24
Lennon
Connorlooksfresh,well-rested,and chock full of the joys of life. He was up on the roof for longer than usual this morning, so I guess it must have been a pretty good sunrise.
“Guess the sun came up again, huh?” I ask, squinting over my cup of coffee.
“Yeah, it did, and holy shit it was good. Best one yet,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Is that right?” He grabs a kitchen towel off the hook near the stove. “Think you know me so well, huh?” He twists the towel and flicks it at me, hitting me on my thigh. I make a high-pitched, unbecoming sound and turn away from him, in part to hide my smile, and in part to get my junk well clear of the towel. “Think you know my next move, do you?”
He flicks me again, this time on the ass.
I put my coffee down quickly and grab the cheek he just lit up. He takes it as an invitation to give the other cheek the sametreatment. “Ow, you little shit,” I say, forcing the corners of my lips down, “that hurts.”
He tosses the towel at me and turns around when I catch it. He arches his back slightly and shakes his ass at me. It’s a playful offer to get even, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like something completely different. Something confusing and hard to name.
I flick him back, nevertheless. Left cheek and then right. He yelps and hops each time, and there’s something about the sound he makes that I like. I hear it differently from the way I hear other things. It lights up a different part of my brain. It wakes something old and instinctive and makes it want to pounce.
Connor rubs his ass with both hands, looking back at me, biting his bottom lip and giggling.
“Told you it hurts,” I say.
His eyes glint as he raises a cocky shoulder. He looks all sparkly this morning. Not just his eyes. His teeth and his cheeks too. They’re pink, ruddy from being out so early. “Hardly felt it.”
“Liar.”
“Am not. I swear. I barely felt it.” His shoulder rises again, and this time his shoulder blade casts a shadow on his back through the fabric of the T-shirt he’s wearing. It’s flimsy and well-worn, cotton soft from many spins in the wash. It clings to him, dipping in along his spine and drawing my gaze down. “Guess I’m just a lot tougher than you are.”
It’s not that. There’s no way it’s that. He’s wearing sweatpants. Thick fleece fabric that drapes over the globes of his ass. “The hell you are. You’re wearing sweatpants. I’m wearing sleep shorts.”
“Hm.” He looks back at me over his shoulder. His lips curve up, and he raises his chin in a challenge, in defiance, in jest, I’m not sure which. His hands move slowly to his waistband and he digs his thumbs under it. His eyes spark, bluer than green,letting me know the up-nod was mischievous. He’s playing with me. “God,” he chuckles, “I’m so lucky having pants on is something that can’t be undone.”
He moves his hands down the tiniest, most fractional amount and shakes his ass at me.
I’ve had too much coffee. I must have because all the caffeine I’ve consumed rushes to my head and makes me woozy.
I’ve showered, dressed, and have had another—ill-advised—cup of coffee. My bag is at the door. My keys and phone are in my pocket.
I’m ready for work, yet I’m not leaving. I’m in the living room, hovering near the shelves by the dining table. I know what I’m doing. I’m waiting for Connor. What I don’t know is why.
There’s a light click of rubber on timber, his footsteps headed my way. I start moving to the door quickly, hoping to create the illusion of a man who was leaving for work regardless of whether he’d said goodbye to his roommate or not.
“You on your way?” he asks.
“Yep.”
His hair is wet. Damp but not dripping. Tousled in the front like it’s been roughly dried off with a towel. “Have a good one.”
I shake my head ruefully at his misplaced optimism. “Yeah, right.”
He doesn’t reply until I get to the door. “Hey, Lennon.” He stops talking, waiting until I turn around before continuing. Hearranges his lips into a straight line and aims a piercing gaze right at me. “Therewillbe joy.”
It’s a line from the movie we watched last night. On its own, it isn’t enough to make me smile, but the way he said it is—the force and conviction he used is way out of keeping with the words.
“Is that a threat?”
