In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(14)

“Hi,” I say.

We’re staring at each other. It’s really dark, so he mostly looks like shoulders and hair. He’s wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt with a tear in the neck that’s stretched tight over his muscular frame. He reaches down a hand, but rather than help me up, he pats the dog on the head.

“I guess she got you back, huh?” Rex says.

“What? Oh.” I laugh, looking at the dog. “Yeah, I guess she has.”

Now he reaches one huge hand down to me, his biceps stretching that poor T-shirt even more. His hand is warm, just like I remember it. He pulls me easily to my feet, so easily that he has to grab me by the shoulders to keep me from slamming into him. In this position, I can’t help but think of the last time he held me like this. Up against his kitchen wall, seconds before he kissed me.

He drops his hands and looks down.

“What are you doing here?” He doesn’t sound very pleased.

“Well, I got that job,” I say.

“Congratulations.” He’s looking at the dog, not me.

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” I look down too. “Oh shit.” My book is lying in the dirt. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket when I fell. I scoop it up and brush it off, but the cover is torn and there’s mud ground into the last twenty pages or so. “Shoot.”

“I hope you know how it ends,” Rex says, looking at the muddied book.

“Yeah, I’ve read it before,” I say, but I feel like I’ve injured a friend. I’ve had this copy for ten years, read its corners round. I put it in my back pocket and try to shake it off. I’m not usually sentimental about shit like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t have the heart to check whether my iPod survived the fall; I just stuff my earphones in my hip pocket alongside it.

“Uh, so… Marilyn?” I say, nodding to the dog. “She seems okay, huh? And she grew a lot, didn’t she?”

“She’s fine,” Rex says, smiling fondly. “She’s a good dog.”

“I didn’t know you were going to keep her. I hope—I mean, I hope you didn’t feel obligated or anything.”

“Nah, I haven’t had a dog in a while. It was time. We get along pretty good. Well, I mean. We get along pretty well.”

“Why Marilyn?”

“Like Marilyn Monroe—she just, um—you know, she was a little banged up, so I figured she could use a star’s name. Especially one who took some hits and kept getting back up. Marilyn just needed some taking care of.” He seems a little embarrassed as he explains.

“Right, of course, movies. I like it,” I tell him, smiling, but actually I’m thinking, Didn’t Marilyn Monroe kill herself?

“I had a dog called Brando for a little while when I was a kid. My mom named him. Said it was because he was ugly, so the name would balance him out. I just figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“Look,” I say, “I wanted to thank you. That night… I was a mess. I’m not usually like that, I want you to know. So, thank you for helping me. And—” I laugh nervously. “Also, I want to apologize. I… was kind of all over you and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything. I mean, it was so cool of you to let me stay and then I just kind of jumped on you and—anyway. So, I’m sorry.”

I force myself to look up, plastering what I hope is an unconcerned expression on my face: an it-was-casual, no-problem, I’m-not-mortified expression. But the second I look into his eyes, I feel it slide off my face. He looks stern, serious. Like I’ve disappointed him in some way. Or I’m about to.

But beneath the stern expression is heat. It’s dark and, okay, I can’t see him that well, but I can feel his eyes drinking me in, sliding over my face and my body like he owns them. Me. Like there’s not a force in the world that could stop him from taking whatever he wants from me. And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t let him.

When he speaks, though, his voice is calm, controlled, giving away nothing.

“I kissed you, Daniel. Don’t you remember?”

“Hell yeah,” I say softly. My eyes are glued to his mouth.

“I think maybe you want me to kiss you again.” He takes a step toward me. Ninety-eight percent of me is desperate for exactly that. But the other 2 percent is all of a sudden terrified. Terrified in a way I’ve never been before when it’s come to guys or sex. Terrified because it feels like this may be the most important decision I ever make. More important than deciding to go to college when all my teachers thought I was trouble. More important than sticking my hand down Corey Appleton’s pants in seventh grade, proving to myself that I was gay and I would f*ck up anyone who gave me shit about it. More important than applying to grad school or taking this job. I can feel it in my gut.

I feel myself nodding, but I can’t feel anything else. I can’t smell the trees anymore, can’t hear the irritating chirrup of cicadas that’s been buzzing at my nerves all week. He’s taken up all my senses. Every nerve in my body is tuned to his frequency, every bit of my attention focused on the man in front of me.

He takes another step forward, pushing me backward with his huge body. But instead of falling, one step puts my back up against a tree. Rex’s chest is right against mine. With every breath he takes, his chest expands, pushing me against the rough bark behind me. He is heat and power and the air between us is electric.