Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

I should never have come on so strongly in the corridor.

What the fuck was I thinking?

She was probably too polite to tell me to shut up about tampons and getting naked when all she really wanted to do was collapse in a flu-puddle on the floor.

Good one, Ry.

And here I was shopping on her behalf, forcing her to take a bath like a child, contemplating cleaning her apartment when she’d passed out, all because I had some stupid drive that meant I couldn’t leave someone hurting—just like I couldn’t leave an animal with an abuser or a lost creature without a home.

I have issues.

At least those issues were better than being an alcoholic or drug addict, but I still had trouble controlling the obsession to help.

She’s not lost or abused, you moron. She’s independent. She doesn’t need you.

And that made me grateful and also kinda sad.

I liked her.

Like really fucking liked her.

If she didn’t like me back…then that would absolutely suck. And if she did like me but had no intention of letting me help or care for her and give me the same in return (because that was what happy marriages were, according to the example set by my parents), then whatever chemistry we had would be wasted.

And that would be a damn shame.

If a therapist had access to my brain, I’m sure they’d say my compulsion to help others wasn’t just because of my parents’ final wish but because I had acres of guilt for not letting them care for me when I was younger.

That was the part I regretted the most. I thought I was too macho to need them. I loved them but I didn’t lean on them. At the time, I thought it was benefiting them to have such a capable son, but now I looked back and realised that by saying I didn’t need their help, it was a slap in their face.

Now they were gone, and I would’ve given anything for my mum to cook me chicken noodle soup if I was sick, no matter my age.

If Vesper wouldn’t tell her friends or family that she was ill, then I’d take care of her until she did.

I’d do what I needed to do to ease the guilt inside me.

What the hell are you saying?

I didn’t know anymore.

I was tired, confused, and turned on with no outlet to relieve my frustration.

I’d just have to accept my grumpiness because I wasn’t in the mood to psychoanalyse.

* * *

Back at Vesper’s, I found she did have someone in her life, after all.

He/she was waiting for me by the front door and attacked my legs as I walked inside with my arms full of groceries.

“What the hell?”

A can of coconut milk dropped from the bags as I leapt to the side, slamming onto the ground.

Talons sliced into my paint-splattered jeans. “Get off, you bloody animal.”

Shaking my leg, trying to get free, I hopped to the kitchen and quickly put down the items before I dropped the rest.

The moment my hands were unencumbered, the attack stopped and a blur of motion hurtled away. I’d seen the orange fluff ball briefly when we’d first arrived but hadn’t had the pleasure of an introduction.