"That's horrible," he says. "What a fucking bastard."
I shrug. "Que sera, sera."
"You don't really feel that way."
A tear stirs in my eye. "No, I don't, but life isn't pretty … or fair."
Now I'm not talking about Christian, but about Randy.
And now I really feel like I'm about to cry.
I roll onto my side so that I'm facing away from him.
"Thank you, Jackson," I say.
"For what?"
"For coming over here. It was a hard day, and … " My voice cracks as I speak. "I just needed a friend tonight."
I close my eyes and tuck my head close against his thigh. He sets his hand on the back of my head and runs his thumb through my hair.
I can't believe it, but I'm actually appreciative that he didn't just fuck me tonight.
13
Jackson
There's an innocence in Derek's face when he's sleeping that he doesn't have when he's awake. He hides it well, or at least he tries to, but for some reason, I see the sadness in him. I don't know if sadness is the right word. It doesn't completely fit, but he's lonely … more insecure than he wants to let on and a little jaded.
And I get that.
As much as I love Zane and Steph, I've been lonely for a long time. Although I don't regret my life and my son, but there's a small part of me that's slightly resentful. They were all my choices, of course. It's not as though I wouldn't have been in Zane's life if Steph and I had separated years ago. I'm the one who made the decisions I did, but in some ways, I feel like I'm just exploring the world for the first time at thirty-seven. Maybe that's one of the things that intrigues me about Derek too. He's so fucking full of life that just being around him is a different experience every time I see him.
I thread my fingers through his hair, letting the soft strands of his bangs brush against my skin. He's been hurt, maybe by more than the ex-boyfriend on his birthday or his parents for not being who he needed.
That's something else I understand.
Derek groans, then rolls over so his face is against my cock. He nuzzles in and damned if I don't begin to stiffen in my jeans.
He's so fucking sexy and so goddamn willing. I could wake him up, pin him over the back of the couch and fuck him right now if I wanted. He'd be hungry for it, just as goddamn needy as I am for a taste. I don't totally know what's holding me back … the fact that I don't want to take advantage of him? That I don't want to be how I worry other men have been and only want him for his ass? But the truth is, there's a whole lot of eager bottoms out there. Even though I don't think it's a good idea between me and Derek, that doesn't explain why I haven't stuck my cock in another willing hole.
I brush my finger against the soft skin of his cheek and a small smile teases his lips.
"Who are you?" I whisper as though he's going to answer. As soon as it clicks into place how fucking ridiculous I sound, I chuckle, then roll my eyes before the grittiness returns to them, and I remember how tired I am. In the midst of everything with Derek, it had gotten shoved to the background.
"Hey … sit your head up, sleepyhead," I whisper softly. When he doesn't move, I smile and slip out from under him. It's like the first night I met him as I take off his shoes for him, and then my own.
After looking around for a moment, I see the light switch, walk over, and turn it off. The lights from outside are bright enough I can still see as I make my way back to the couch. It's going to be a tight fit, but this time, I'm not sleeping on the floor, and if we go to his bed, I don't think we'll make it out of it without Derek riding my dick.
"Scoot over, couch hog," I say close to his ear, and then nudge him. He moves, rolls over, and I lie down on my side, facing him, the way he's now facing me.
I wrap my arm around his waist and wonder what the fuck I'm doing. Why I'm here with him again and why it feels so fucking good to comfort him.
"Tell me something," he says sleepily.
"Something," I reply.
"You're not old enough to tell jokes like that."
I can't help but chuckle as I rub my hand up and down his back.
"Come on, Daddy. I show you mine, you show me yours." He doesn't open his eyes, and I wonder if it's because he's half-asleep or if it's just easier that way. I get what he's saying though. He told me a story, and I owe him one in return.
"We're trading tragedies, huh? I guess it's only fair." I think for a second, finger his hair again and then say, "I've always been obsessed with old cars. I've always wanted to rebuild them-body work, paint, all of that."