Chapter 4 #2
I thought about Thursday and the Friday and Monday ask. Five times in just over a week. His texts during the day, not just at night. The way he’d shown up with Thai food like he already knew what kind of evening I’d need.
He was building a routine around me. Not asking if that was okay, just doing it, confident enough in what this was becoming that he didn’t think to check.
Part of me wanted to push back on that, to remind him that nothing had been agreed to, that I hadn’t signed on for someone else to decide the shape of my weeks—or my role in them.
But the rest of me, the part that had said yes to Thursday and yes again to Friday, knew I’d already been answering that question every time I unlocked the elevator.
“So, Miguel’s the domestic one?” I asked, steering away from the feeling.
“Yeah. He’s better at that stuff than I am. More patient.” Nico took a sip of his beer. “We’re close, but we’re different. He’s more settled. Thinks things through. I’m more go-with-the-flow.”
“I noticed,” I said dryly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You showed up at a gay club on a Friday night, picked up a stranger, and had him in a hotel room within an hour. That’s pretty go-with-the-flow.”
His grin widened. “And you’re the guy who said yes. What does that say about you?”
“That I made a questionable decision.”
“A great decision,” he corrected.
I tried not to smile, and failed.
“You miss him?” I asked. “Miguel. You said you don’t see each other much.”
Something flickered across Nico’s face, too quick to read. “Yeah. We talk all the time, but it’s not the same as actually seeing him. Our schedules don’t line up much.” He paused. “You have siblings?”
I shook my head. “Only child. Was it good, growing up with someone?”
“Mostly.” Nico leaned back. “Miguel’s three years younger, so when we were kids I was the bossy older brother and he was the annoying tagalong. But we were into the same stuff, same sports. Made us close even when I didn’t want to be stuck with my little brother.”
“And now?”
“Now he’s one of my favorite people.” Nico’s expression softened. “He’s good at what he does. Talented. I’m proud of him.”
The genuine affection in his voice touched me. This was the side of Nico I was starting to see more of. Not just the confident charm, but the person underneath who cared about his family, who thought about things more deeply than he let on.
“What about you?” Nico asked. “Only child—did you want siblings?”
“Sometimes. It was quiet growing up. Would’ve been nice to have someone else around.” I skimmed my hand down his bicep. “My parents weren’t really the warm, chaotic family type. More reserved.”
“You still talk to them?”
“Occasionally.” I kept my voice neutral. “We’re not close. We do the obligatory holiday and birthday calls.”
Nico studied me for a moment. “That sounds lonely.”
The observation caught me off guard. Not because it was wrong, but because it was exactly right. “It is what it is.”
“Well,” Nico said, his tone deliberately lighter. “If you ever want to borrow my family for a weekend, I’m sure my mom would adopt you immediately. She’s like that. Feeds everyone, asks a million questions, sends you home with leftovers you didn’t ask for.”
I smiled despite the heaviness of talking about my parents. “That sounds nice, actually.”
“It is.” He met my eyes. “You’d like her.”
The casual way he said it—like meeting his mother was something that might actually happen, like this thing between us might last long enough for that—made my stomach dance despite my reservations. I looked down before he could see too much on my face.
We lay there talking as the evening went quiet around us. Nico told me about growing up in San Diego, about learning to play hockey as a kid. He caught himself mid-sentence, something briefly shifting behind his eyes, and moved on quickly to something else.
I didn’t say anything, but I held onto it—the way he’d said hockey specifically, not sports the way he always did.
The slip was small. The catch was deliberate.
When I added it to events and Saturday nights, the picture that emerged wasn’t complete, but it was clearer than he’d intended it to be.
Someone managing what they let through, and not quite managing it well enough.
I didn’t know yet what he was protecting, but I knew there was something to find.
It wasn’t until he was getting ready to leave around ten that he mentioned Saturday.
“I’m busy Saturday night and Sunday,” he said, pulling on his Henley. He paused and met my eyes. “But I meant what I said about Monday.”
“I know,” I said.
His smile was immediate and genuine.
He kissed me goodbye at the door, not sweet, but claiming.
His hand slid into my hair, angling my head exactly where he wanted it, and he kissed me like he was staking something.
When he pulled back, I was breathless. I watched through the peephole as he walked to the elevator, my lips still tingling.
After he left, I sat on my couch in my quiet apartment and tried to process what was happening.
This wasn’t a hookup anymore. I’d known it Thursday, when I’d said yes to Friday without thinking. I knew it more clearly now.
But I still didn’t know him. Not really.
His first name. That he worked in sports, in some specific way he wouldn’t name.
That he’d learned to play hockey as a kid and caught himself saying it.
That he kept hours that didn’t add up and talked about his schedule the way someone talks around a thing they’ve decided not to share.
He was building a life around me with one hand. With the other, he was keeping a door closed.
I picked up my phone and texted Danny.
Evan
Are you free Saturday afternoon?
Danny
Yeah, why? You okay?
Evan
I need to talk.