Chapter 5
Five
never let a naked torso cloud your judgement
Dylan
It takes a solid twenty seconds for my brain to catch up when I wake, even after I’ve removed my eye mask. Fluffy pillows,
giant duvet, grey morning light illuminating dust motes in the air. I brace for sirens, the hiss of a bus braking, a yell
from someone on the street below, maybe a screeching fox or two, but nothing comes. Just a seagull and wind chimes. I let
out a breath. My brain is unexpectedly quiet, too.
I roll over to unplug my phone and check the time. Six thirteen; two minutes before my alarm, and plenty of time to go on
a walk before breakfast and paddleboarding. I throw on some clothes, including a pair of gym shorts that are significantly
shorter and tighter than I remember, but I don’t have many other options.
I’m hoping Max is a deep enough sleeper that I won’t wake him when I leave, but my attempts at tiptoeing quietly out of the bedroom are rendered useless when a floorboard gives quite possibly the world’s loudest creak.
But to my surprise, when I enter the living area, there’s no sign of my housemate.
The bed I heard him pull out last night while I was already tucked up in my own has been reverted to a sofa, but the bedding’s in a messy pile on the floor with all the rest of his stuff; yesterday’s outfit tossed carelessly amidst his laptop and a knot of cables. My eye twitches.
I take the opportunity to use the bathroom while he isn’t around to overhear an embarrassingly loud pee, then let out a squeak
at the unexpected cold ceramic that touches my skin when I sit down. Because of course he left the seat up. Why would it be down? That would be considerate. Intense homesickness for a bathroom where the seat is always down suddenly overwhelms me, and then a delirious laugh sputters
out of me, because I knew I’d miss home while I was here, but a toilet definitely wasn’t on the list of things I expected
to set me off.
As I wash my hands, I eye Max’s toiletry bag open on its side on the counter, products spilling out. His toothbrush hangs
off the edge of the sink, despite the toothbrush pot that sits no less than ten centimetres away from it. It takes everything
in me not to rearrange it while I’m brushing my own teeth.
I take a deep breath. It’s been a while since I’ve spent so much time with a man. If nothing else, living with someone new
will be good preparation for any future relationships. I’ll come back from this trip an expert in cohabitation. And if this morning’s anything to go by, Max and I won’t even cross paths in the cabin very often. It’ll
be fine.
But when I open the bathroom door, I walk directly into a solid mass with an oof, putting my hands out in front of me instinctively to break the impact.
‘Morning, Dylan.’ Max’s voice is low and rough and I have to conclude that it was specifically developed to send my brain
careening around my skull. Horrific. He lets out a small chuckle, then, ‘Your hands are freezing.’
It takes me far too long to realise what he’s said, but as soon as I register that my fingertips are pressing into an extremely
bare chest, I yank my hands away.
‘Morning,’ I say weakly. As fast as I can, I scan his torso: more tattoos, a dusting of dark hair damp with sweat, chest rising
and falling with heavy breathing.
I make it up to his face, his cheeks tinged pink with exertion, and he lifts a single brow.
‘Do you approve, Dylan?’ He makes my name sound like a swear word. It makes me uneasy. He shifts forward, heat radiating off
him, and I plant my feet to make sure I don’t sway closer. He points a thumb behind him to my room, the motion revealing a
tiny scar on his bicep, silver against the slight tan of his skin. ‘Of the bed, I mean. How was it?’
‘Oh, uh, yeah. It was good.’ I nod furiously. ‘How did you sleep in yours?’
’Not bad,’ he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair and, impossibly, sending it even more askew. A grin slashes across his
face. ‘Enjoy your lie-in?’
As a certified early riser, I’m loath to admit he woke up earlier than me, so I reply with an airy, ‘I didn’t expect you to
be awake yet.’
‘I’m full of surprises,’ he replies. I try not to let my gaze follow the movement when he runs a hand down his chest and splays
his fingers just below his ribs, his little finger touching the waistband of his shorts. I try.
‘You seem like you’d be a late sleeper.’
‘That sounds like an insult.’
That’s because it is, I say in my own head.
He makes a noncommittal sound and says, ‘But nah, I’ve realised I function better during the day if I wake up early and go
for a run. Clears my head.’
‘You’re one of those,’ I say.
‘One of what?’ he asks, cocking his head.
I don’t want to tell him, so I just say, ‘Nothing.’
Jeremy always insisted on unbelievably long runs. Always training for something. But while Jeremy spent hours and hours honing his body to perfection, Max, on the other hand, strikes me as the kind of man
who wouldn’t be seen dead in a gym. But then, he also struck me as the kind of man to fester in his bed until midday, so I
could be wrong.
‘Are you done in the bathroom?’ he asks. ‘I need to shower.’
‘It’s all yours.’ But I don’t move, locked in place by the way he’s looking at me, eyes lingering on my thighs and then on my neck, leaving my skin tingling. I tug my shorts down a little. He doesn’t need to see all of this. Too much body in too little clothing.
There’s a tiny twitch in his jaw before he meets my eye and says, ‘You’re welcome to stay, if you want.’
An uninvited vision of Max showering fills my head. Stop that, Dylan.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I mean, no. No thank you. I’ll, um, leave you to it.’
He doesn’t even attempt to minimise how much space he’s taking up when we swap places in the doorway, and the brush of his
chest against my shoulder sends an embarrassing jolt through me.
‘Oh, and Dylan?’ I’m a few paces from the bathroom and turn to see him bracing his arm against the doorframe. ‘I forgot to
say, I’ve been using your toothpaste. Sorry. I’ll buy the next tube when it runs out.’
He closes the door and for a few moments I stand there, dumbfounded, until I grab my water bottle and head outside, heart
still pounding, skin still buzzing.
What the hell was that? Some long-dormant, unevolved part of me has heated up, and it takes a good few minutes of walking in the fresh air to get
back to normal. Because yes, obviously he is handsome. Yes, his voice is deep in a way that almost makes you wonder if he’s putting it on. And yes, the fact he’s
significantly taller than me is not an unwelcome feeling. But it’s novel, that’s all.
My body is just a body, and it doesn’t always listen to my brain. My brain goes for predictable, stable, secure, long-term. I need that, and I’m determined to get it. This walking, talking smirk of a man is not part of that plan.
And I always stick to my plans.