Free 100 Days by Mimsy Hale Page B

running his thumb down the column of Aiden’s neck.
    “Not often, no. Maybe we should capitalize, invite him back to the RV with us,” Aiden says, wiggling his eyebrows and holding Jake’s gaze in a way that, if he didn’t know better, would make him think that Aiden is serious.
    “Nah. Not really my type.”
    “Your type is breathing, Jake.”
    “Play nice,” Jake says, batting his shoulder, and Aiden just smiles at him and wraps an arm around his waist, forcing them closer together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He can feel the heat from Aiden’s body pouring off him in waves, even through the layers of their clothes and the space between them, and it’s close to intoxicating. Aiden reaches behind his own neck to take Jake’s right hand, his thumb pressing over Jake’s lifeline, fingers wrapped around the back, and Jake only just holds back a yelp of surprise as Aiden dips him.
    Aiden rights them, spins Jake out and then back in so quickly that his feet can barely keep up, and it’s only when the song grows quiet that it dimly registers that Aiden’s chest is pressed to Jake’s back, their joined hands crossed over his waist. Jake turns to face him, presses a hand just over his heart, and they circle one another slowly. Aiden’s eyes grow darker by the second, his tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and all it would take is for Jake to lean in and close that last gap. Has this always been here, this nameless something that hovers in the air between them, waiting to take hold? They could be within its grip in seconds.
    Aiden’s fingertips ghost the sides of Jake’s neck in the same second that Jake catches Andrew watching them. It’s all too much: too much pressure, too much expectation, too much that he stands to fuck up com­pletely. He closes his eyes, exhales sharply through his nose and takes Aiden’s hands away.
    Things like this are never really complicated, you know. It’s people that complicate them.
    With Andrew’s words ringing in his ears like a cheap taunt, Jake does the only thing he knows how to do. He turns tail and walks away, all the way to the restroom, where he locks himself into a stall with fumbling hands.
    His entire body is in revolt. The adrenalin that started its typhoon through his bloodstream the moment Aiden touched him is chanting Aiden’s name, imprinting it on his every cell, and he can’t think, can only hear his ears roaring to a double-time beat.
    Jake closes the lid of the toilet and sinks onto it with a shaky sigh, balls his hands into fists in his hair and squeezes his eyes shut until they stop burning quite so fiercely. He feels like the worst human being in history.
    What the fuck am I doing? I’ve never been some ridiculous slave to my feel­ings— I’m Jake fucking Valentine. I fuck all the boys I’d never in a million years trust to keep my heart safe, and that way I’m not forced into keeping theirs safe, either. It’s easy and fun and simple. Three essential attributes he would never apply to this thing with Aiden, this intense thing that makes him feel wrong and sordid and, somewhere in the locked file cabinet in the deepest recesses of his heart, also… kind of right.
    But Jake has just gotten Aiden back after a barren year of separation. He can’t risk it, he just can’t.
    No, he needs to get himself together. Go back out to the party. Smile and play the gracious guest of two people who quite literally ran into him and paid for their folly with an enjoyable evening and free drinks. Tell Aiden that he had one too many of those free drinks and had to use the bathroom. Put the game face back on and hope to god it’s convincing enough, when all he wants to do is tip over sideways and lie on the ground until his heart stops spinning.
    “Deep breath, Jake,” he whispers. He stands, unlocks the stall door and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t find Aiden standing on the other side. He rolls his shoulders, fixes his hair in