51. Indy #3
Keeping the lid shut.
I sigh. We’re in Boston again. Streetlights fly past the windows as he drives us through the midnight streets.
I clamp my mouth shut.
Sit on the lid.
Put my full weight on it.
Instead of driving me home, he parks in front of his own building. We both get out of the car.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say. “Friend.”
It’ll do me good to remind myself of that.
“Blue,” he says as he rounds the car.
My shoulders drop on a sigh.
“Nicholas.” I parrot his exasperated tone.
“Answer me,” he says.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know how Mom’s doing. I haven’t spoken to her.”
He’s very still for a moment.
“Since when?”
I widen my arms. “What does it matter?”
“Tell me.”
I scowl. “You know it doesn’t work like this. You can say jump in that tone as many times as you want, it doesn’t mean I’ll do it.”
“Since when, Blue?”
I grit my teeth. “Nicholas.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a really long few weeks. Can we maybe not do this today?”
He eyes me for a bit before he nods.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
I nod too, before I point my thumb behind me. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for the ride.”
I’ve only walked a few steps when his voice stops me.
“You should stay.”
I don’t think I heard him right. I turn around and keep walking backward.
“What?”
“Stay,” he says. “You’re tired. It makes sense, okay? Exhaustion might bring out your asthma.”
It’s not so much an invitation as a demand, and I want to say I’m strong enough to resist, but I’m not. Even though I know what a terrible idea it is.
I hover, not committing to staying, but not leaving either.
“Blue,” he says. “Let me…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. It almost feels inevitable.
Only that’s a lie.
Me going inside his apartment will be very much deliberate. There won’t be any higher powers pushing me in his direction. I won’t be able to say I don’t know what I’m doing. I know, just like he knows what he’s asking.
I follow him inside without a word. We walk up the three flights of stairs, and I watch him unlock the door.
He pushes it open and lets me inside before him, then I follow him through the apartment into the bedroom.
He flicks on the bedside lamp and goes to the dresser, where he pulls out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats.
“Shower?” he says. I nod, and he points to the door right across from the bedroom. “Towels are on the rack. There’s a new toothbrush in the drawer.”
I grab the clothes and escape. I don’t need a shower. But I need space, so I’m going to have one. Once in the bathroom, I lean against the door and blow out a slow breath. I leave the tux in a pile on the floor and step under the spray. His shower gel smells like sandalwood.
Once I’m done, I grab my stuff and head back outside. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes on me from the moment I step out the bathroom door.
I stop in the doorway, clutching my clothes to my chest like a goddamn security blanket.
“I’ll take the couch.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It’s all hope and nerves and gravel.
He stares at me in wordless challenge, and I roll my eyes before I go and drop my tux on top of the dresser.
He goes into the bathroom, and I hear the shower being turned on while I throw the covers back and climb into the bed.
I throw myself onto my back and exhale loudly while I stare at the ceiling and listen to the sounds from the bathroom.
A few minutes later, he walks out with a towel wrapped around his hips, and I nearly swallow my tongue.
His eyes meet mine before he turns off the lights, then I hear the towel hit the floor.
My breathing sounds so loud in the quiet room. And it’s not like I can’t see him. There’s light coming in from the street outside, so his silhouette is very visible as he steps into a pair of underwear and tugs them up.
By the time he reaches the bed I can feel my pulse hammering everywhere.
“You’re not taking the couch?” I ask thickly.
Please, somebody make good decisions here, for the love of God!
“It’s uncomfortable,” he says. “Too short for my legs. We can share. It’s not a problem, is it?”
I narrow my eyes at him through the darkness. “Sure. We’re friends, after all. And that’s what friends do, isn’t it?”
He’s close enough that the warmth from his skin hits me like a heatwave in the narrow bed. I swallow thickly.
“Okay?” Nick asks.
“Yup. You have a very comfortable mattress.”
Kill me now. I just said that.
He snorts out a laugh. “Blue, it feels like you’re about to roll off the side of the bed any moment now.”
“It’s how I like to sleep.”
“No, you don’t. At least, you didn’t used to.”
“People change,” I grit through my teeth.
He hums, and how the hell does he sound so unaffected and casual about this while it feels like my skin is alive with waves of electricity?
He’s so close. His bare skin is so close. I move my pinky an inch. So. Close.
“Okay, then.” He sounds almost cheerful. “Sweet dreams.”
Okay, then, sweet dreams???
He can’t seriously think either of us is going to be able to do any sleeping like this, can he?
It quickly becomes clear that’s just a me problem, because Nick’s breathing evens out in a matter of minutes.
The absolute fuck is this?
But he’s not done with me yet. There comes a point when he rolls toward me, throws his arm over my chest, and pulls me against him.
My heart is galloping in my chest as he settles in with a contented sigh, his bare chest against my back, his nose in my hair, his lips pressed to the nape of my neck, breaths deep and even.
I swallow a whimper and squeeze my eyes shut, doing my best to ignore the fact that my cock is so hard it’s throbbing between my legs.
It takes forever before I manage to fall asleep.