A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(65)

The human armrest thing feels very rewarding, so I gently place my forearm on her waist, my hand extended straight out and lifting the blankets.

Eh, that doesn’t work, so I lift my arm again and hover. I adjust, touch down on her waist, and notice the same thing.

Nope, back to hover.

I don’t know where to drape. Not over her boobs, those as we found out from her hanging bra are loose and wild at the moment.

There’s her stomach, but is that too intimate?

Which leaves her pelvic area, and well, not so sure that’s a great idea either. Hand to pelvis doesn’t scream platonic, more like one stroke away from legs spread and loud moans.

Luckily, I don’t have to debate it too long because she lowers my arm around her stomach and scoots in closer so her body is plastered against mine.

Right up against me.

Back to chest.

Butt to . . . gulp crotch.

Sweet Jesus, man . . . do not get a goddamn boner.

Penis, do you hear me? This is not a moment to defy me. Be a good fucking listener.

Think of flaccid things. FLACCID. Flaccid, floppy, dangly, pendulous . . . limp. There you go.

OH, I could think of things that are so repulsive that I’d rather hurl my head into my trash can than think about.

Ahhh, I know.

I squeeze my eyes shut and conjure up images of JP and his dirty pigeon friend. What’s its name?

Cocoon?

Carl?

“Clementine?” I accidentally say out loud.

“What?” Lia whispers.

“Uh, Clementine,” I repeat, for God knows what reason.

“Like the fruit?”

“Sure,” I answer.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Can’t think of JP’s pigeon friend.”

“Kazoo?”

“Ohhhhh, right.” I smile to myself. “Kazoo.”

“Why are you thinking about JP and Kazoo?”

So I don’t get a boner.

Because your ass is pressed right up against my pelvis, and if I even move a little, I know the friction will be enough to give me a semi.

“He was talking about him earlier today, and I couldn’t think of his name.”

“Oh . . . well, it’s Kazoo.”

“Yup, logged that away.”

She places her hand on top of mine and says, “I think I need to change, Breaker.”

Change her clothes? Into what?

She’s barely wearing anything as it is.

My mind floats to her in lingerie, walking toward me, sexy as shit with her tits . . . NO!

Kazoo, think of Kazoo and the way JP blows kisses at the damn thing. Revolting.

Satisfied, I say, “Do you need pants or something?”

“No, not that kind of change. I mean, like my life needs to change.”

That snaps me out of my “I’m in love with my best friend fog.” “Change? What do you mean, change? You’re perfect as you are, Lia.”

“I feel like I’m in a rut, that I’ve been going through the motions and not truly allowing myself to experience the things I need to experience.”

“What do you mean?” She twists so she’s on her back, and my hand rests directly on her stomach. Her head tilts to the side just enough so our eyes connect in the dim light of the room.

“Ever since my parents passed away, I don’t think I’ve given myself a chance to live. I mean, I’m about to get married in four weeks, and it feels almost like a death sentence rather than a thrilling event. And I’m not sure if that’s because I’m mourning my parents or The Beave is ruining the process, but I’m not having fun. I want to have fun. I want to do things I’ve never done before. I want to live a life my parents wanted me to live, and I don’t think I’ve been doing that.”

My thumb smooths over her stomach, the touch to comfort her. “What are some things you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But I think there needs to be a change.”

“If you feel that way, I will one hundred percent support you,” I say, and she shifts so she’s facing me now, her face only inches from mine. Her shirt bunches up around my hand at her waist.

“You will?”

“Of course, Lia, but I need you to know, right now, as you are, you’re perfect, okay?” The way she’s looking at me, her proximity and the feelings pumping through me rapidly, give me my voice. “There’s absolutely nothing I would change. Not your heart and the way you care for the people around you. Not your mind and how you can shift from sassy to intelligent in seconds. Not your soul and the way you carry your scars with pride.” I grip her shirt and repeat, “You are perfect.”

Her mouth parts, her plump lips glistening.

Her eyes widen with each breath she takes.

And it might be my imagination, but I can feel her draw even closer, leaving no space between us.

In the root of my stomach, this deep, twisting, agonizing feeling spreads through me to the tips of my limbs, this urge to touch her, to slip my hand under her shirt and feel her skin, to bring my mouth closer to hers where I’d see if she’s tempted just as much as I am.

“Th-Thank you,” she says finally, her voice soft and sweet.

I wet my lips as I attempt to control my breathing, my hand twisting in the fabric of her shirt just enough that I can feel her warm skin on my wrist. “You don’t need to thank me, Lia. It’s just facts.”