Chapter 15 #3
I stare down at the screen, waiting for a reply.
He’s texted back immediately thus far, but after a couple minutes, I realize he was probably distracted, or pulled into a conversation with Coach Mackenzie.
Locking my phone, I set it to the side, allowing the conversation to sit warm and lovely in my chest. We don’t text a lot, but maybe we could.
Maybe he wouldn’t mind if, during the week, I reached out every now and then just to chat.
Riding the high talking to Desmond gave me, I crack open my book, fighting a yawn.
The sound of the front door opening frightens me awake. Heart pounding, I jerk upright, wincing at the sharp pain in my neck. Turning, I watch as Desmond walks in, taking a couple deep breaths and trying to calm down. He catches sight of me in the dim room and smiles tiredly, toeing off his shoes.
“Hey, Jacko,” he whispers, his voice doing more to calm down my rapid pulse than any deep breathing ever could.
“Hey, how was the drive?”
“Long.” He sighs, sliding off his tie and draping it over the back of the couch.
He always looks so good in the clothes he wears to the games.
It’s nothing more exciting than a button-up shirt and slacks, but I love the way the clothes hug his tall, lanky form.
Swallowing, I watch as he begins unbuttoning the top of the shirt, and remember Parker’s suggestion that I sleep in his bed.
If only, I think, as I get a glimpse of tan throat when the shirt collar opens.
“Parker asleep?” he asks, once more gracing me with another smile.
“Yeah.” I’d checked on him a little bit ago, before I apparently fell asleep myself. Rubbing the ache in my neck, I stand up and stretch, yawning. Desmond touches my shoulder, walking toward the hallway.
“I’m going to go check on him, okay? Be right back.” He waves a hand back at the couch, nonverbally telling me to relax once more.
I watch the back of him as he disappears down the hallway, unable to hold back a jaw-cracking yawn as I sit back down.
My book is on the floor, having apparently been dropped when I fell asleep.
Picking it up, I straighten the pages that got crinkled, listening to the soft rumble of Desmond talking to Parker.
When he steps back into the hall, carefully closing the door behind him, he flashes me a thumbs up.
“I woke him up,” he confirms, flopping down next to me and leaning back with a small groan.
The buttons of his shirt are opened even further down, now, the white undershirt beneath drawing my eye.
I’m jealous of the tan he’s been able to maintain since moving here.
I also kind of wonder what it might feel like to lick it.
“Was he okay?” I ask, voice sounding strangely hoarse, as though my mouth is dry. As though I actually was licking his chest.
“Yeah. Dead-ass asleep until I woke him up, so I’d say there is a pretty good chance he doesn’t remember that in the morning. ”
“Sorry again,” I apologize, still worried that I’ve failed my trial run as a real adult, and will no longer be allowed to watch Parker alone.
He puts a hand on my knee, squeezing gently.
It’s a platonic touch. More platonic, in fact, than the way Nate sometimes touches me.
Even so, my heart rate picks up a little bit and I wonder what would happen if I put my hand on top of his.
“No need to be sorry, Jacko. That kid is unpredictable—we had a much better chance of him being fine than him being sad with me gone. I’m glad I was able to talk to him, so don’t worry.”
He slides his hand off my knee and back to his lap, which is depressing, but expected. I yawn, and he groans before doing the same.
“Damnit, Jack,” he complains, making me huff a soft laugh. Head resting on the back of the couch, he tilts his face to look at me, brown eyes dark in the dim room and smile soft. “Tired?”
“Yeah. It’s weird, because we didn’t even do anything. I’ve played an entire hockey game, gone back to my dorm to read all night, and still wasn’t as tired as this.”
Desmond snorts. “I think kids just magically suck all your energy. I’ve been perma-exhausted since that first day I picked him up.”
“Was the game okay?” I ask suddenly, reminded of the reason he was gone in the first place.
He shrugs a little bit, shoulders hindered slightly by the way he’s slumped against the couch.
He props his feet up on the coffee table, fingers linked across his flat tummy.
I look away so my thoughts don’t stray back into dangerous licking territory.
My fantasies about Desmond only seem to get more vivid by the day .
“Not great, but not terrible.” He glances over at me. “We miss you.”
Blushing, I look down and play with the pages of my book. It’s a mass-market paperback I got from the thrift store; a thriller, and the last thing I remember before falling asleep was the random and incongruous appearance of a python. When I chance a look back over at Desmond, he’s watching me.
“Good book?” he asks.
“Yeah. Not good enough to keep me fully awake, though, I suppose.”
He chuckles, leaning forward and heaving himself up off the couch. It puts his butt directly in my point of view, which is super great for me.
“We should go to sleep,” he prompts, unaware of the inner turmoil his existence causes me.
Fighting another yawn, I nod and rest my book on the side table.
I’m just starting to ponder whether I should curl up on the couch or if sleeping on the floor is the better option when Desmond approaches, sheets and a pillow in his arms. I stand up, watching as he shakes open the blanket and drapes it over the cushions.
I flush again, somehow finding intimacy in the act of him making a bed for me.
“Thanks,” I whisper, looking away from the brown forearms dusted with dark hair, peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. Desmond glances up from where he’d been positioning the pillow.
“This is for me, bud. You’re taking the bed.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom, and I very nearly melt into the floor. I really want to smell his fucking pillow.
“Uhm.” My voice comes out strange—rough and somewhat strangled, like it’s been days since I’ve spoken. “I can’t…I shouldn’t…I’ll just sleep here.”
“You’re a guest,” he says firmly. “Bed is yours.”
I stare at him mutely, warring with the desire to invite him to join me and the even stronger desire to hide.
I wish I could be the kind of person to openly flirt; the kind of person bold enough to make the obvious move in this situation.
But I’m just not. I’m the guy who is more likely to walk straight into oncoming traffic than proposition another man.
The guy who spent his first date sweating and anxious and wishing time would move a little faster so he could go home.
“Well—” I start, but Desmond shakes his head and points down the hallway.
“Go on, Jacko. Get some sleep.”
“Okay. If you’re sure? I can sleep here, Desmond, really. Sleeping on the floor doesn’t bother me.”
A strange, shuttered expression passes over his face, and he shakes his head. I don’t say anything else to try and convince him. I’m a terrible arguer, and this is about as far as I can push it.
“Have a good sleep, Jacko. I’ll see you in the morning.” Desmond smiles, long fingers making their way down his chest, opening buttons and further baring the white shirt underneath. Before I do something truly mortifying like getting hard, I nod and retreat.
It’s not until I’m standing in the bedroom—Desmond’s fucking bedroom—that I realize I left both my phone and my laundry bag behind. So, not only do I not have anything to distract me from my current situation, but I also have no clothes to change into. No pajamas, and no clean underwear.
Ignoring the rumpled, half-made bed, I head into the bathroom to splash some water on my face.
Not having anticipated babysitting or spending the night, I didn’t bring a toothbrush.
Desmond didn’t even brush his own teeth, nor change into pajamas, apparently tired enough to say fuck it and just go to sleep.
Channeling that energy, I snap off the bathroom light and approach the bed.
It’s just a bed, stop making it weird, I tell myself, pulling back the crumpled sheets.
Desmond is apparently a half-asser when it comes to making the bed—it looks like all he did was toss the comforter toward the headboard and call it a day.
Deciding that climbing in fully dressed in the clothing I’ve worn all day is a little gross, I strip off down to my boxers and carefully slide under the sheets.
It will truly be a miracle if I’m able to sleep at all tonight.
I click off the lamp, and settle on my back like a vampire—legs straight, hands clutching the blanket and pulling it up to my chin. I stare at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity, before I decide to say fuck it and sniff the pillow. It’s not like anyone but me will know, anyway.
Rolling to the side, I scrunch the pillow up underneath my head and turn my face into the fabric.
I pretend Desmond is there beside me, on the other side of the bed and just out of reach.
Sleep tugs me down moments later. It’s the best I can remember having in my life, with the smell of him surrounding me and the dream of him beside me.