”

Michael chews his lip again. “That was different.”

“How? Because we were young and inexperienced?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Shaking his head, he says, “Look, I don’t know about this.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

Michael’s eyes flick toward me. Then toward the floor. “No. I don’t. And don’t get me wrong—I appreciate that you’re willing to do this. I really do.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know. I have no idea what to think.”