What I wasn’t expecting was the thrill of satisfaction that raced through me upon seeing him so happy, and knowing I was responsible for it.
“All you have to do,” Nix said, “is focus on your breathing. Just follow every inhale and exhale. And when your mind starts to wander, just bring your attention back to your breath.”
“That’s it?” I asked. I’d been expecting things to be a little more complicated—chants or challenges or something. But it was just breathing?
“Yep,” Nix said. “Just for a few minutes. I’ll let you know when time’s up.”
He settled into his seat. He placed both hands palm-up on his knees, took a deep, slow breath, then exhaled it just as slow. And then he was still.
All right, well, that seemed easy enough. I sat up and adjusted my legs as best I could—cross-legged wasn’t going to happen, but I could at least sit up straight. Maybe not as perfectly straight as Nix was, but I was at least upright. Nix’s breathing was slow and steady, and his eyes were closed. I did the same, letting my eyes flutter closed.
He’d said to focus on my breathing. So, that’s what I did. Inhale. Exhale.
Then my nose started to itch. I scratched it.
Inhale. Exhale.
I never really sat on the ground anymore. It was cold beneath me, and I wished I had something to lean on. I wiggled a little trying to get comfortable. At my side, Nix was still—totally still.
Right, breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
My mind wandered back to the jobsite. The foundation had been giving me problems, and I wondered if I needed to ask Brennan to call his dad to come look at it, maybe an experienced pair of eyes would generate some new ideas? Also, I needed to go to the hardware store to get a new battery for my drill—the old one wasn’t holding a charge. My nose itched again.
Breathing.
This was harder than I expected.
I blinked my eyes open. Gazing out on the lake felt a little more meditative than trying to drag my attention back to my breath over and over again.
I glanced over at Nix. He still looked calm and unmoving, but there was a small smile curling his lips. Like he could hear me rustling around, trying to get comfortable.
“Nix,” I whispered, like we were in school doing this by assignment.
“Shh,” Nix murmured. “Focus on your breath.”
It was a lot easier for me to focus on Nix’s breath, though. With his eyes closed, I let my gaze wander over him. The moonlight cast him in gorgeous shadow, following the elegant line of his nose, his cheekbones, his small mouth. His posture was almost perfect sitting on the ground, his broad shoulders pulled back slightly, his arms enticingly muscular even relaxed like this.
This was not how I was expecting my evening to go. Not at all. And Nix kept surprising me, over and over and over again. I never would’ve pinned him as the kind of guy to meditate. And I never would’ve considered myself the type to even try it. And yet here I was, sitting at the lake by his side.
And I was enjoying it. I liked spending time with him—and even though the meditation was frustrating, I did feel calmer than I had in weeks, sitting here at the lake with him. It was a lot better than melting into my couch with a few beers and feeling sorry for myself.
I leaned back again, propped on one arm, turned slightly toward him. I took a slow breath, relishing the cool, fresh-smelling air, and Nix’s steadying presence at my side.
I felt settled. I felt like I was doing something right.
Nix took another deep, slow breath, then his eyes flickered open. His posture softened a little as his eyes caught mine.
He looked gorgeous, calm radiating off him, but there was heat there, too, as his gaze traveled over the length of my body. I swallowed and didn’t shy away from his scrutiny. His gaze was almost intoxicating. This felt like a continuation of the way he’d looked at me when I’d changed my shirt earlier: heavy, heated, and on the brink of something.
Like he was deciding. Deciding if he could allow himself to have this.
I was done pushing him, though. I wasn’t going to play the hot and cold game with him. I’d made it clear I wanted him—even by being here, sprawled out at his side, it was obvious how I felt. But I wasn’t going to make a move and risk being rejected yet again. I had too much pride. If he wanted this, he had to make the choice and go for it.
My chest clenched.
I really, really wanted him to go for it.
10
Nix
I couldn’t stop looking at Dawson—drinking him up with my eyes. He was so gorgeous, stretched out like a big housecat at my side. His flannel shirt was open, and his t-shirt was so tight stretched across his chest. God, when he’d stripped his shirt off in front of me like it was nothing earlier, I’d almost launched myself across the bed of the truck to devour him. He was so effortlessly gorgeous, it made me stupid with desire.
And from the way he was looking at me, he wanted me just as badly.
I’d been more than a little surprised when he’d agreed to come with me to the lake. I’d invited him impulsively—not sure if he’d come after the way our friendship had cooled over the last couple weeks but wanting to spend time with him after my conversation with the guys earlier. And I tried not to make assumptions about people, but he hadn’t seemed like the type to try meditation on a whim. But he’d proved me wrong, and I’d had the best motorcycle ride of my life with his strong arms wrapped around my waist.
Was Raven right? Was it this undeniable connection between us that made me want him so badly? Did my body and my heart see a ‘kindred soul’, as Dante had said, before my mind could?
Looking at Dawson now, though, I didn’t need answers—I was okay with wondering. Plus, I knew one thing beyond doubt: I wanted him badly, and that desire was rare enough that I knew I should follow it wherever it took me.
I got the feeling there wasn’t a clear answer to the questions I had, anyway. It was going to be something I was going to discover with Dawson. If he wanted that.
Part of me still hesitated, though. No matter how badly I wanted him—that didn’t change the fact that he’d made some bad choices while drunk. And I still didn’t know the details of his relationship with alcohol—I didn’t even really know how bad it was.
It was risky, for an addict in recovery like me to get involved with someone who still drank—and drank to excess. If Dawson did want to get help for his drinking, starting a relationship at the same time was seriously frowned upon. And if he didn’t want to, well, that might pose a risk to my own sobriety.
Every logical bone in my body told me not to go through with this. And yet, looking at Dawson, I couldn’t get my heart to agree. The chance that there was something real between us outweighed my fear of things going south. If they did, I had the skills and the experience to handle it. Like I’d told Dante, I trusted myself to step on the brakes if I felt my old triggers rearing their heads.
And right now, both of us seemed to be in a good place. I had the club, Dawson had his work, and he’d kept his nose clean this whole time since his last incident at Ballast. Plus, I wasn’t committing to anything. I just wanted to learn more about him, about me, about us.
So I unfolded my legs, then stretched out and matched his posture. Dawson’s gaze flickered over my face and lingered on my mouth. I reached out and placed my hand gently on his jaw, cradling it, and then leaned in.