Leo dabbed some glue to the top of a wall so he could start constructing the second story. “What does he wear?”
“Board shorts to surf, of course,” I joked. “And if not that…maybe a sleeveless top?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. One that shows off his arms. I’m a fan of nice arms. A sleeveless top is the sluttiest thing a guy can wear —” I cut myself off. “No, actually, a compression top. A tight black compression top. That’s hot.”
“And that’s the…sluttiest thing a guy can wear?” Leo sounded uncertain.
I nodded. “When I say slutty, I mean that in the complimentary, reclaimed sense.”
“Right.” Leo took another sip of his coffee. “What’s your type personality-wise?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I mean, there’s all the obvious things, like if it’s easy to talk to him, and if he’s funny and kind. I suppose I like friendly guys, but I don’t think Atticus is really like that. But who knows? Maybe once we get to know each other, he’ll surprise me.”
“How are you not sure what you like, though?”
“I’ve never had a relationship. I didn’t date in high school. My parents didn’t let me because they said it’d distract me from studying, and even if I was allowed, I didn’t like anyone in high school. All the guys were either straight or ugly or had the personality of a slice of bread.”
“What about when you came to uni?”
“I was too busy celebrating my freedom, slutting it up,” I said. “Eventually, I realised that as much as I liked having fun, I wanted something real, y’know? Something deeper than just sex. Some people might think it’s strange that I’m twenty and I’ve never been in a relationship, but that’s just how it’s turned out.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend,” Leo admitted.
“Really?” I tried not to sound as shocked as I felt.
He nodded. “So don’t worry. It’s not strange.”
“That’s really…reassuring. If someone like you has never had a girlfriend, that makes me feel a lot better about my singleness. Have you been messing around instead?”
He flushed but didn’t answer. That was fair enough — some guys didn’t like to talk about sex. I believed there were two categories of men. The type who was proud of getting laid, like it was an accomplishment, and then there was the type who kept it private. Not because they were ashamed or embarrassed — at least not all of them — but because it was personal and vulnerable, and they didn’t want to share that with others.
After my hoe era in first year, I talked about sex like I talked about food. But if I was in a proper relationship, I’d probably fall into the second category. I wouldn’t want to share the details of my sex life with my boyfriend with anyone. I’d want it to belong to only us.
I finished the first card of cutouts, stacked them into a neat pile, and passed them to Leo. He thanked me, and I watched hiscrafting for a moment. He’d constructed a winding staircase that looked perfectly round, each movement of his hands deliberate and sure. He barely glanced at his plans — it must’ve been all in his head.
Then, realising I was wasting time, I returned my focus to the next cutout.
The first hour passed by quickly, and we drained our beverages. Leo stood up and stretched, arching his back, head thrown back to expose his Adam’s apple. I looked away before I started feeling like a pervert. He went to his espresso machine — a tiny, cheap thing that used pods — and started making another cup.
“I only have coffee, sorry,” he said with a wince.
“That’s okay. I’m not thirsty.”
He asked if I wanted anything to eat, but I wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t either, because he returned to the desk with nothing but his coffee.
We worked for another half hour, and once I finally finished cutting out all the card pieces, my fingers felt tight and blistery. “Oh god, how do design students do this?” I asked, rubbing the pads of my fingers, which had formed about twenty callouses.
“You get used to the pain,” Leo said. “My hands are kind of rough now. Feel.”
I reached over. The pads of his fingers were slightly tougher than mine, but they were still soft. Young person hands. Nineteen-year-old hands.
“Your hands are bigger than mine,” I said, comparing them side by side. “How are yours so much more nimble?”
“Years of practice,” Leo replied, flashing a smile.
“You’ve been building things since before uni?” I asked.
