Chapter 80

He wrote about guys! Why had nobody told me that Walt freaking Whitman had been gay?

I was still immersed in the words when Axel returned.

“What ‘cha doin’?” he asked as he pulled off his boots and peeled off the outerwear.

I held up the book for him to see.

“You like poetry?”

I shook my head.

“Then what are you reading that’s got you all captivated?”

“Mix’d tussled hay of head, beard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickling sap of maple, fibre of manly wheat, it shall be you!” I read aloud, probably butchering the great poet’s words.

“Ah. You found that, did you?”

I jerked when his voice came from right next to me and looked up at him. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I noticed.” He shot me his crooked smile before walking over to the fridge, where he grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it down. “You want something to drink? I’ve got water, pop, beer. Coffee.”

“Got any hot chocolate?”

He chuckled. “Sure I do.”

As he prepared the beverage I went back and looked at the books. “Have you read all these?”

“Most of them.”

“You weren’t speaking metaphorically when you said your ma thinks you’re wasting your smarts, did you?”

I looked at him then and he fidgeted. “No,” he mumbled and the tips of his ears turned bright red. I wanted to ask him more, but he was so clearly uncomfortable talking about it I backed off

“I haven’t read since college,” I said instead. “Fiction, I mean.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I get easily bored. I prefer to watch TV.”

He turned off the stove, finished our drinks, and carried the two mugs with steaming hot chocolate over to the couch. I joined him, putting the book down on the coffee table.

“My mom always made hot chocolate when it was snowing,” I said and inhaled the rich aroma. I blew on it before taking a sip, careful to not burn my tongue. “Ahhh, nice.”

He leaned back and put his massive feet on the table. I blinked. They had to be size thirteen at least.

“Um…so what’s your favorite book?” I forced myself to look away and I did not wonder if everything about him was equally big. Absolutely not. Instead, I scooted back on the couch and if I inched closer to him, it was purely coincidental.

Axel drank from his cup and hummed in satisfaction. “I can’t just choose one,” he said. “It would be like being asked to pick your favorite kid.”

“Pick one. I won’t hold you to it.” I drank some more chocolate before pulling my feet up under me and burrowing down in the cushions. Axel grabbed a throw blanket and handed it to me. I made an appreciative noise and curled up underneath it.

“I guess you found one of them.” He tilted his head in the direction of the book I’d grabbed.

My eyes fluttered closed. “Will you read it to me?”

“What?”

“Please,” I begged without opening my eyes.

“Um, sure.” He moved beside me, his long limbs stretching out and nudging me as he reached for the book. My arm buzzed where he’d touched me.

When he settled back, I moved closer. I didn’t try to be subtle this time and after a moment’s indecision, I rested my head on his shoulder. Axel wrapped his arm around me and pulled me flush to his body.

Pages rustled, he drew a deep breath and started reading the passage I’d scanned through.

“Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son, Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking, and breeding.” The depth and vibrato of his voice did the words justice and the snap and pop of the fire was the perfect backdrop. I cuddled closer and snaked my arm around his middle.

I was fascinated by the way heat poured off him as if he was equipped with an internal sauna. Was he ever cold? I dragged my palm over his taut stomach and up his chest where vibrations from reading were transferred to me through my palm. His words penetrated my skin, his rhythmic breathing hypnotized me, and his soft, abyssal voice lulled me to sleep. 6

I was alone when I woke up. It was pitch black outside and the fire still burned, so I probably hadn’t slept long. But the space Axel had occupied was empty, and I shivered despite being covered by the blanket. I gazed up to the loft, but it was dark and I couldn’t see anything.

Sighing, I closed my eyes, but the couch was too big for just one person. I—who slept by myself most nights—was lonely. I got up, drank a glass of water, and managed to find the bathroom where I couldn’t resist the calling of the shower.