Vadim How did I end up in bed?
Vadim
"How did I end up in bed?"
I look up from my barrage of morning emails and finish chewing. "You fell asleep on the couch during the match. I tried waking you, but you were too far gone, so I carried you to your room."
Preston glances down at himself. "And how did I end up like this?"
He's in navy boxer briefs with a retro stripe down the side, fitted and low cut, the waistband sitting just below his hip bones. The same boxers he stripped down to last night before I tucked him in and turned off the light.
"I'd say a combination of good genes, exercise, and a healthy diet."
"I mean in my underwear, Vadim."
I get off the stool and wander over to him. "Are you pouting?"
"No."
He so is.
It's even more adorable because half his hair is flat, the other spiked, and there's a crease from the pillow running down his left cheek that he clearly hasn't noticed yet.
"You started taking off your shirt but only ended up falling onto your bed with it caught halfway up your chest, arms tangled in the fabric." I fill in the blanks for him.
"Actually, I think I do remember that. What about my pants?"
"What about them?"
"How did they come off?"
"I went to fetch you a glass of water, and when I came back, they were off."
"Oh. Man, I must've been zonked. Okay, I'm sorry for being all accusatory…" He smiles awkwardly, raking his hand through the messy side of his hair. "The last few days have been a lot. Guess it's all catching up with me."
"You're fine." I walk over to the fridge and pull out the breakfast I made for him.
Same sides as yesterday but different sandwiches.
One with dark-rye bread with a hard-boiled egg, mayonnaise, and a sprinkle of paprika, the other with Jarlsberg cheese and a smear of sharp Polish mustard.
"I need to go into work for a meeting, but I made you some breakfast."
His eyes move over me in my tailored black suit with no tie.
"Thank you." He takes a bite and starts nodding. "Mmm. This tastes so goo—Shit."
"What?"
"Uh, nothing." He ducks his head.
I move in close and hook my fingers under his chin, lifting his head so his eyes meet mine. I have a feeling I know what's going on.
"Hey, just because I can't taste things doesn't mean you need to censor yourself around me. Okay?"
He gives a small nod. "Okay. Sorry. I just… I just didn't want it to seem like I was rubbing it in your face."
I brush his cheek with my thumb. "I wouldn't think that's what you were doing at all."
He softens a fraction. "I'm glad."
"Right, well…" I let go of him. "I should get going. Marek is a stickler for punctuality. I won't be long. Did you want me to pick anything up while I'm out?"
"Nope. I'm all good, thanks."
"Cool. I'll see you when I get back."
"You will."
"Okay.”
"Okay."
Geez, why did this get awkward all of a sudden?
All I have to do is leave the room. So why can't I? My gaze falls to Preston's mouth. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, his cheeks flushing.
"I, uh…" Fuck it. I step right up into Preston's space, gently take his still-bruised but healing face in my hands, and place a firm kiss on his lips. "Goodbye."
He blinks a few times, his brows lifting and falling like he doesn't know what to do with what just happened.
Finally, his eyes soften, a flicker of something warm moving through them. "Goodbye, Vadim."