Reviews for Saxon James

♥ Amazon US ♥ Amazon CA ♥ Amazon UK ♥

Tanner’s voice dips low when he speaks. “I was a bit in awe of you growing up.”

“Me? ” There is no way I heard that right.

“Yeah, you. You didn’t give a shit what anyone thought, and you went through more than most people did.”

“Oh no, I definitely cared.”

“Okay, but you never let it get to you.”

“You know it did. Seizing out at school, feeling sick, the staring—”

“I know.” His soft voice derails the fit I was working up to, and I take a deep breath.

“There was a lot I hated about myself.”

Tanner’s eyebrows bunch up, and he runs one large hand over my head, then snatches it away like he’s second-guessing himself. “There was a lot you hated, but you never hated yourself. You flipped off anyone who gave you shit, and did what you wanted.”

The fact that he sees it that way … My head drops forward as I start laughing. “That’s because I had you. Because I knew that no matter what, shit between us would never change, and if anyone really upset me, you’d kick their ass.”

“Again, that only happened once. I hated fighting.”

“And yet you still beat Toby Michels into the ground when he poured water in my lap and called me a baby.”

Even now, seven years later, Tanner’s jaw gets tighter. “Asshole.”

“See? You always had my back.”

“I always will. It just … pissed me off. I’d see how exhausted and checked out you were before and after a seizure. Those things took a lot out of you. It wasn’t fair that dumbasses thought they could give you shit about it too.”

And lying here, studying my best friend, agreeing to share his bed, going over old memories … it makes me feel lighter than I have in a long time. But I can’t enjoy it. Because of the big gay elephant in the room.

I lick my dry lips as I try to form the words in my head. As I try to convince myself that I need to tell him. Because holding myself back, when he’s making every effort to reconnect, isn’t just uncomfortable for me, it’s unfair to him.

And this closeness—not only the physical part—is starting to mess with my head. I swear his stare dips to my mouth, which makes me do the same. I trace his lips with my gaze, wishing it were my tongue instead. All I want is to press closer, to feel his warmth, to taste his breath.

Suddenly, the thick blanket feels too restrictive.

I need to tell him.