Free Altruist (The Altruist Series Book 1) by Ashley Walsh

He’s grabbing something from the shed.”
     
    Even though it’s the middle of the day, I find myself practically tiptoeing up the steps to his room as each stair groans and creaks under my weight. I turn the brass knob and open his door, a cool breeze greets me and I walk over and sit on his bed. I never thought to ask what his favorite color was, but if I had to guess by the objects in his room, I’d say green. The walls are the color of morning surf and, compared to my pale yellow walls, his room is much more relaxing. A dark brown desk sits in the far right corner and hundreds of books line floating shelves. Everything perfectly in its place except for a notebook which sits on the middle of an area rug in front of his bed.
     
    Abel walks in, closes the door behind him and walks over and takes my hand in his without a word. At first he seems so serious but then a smile effortlessly creeps across his face and my heart melts. We stand there for a moment, hand in hand, his eyes looking into mine until I can’t stand it anymore and I lean in to kiss him. He wraps me up in his arms and I can feel the definition of his body against mine. My mind is racing and all I can think about is how I need him closer. We fall back onto the bed and it occurs to me that I’m not sure where this is going and I begin to panic, but then his lips touch my neck and every fear I’ve ever had disappears. I find my hands reaching down to the hem of his shirt and pulling it towards me, my hands graze what feels like raised lines. He pulls away and reaches his hands over his shoulders to his back and pulls the cloth over his head, tossing it into the corner of his room. I pull him back to me, my hands touching his bare skin, his chest smooth and defined. His hands reach under me and as he moves onto his back, he pulls me on top of him. Our lips meet again and I can feel him start to smile. I open my eyes, “What?” I laugh, not fully understanding why he’s laughing, half annoyed that the mood is shifting, half wondering if I’m doing something wrong.
     
    “Nothing, we’ve just, well we’ve never done this before.” He grins.
     
    “Well what can I say…” I say, rolling over onto my back. “I like you.”
     
    He turns to his side and faces me. “I like you back…” he pauses. “I love you.” My heart simultaneously speeds up and stops at once, the seconds seem to creep by and he inches closer, his arm making its way across my stomach.  “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it back. I just thought you should know.”
     
    What is wrong with me? Why does my body feel utterly paralyzed? Am I wrong for not saying anything? Say something! An electric line of fear pierces me and I tremble at the thought of what will be said next. But then I feel it happen, as most things in life do, the crescendo of thoughts and fears dissipate, and my heart kicks in, giving my mind a break.
     
    “No one’s ever told me that before…” I trail off, partially replying, and partially attempting to process the words he just spoke.
     
    His eyes study me in a way that feels as though he can sense every single thing I’m feeling, that he sees my insecurity and knows that I will scrutinize every detail of what he says next and for whatever reason, he cares about me regardless. His hand caresses my face, pushing back a misplaced hair and he breathes deeply, taking a piece of me with him.
     
    “That seems strange to me, I bet someone has and maybe you just never knew.” He pauses, smiling, “ You’re easy to love.” There’s that word again and the cycle of my panic begins all over. At least I think what I’m feeling is panic. If I could just hold onto an emotion for more than a millisecond I could try to figure out a proper response. I turn to my side and face him, burrowing into his chest and he kisses my forehead. I suddenly feel so tired, exhausted really, and though I want to say more, the right words escape me and I begin to feel