“Hi,” I say shyly. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Lying in bed. You?”
“Same,” I say. “You’re not tired, are you? I hope it’s not too late for you.”
“No,” he replies softly. “I’m not tired.”
I let out a shivery breath. “I think I’m having withdrawals.”
He laughs. “From what?”
“From you,” I say.
“What…” I hear him wet his lips. “What makes you say that?”
I hesitate. If I was speaking to anyone else, there’s no way in hell I’d admit any of this. It’s way too embarrassing. But since it’s R, I know he won’t judge me.
“I feel like…a frayed wire.”
“A frayed wire?”
“Yeah. Like I’m about to burst into flames. For example, this guy today touched me, and I… I miss skin contact. We used to have a routine, remember? And I try to deal with the…baser…urges by myself, but it’s not the same.”
He’s quiet.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“I’m wondering how he touched you.”
“Oh, completely appropriately. Don’t worry, I don’t like himat all. But it made me realise I’m starving for touch.”
He laughs self-deprecatingly. “Sorry. I sound jealous. Besides, we’re not even —” he cuts himself off, but I can guess the rest of the sentence.Boyfriends. Exclusive. Actually in a relationship.“I’m the same way,” he continues. “It’s weird that I’ve gone without it my entire life, and now I’m addicted to it.”
I roll my tongue around my mouth since it’s gone dry. “Well,” I say. “Only two weeks to go.”
“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not that long.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then he says, “What are you wearing?”
A smile spreads across my lips. “Shorts and a T-shirt. Why?”
“You know why,” he mutters.
I bite my lip so I don’t laugh because I don’t want R to think I’m laughingathim. “What are you wearing?”
“Just my jocks,” he says.
I stop smiling. “Oh,” I breathe.
“It’s what I wear every night,” he explains.
“No, I… I believe you.” It’s common for guys to sleep in nothing but their underwear, but I’ve always felt too cold and exposed to do it myself. “What colour are they?”
“Are we really doing this?” he asks.
“If you want,” I say.
