Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,59

the room, then another, before sliding his knee onto the bed and settling gingerly on the other side, leaning against the headboard but very carefully not touching Fox.

He didn’t know why everything felt so much more tentative, now.

But...

Sex was sex.

It didn’t mean anything, no matter how much he wanted it to, and he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

“So,” he said, fidgeting his fingers, plucking at the leg of his pajama pants. “That...happened, didn’t it?”

“If you’re not certain if it did or not, perhaps I need to reconsider if I adequately satisfied you,” Fox said dryly, and Summer spluttered, his ears burning—God, it felt like his nose was even on fire, his flush rolling through him fast enough to make him dizzy.

“N-no!” he sputtered. “I mean—you did, it was—you were good, it was good, it was everything, I just—I don’t—”

Fox’s cool expression didn’t change, save for a subtle twitch of his lips.

A glimmer in his eyes.

And Summer realized Fox was, in fact, quite pointedly fucking with him.

Summer scowled, glowering at him. “I liked you better when you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

“No, you did not,” Fox said, but relaxed into a smile, tilting his head back against the bank of pillows propped against the headboard behind him. “I suppose we should discuss what it means that it happened, though.”

“I...it...it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” Summer said quickly, even as his quick-skip heartbeat smashed its fists against his rib cage in protest. “I don’t...want to pressure you.”

“But you want me.” Husky, enthralling in that deep rolling voice, that voice that Summer had slowly started to pick up on the tiny nuances in, from the hint of an accent that had almost disappeared into precise American English to the fine peaks and valleys of emotion—and there was a question in that rumble now, a curiosity. “And you want to know what I want. If I want you...or if this was just a momentary lapse.”

Summer nodded slowly, and braced himself.

Braced himself for this to hurt more than he was ready for.

Fox... Fox didn’t want this.

He knew that already.

Knew Fox was determined to isolate himself one way or another, as long as he never had to hurt again. Indulging Summer was just a momentary thing.

But even if he’d steeled himself for it to sting, to ache, to lash him hard...

Still he wasn’t ready for the clutching jolt of pain that went through him as Fox looked away, his eyes shuttering, his voice neutral as he said, “I’m still retiring after this school year, Summer. And once I do, there’ll be no place for me at Albin Academy. No reason for me to stay in Omen.”

Couldn’t I be? Summer wanted to plead, but held himself back—clutching his fingers together and pressing them against his chest as if he could physically restrain himself from leaning toward Fox, reaching toward him. Couldn’t I be enough of a reason?

But instead he only asked carefully, “What does that mean, then?”

He was almost impressed with himself that his voice didn’t waver, didn’t fall.

But it was a bittersweet victory, when inside he felt like he was breaking apart.

Fox said nothing, at first, and the silence dug its hooks into Summer’s heart as he searched that impassive face for something.

For anything that might tell him Fox felt even the tiniest thing for him.

Finally, Fox exhaled, seeming resigned. “Could you live with it? With being with me for the rest of the school year, knowing I’ll leave you in the end?”

“Are you so sure of that?” Summer asked, voice cracking. “That you’ll leave me. That you’ll even want to leave me.”

With a small smile, so bitter, dark with something turned inward, turned on himself, Fox let his head fall toward Summer, watching him through the messy spill of hair looping across his brow. “Are you so sure you’ll even want me by then?” he asked, brittle words that came out slow, his red mouth shaping them as if he was bleeding them out. “You’ll grow tired of me, Summer. I’m still the same weary old man. I’m still quite dull, quite proper, quite stiff...and quite incapable of knowing how to be with someone like you.”

Summer closed his eyes—if only so Fox wouldn’t see.

Wouldn’t see the wetness springing to his eyes unbidden, so quick he couldn’t stop it, the burn deep and prickling in his nostrils.

“You’ve been doing a pretty good job so far,” he whispered.

Warmth covered his hand, then, trapping it against his thigh. Fox’s fingers,