At the third-floor landing, Jamie fumbled for his keys. “Well. This is me. Thanks again for—”
“Can I use your bathroom?” Sloane asked. “Long drive.”
Every excuse Jamie could think of died on his tongue. Saying no would be weird. Rude. Suspicious. But letting Sloane inside meant exposing every flaw, every corner where Jamie’s life didn’t quite measure up.
“Sure. Yeah. It’s just...” He unlocked the door, pushing it open with growing dread. “Please ignore the general state of chaos. We’re between cleaning schedules. By which I mean we don’t have a cleaning schedule.”
He stepped inside first, scanning the damage. There was a pizza box on the coffee table, Nick’s hoodie draped over the armchair, and a stack of dishes sat by the sink that hadn’t been there yesterday.
At least the place didn’t smell weird.
Sloane followed him in, filling the small entryway with his presence. “Bathroom?”
“Down the hall. First door on the right.” Jamie gestured, already planning his attack strategy.
As soon as Sloane disappeared, Jamie lunged for the pizza box, grabbed it, then shoved it into the recycling bin hard enough to bend cardboard. Next, he snatched Nick’s hoodie from the chair and tossed it toward the bedroom door. It landed halfway, but close enough.
Dirty socks peeked from under the couch. He kicked them toward the hallway, then dove for the coffee table, gathering scattered mail and a game controller. Jamie dumped the mail on the kitchen counter, and shoved the controller under a cushion.
The dishes mocked him from the sink. There were too many and they were way too visible. He grabbed three mugs and crammed them into the dishwasher, then a few plates followed.
Water ran in the bathroom. Sloane would be out any second.
Jamie swiped a dish towel across the counter, erasing crumbs that probably dated back to Tuesday. He fluffed a couch pillow, then kicked a magazine under the TV stand.
The bathroom door clicked open.
Jamie straightened, trying to look casual as Sloane emerged. “Find everything okay?”
You just had to ask him that awkward question, didn’t you? Like you’re being nosy about his bathroom habits.
“Yeah.” Sloane’s gaze swept the apartment, taking it in. The mismatched furniture Jamie had collected from thrift stores. The posters Nick had insisted on hanging. The bookshelf that leaned slightly left because one leg was shorter than the others.
“It’s not much,” Jamie said, hating how small his voice sounded. “But it’s home. Nick and I split the rent, which makes it almost affordable. Well. Affordable-adjacent.”
“It’s nice.” Sloane moved into the living room, stopping by the bookshelf. His finger traced along the spines. “You read a lot.”
“Nick’s the reader. I just pretend so I look cultured.” The joke fell flat. Jamie twisted his hands together. “You want something to drink? We have water. And... water. Also tap water, if you’re feeling adventurous.”
Will you stop? He’s gonna think you’re lame.
“I’m good.” Sloane turned, leaning against the bookshelf with that same easy confidence that made Jamie’s stomach flip. “You don’t need to be nervous.”
“Who, me? I’m not nervous.” He let out a high-pitched laugh. “This is just my face.”
“Jamie.”
The way Sloane said his name did things to Jamie’s pulse. Soft but certain, like he could see through every deflection.
“Okay, maybe a little nervous.” Jamie crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, unsure what to do with his hands. “You have a house with actual walls and furniture that matches. I have a couch held together by hope and duct tape. It’s a bit of a contrast.”
“So?” Sloane pushed off the bookshelf, closing the distance between them. Not crowding, just nearer. “You think I care about furniture?”
“Most people care about furniture.”
“I’m not most people.”
True. Most people didn’t kiss like they were trying to rewrite Jamie’s entire understanding of chemistry. Most people didn’t bring him breakfast after he’d passed out in their car. Most people didn’t look at him like Sloane was looking at him now, like he was paying attention on purpose, not out of politeness.
