Fourteen #3
I’d gone ahead to turn on the bathroom light, but looked back at that – back at this tall, gracefully muscled man whose jawline alone would have brought Renaissance sculptors to tears, and whose apologetic smile had a soft, beautiful curve.
“Miles, you are effortlessly gorgeous,” I said. “You’re drunk as fuck and just spent ten minutes vomiting and you still take my breath away.”
His smile dropped like I’d cut the floor from beneath him, leaving him staring at me unblinking. Despite the haziness of his gaze, it owned the intensity of a pair of hands squeezing my ribcage, until I could no longer bear it and had to look away.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you in the shower.”
While I turned it on, he managed to take off his shirt, but the effort of navigating the rest seemed too much for him.
I knelt to help. Shoes, socks, belt – he was aware enough of what I was doing to lift his feet for me, but otherwise stared at nothing.
Even when I pushed his pants and boxers down over his hips, thumbs brushing soft, inviting skin, he hardly seemed to notice.
In the circumstances, the sight of his soft cock was more intimate than arousing, yet when I got to my feet, I found him watching me, a hint of heat in those dark eyes.
“Go on,” I said, pushing him gently into the shower.
Leaving him standing under it, I threw his clothes over the chair in his room, taking a moment to check his pockets to be sure he hadn’t accidentally left either his wallet or phone behind.
Both went on the bedside table along with his apartment key, before I pulled back the covers and fetched a glass of water.
Back in the bathroom, he hadn’t moved, just stood letting the water dribble over him.
“Wow, the water pressure here really is bad,” I said. “But maybe it got rid of at least some of the smell.”
“I smell?” he asked almost plaintively as I shut off the water and held up a towel.
“Like a nightclub, but the straight kind.”
As I wrapped the towel around him, he screwed up his nose. “Gross.”
“You can have a proper shower tomorrow. For now—” I grabbed a second towel and started ruffling it through his hair. “Let’s just get you into bed.”
Once he was more or less dry, I helped him to his room where he dropped naked onto the bed, damp hair splaying across his pillow. As I pulled the covers over him, his phone screen lit with a message from Tina. Miles, please just tell me where you are and if you’re ok!
“Right, well I got you water, and your phone is here,” I said. “I’ll take mine off silent so you can call if you need anything.”
He gazed up at me, eyes a little hazy. “You’re beautiful.”
“And you’re still drunk. I’m going back to bed.”
I barely made it a step before he caught my hand. “Mat.”
My heart thudded as I looked down to find his fingers wrapped around mine, then to his face where his dark eyes were like lodestones. “Miles,” I returned, his name pulling past a growing lump in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and I knew it wasn’t tonight he was apologising for.
The afternoon at the laundromat perhaps, or something more, the words owning weight.
Having stayed my escape, he slid his hand a little way up my arm, a questing gesture without suggestion, like he just wanted to touch more of my skin.
“I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day. ”
“I already did.”
Not a lie to calm him, just a foolish truth that I had and I always would and I desperately needed to escape.
I gently pulled my hand away. “Get some sleep. Call if you need me.”
He let me go, and turning off his apartment lights as I went, I slipped out into the hallway. Closing the door behind me felt like trying to shut away all the thoughts I wasn’t allowed.
Standing in the middle of the dimly-lit passage, I pulled out my phone and messaged the number Tina had called me from. He’s very drunk but he’s fine. I just put him to bed.
And then because I needed something to steady me, I called Dad.
“Hey Matty,” Dad said, picking up after a couple of rings. “Isn’t it pretty late there? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I just can’t sleep and it’s been a while, so I thought I’d call. If you’ve got time.”
“I’ve got time,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. It made me long for home. “Are you looking forward to playing centre court at Wimbledon? Few players get a chance at that.”
“Yeah, I mean even if I lose, getting to play there will be special. But hey, I . . . don’t really want to talk about tennis. Tell me about the swift parrots. Or the western possums or something.”
A pause. I could imagine him sitting in his tiny, cluttered home office slowly nodding, a little wary as he said, “Sure, whatever you need. Did you watch that video I sent?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Weren’t those fledglings so sweet? That clutch is still going strong, you know.”
I leaned back against the wall and let his warm voice and his enthusiasm wash over me, glad for a time to be able to forget about the man I had just tucked up in bed. Forget about the way he had looked at me like maybe I really was his whole world.