“Hey.” Coach comes over and kneels in front of me. “What’s happening? This isn’t the Bubble I…well, barely know, but anyway, it’s not you. You’re positive. Full of energy. Nothing can push you down.”
That draws a smile from me. “You’re right, Coach. Let’s turn the frown upside down, right?”
I stand and walk over to my suitcase. “Where’s your spare room?”
Coach’s face scrunches a little. “I don’t have got one.”
“You what now?”
“I only have one bedroom.”
I look down at my suitcase. “Jeremy, this is about to become a little awkward.” And then I turn to Coach. “When I said…outside…” I gesticulate to the vague area where my car is parked. “You know, me little spoon…”
Coach laughs. “Okay, first of all, I’m an awesome big spoon.”
People of this kind planet. It’s official. Bubble is deceased.
And then he continues, “But what I mean is that you can take my room. I’m happy sleeping on the couch. I’ve done it plenty of times before.”
“Oh.” And now I feel like a deflated merengue for thinking Coach might’ve actually been serious. I mean, I was also panicking a little at the thought, but mostly, I was hopeful.
Spending the night with those big arms wrapped around me? Where do I sign up? Who do I have to kill or inflict mild pain upon? I’ll do it.
“Absolutely not. This is your cabin, and you’re doing me a favor by taking me in. I should be the one sleeping on the couch,” I say.
“I have a proposal.”
“Go on…”
“Since you seem so insistent on feeding me, I’ll exchange my bed for your hot meals.”
Dammit. I can’t fault his reasoning.
“Fine. But if I sleepwalk and end up on the couch anyway, it’s your fault,” I say.
“Do you sleepwalk a lot?”
No, but I have also never slept under the same roof as the man starring in all my dirty fantasies. I am not responsible for what my subconscious mind gets up to when I’m not awake.
I shrug and point to where I think the bedroom is. Coach nods, so I take my suitcase and make myself at home for the second time in a few days.
Coach changes the bedsheets while I arrange my clothes in color order, which is easy since eighty percent is pink. I leave Jeremy’s suitcase closed. Coach doesn’t need to see what’s in there unless he asks very,verynicely.
By the time I come out of the bedroom, I’m feeling hungry and weirdly wired. I wonder if Coach will let me bake something.
I don’t see him in the living room, and since the whole place is pretty small, I don’t need to guess that he’s not in the cabin.
A thudding sound comes from outside, so I look out the window and see Coach stacking wood logs against his shed.
“Holy lumberjacks. The man should come with a warning, and I need a cold shower.” I look down at my dick. “You’re lucky most of my jeans are too tight for you to give yourself away, you horny piece of Coach-addicted meat.”
I step away from the window and fix myself a small sandwich since I’ll be cooking Coach a nice dinner later.
Getting my bearings in the smaller cabin doesn’t take as long as it did in the other. The place is strangely cozy, though it lacks any kind of personal touch.
There are no decorative pieces or picture frames on the walls. The couch looks old and worn, but the kitchen cabinets look like they’ve recently been renovated.
“Are you a work in progress?” I say, walking around, touching the bare walls. “I think Coach is a work in progress too.”
