“No,” Andrew said after a moment. “I need to relearn how to be around other people. Just… drop me somewhere with a lot of people.”
Logan did as he was told, quashing the urge to tell him that it was raining and he’d get soaked. He wasn’t Andrew’s minder. The guy was a grown man. He could survive a few hours on his own.
He didn’t look at Andrew as he got out of the car.
But it was a struggle to wrench his gaze away from the lone figure in the rearview mirror. Andrew looked so small and thin, standing there with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, his head down and his shoulders hunched.
His every instinct screamed to get out of the car, grab Andrew, and tell him that of course he was Logan’s business. Just his.
Logan swore under his breath and drove away, the tires screeching against the asphalt.
The rain became heavier, as did the ball of anxiety in his stomach.
Chapter 17
Logan spent the afternoon going over their accounts with his hotel manager—and not thinking about Andrew.
He really was none of Logan’s business. A repressed “straight” guy who was so deep in denial he couldn’t even admit that he wanted Logan should be avoided like the plague. Nothing would ever come out of it. They were nothing to each other. He had no business worrying that Andrew might have had a panic attack somewhere or might be cold after walking around in the rain for hours, or upset and in need of comforting—
Yeah, good job not thinking about him.
Logan was in a shitty mood as he returned to his room that evening. He took a long shower and jerked off not thinking about anything or anyone in particular, but it didn’t help. He still felt agitated.
The knock on the door both surprised him and didn’t.
Clad only in his boxers, Logan went to open it.
Andrew stood on the other side. He was worrying his bottom lip, his shoulders so tense Logan could feel the tension in them with his own skin.
He didn’t even blink at seeing Logan nearly naked—but then again, he was used to it.
They just stared at each other for a moment.
Logan should have probably said something. He should have probably told Andrew to fuck off. He should have at least asked Andrew what the hell he thought he was doing.
He did none of those things.
He stepped aside, allowing Andrew to enter the room.
Andrew did.
Logan shut the door, locked it, and walked to the bed. He stretched out on his back and closed his eyes. Andrew turned the lights off. There was the sound of clothes being removed, and then the mattress dipped.
A warm, familiar body curled up on top of him, skin against skin. Andrew pressed his face between Logan’s pecs and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Hold me,” he whispered.
Logan opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. And then he lifted his arms and wrapped them around Andrew.
A small sound left Andrew’s mouth. A whimper. “Tighter.”
Logan tightened his arms, their bodies pressing flush against each other, skin to skin, so tightly there wasn’t a hair’s breadth between them. It was bliss. It was torture. It was everything he had missed and wanted these past weeks. More than the sex—the closeness. The rightness. The exquisite intimacy of holding this person in his arms and feeling at peace with himself and the world. Like two pieces of a puzzle. Two pieces of a puzzle that should have never fit together and yet they had somehow learned to—and now couldn’t unlearn it.
“I hate this,” Andrew said, his voice wavering.
“I know,” Logan said. “Me, too.”
He meant it. He hated how right this felt—holding this mess of a human being, this guy who was a total wreck, who was bigoted and beyond repressed but at the same time vulnerable, lonely, and hungry for affection and approval.
“It’s like a fucking disease,” Andrew said into his chest, barely audibly. “Something empty and wrong inside me. I feel like—like a river without water. The world feels so off without you, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel whole.”
Christ.
Logan bit the inside of his cheek, his cock so hard it was uncomfortable. Nothing about Andrew’s words should have been arousing. Nothing.
“And yet you can’t even admit that you want me,” Logan said roughly.
Silence.
Logan heaved a sigh. “You should go.” He was aware how insincere his voice sounded. It probably wasn’t convincing at all, considering that his arms were wrapped tightly around the other man, and his body was rigid with the effort not to grope Andrew all over. Fuck, he wanted him. He wanted to flip Andrew onto his back and pound this infuriating, confusing mess of a man into the mattress, screw Andrew on his cock until Andrew could feel him against his fucking heart. He’d never wanted to fuck, to possess anyone more. He’d never felt like he’d explode if he didn’t put his cock into someone and mark them up from the inside.