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“Stay,” he whispered. I didn’t know what to make of that. “Maddox?” It was barely a whisper this time, and he wasn’t even fully lucid. I barely moved, not wanting to hear whatever he was about to say. “Thanks.”
Like…I couldn’t get him out of my head.
Tell me! Tell me if you’re gay!
“You fucked with my head,” I blurted, completely unaware I was going to confess all my shit to him in the middle of a forest. “You got all beat up and vulnerable, and I’d never seen you like that before…” What was I doing? “And then you slept in my bed, twice! And I felt you there, okay? I felt you, and I saw some shit that I shouldn’t have, and I goddamn showered you! And now my head’s all fucked up and I don’t know what to do about it!” Shut up, Maddox.
“And it made my cock hard. I’ve been trying to come to terms with that for two fucking weeks.” He huffed out a crazed breath. “I fucking hate you, Maddox, but I want to—”
Maybe it was. Maybe I was the only one who couldn’t get that kiss off my mind. Maybe it was normal for him, the same as kissing any other guy,
“Like I was grateful for you. Like I wanted you. Really fucking wanted you.”
“Because!” he shouted, getting angry again and throwing his arms out in exasperation. “Because I don’t want to freak you out. Because I don’t want you to do more than your slow-as-fuck brain can catch up with. Because I don’t want you to run!” He looked shocked at that last bit. “Fuck, because I don’t want this to be the only time this shit happens.” His face was red, and he had this weird combination of expressions on his face—vulnerable, pissed off, scared. “Because as much as I fucking hate you, Maddox, I fucking like you, too. Okay?”

