“That’ll do,” she grins, sliding off me before pulling onone of my large hoodies. Hand on the door knob, I jump out of bed and stop her.
“I have roommates still here, Sloane,” I tell her, my eyes dipping to where the hem of the hoodie barely hides the perfect swell of her ass. She seems to realize the moment I do, and sucks her teeth as she scans the room.
“Right,” she mutters, pulling on the flannel pants that hang over my desk chair. “My virtue safer for you, now?” She moves to open the door and I press behind her, my mouth low in her ear as I grasp her waist through the sweatshirt she’s swimming in.
“Not you I’m worried about. Just don’t want to do something I regret if any of these guys look at you the wrong way.”
Her laughter rumbles against me, smoke and honey, as we make our way to the kitchen, where we in fact see no one. Without hesitating, she finds the mixing bowl and pancake mix, measuring out just enough water before I nudge her toward the table. She flips the book over in her hand.
“So the theater thing,” she says, pulling her legs up on the chair.
“The theater thing,” I repeat, leaning against the counter as I watch her, arms crossed like it’ll keep my heart in rhythm.
“What’s the story there? It’s kind of…random?” she laughs, tossing her hair to the side. “Caffeine?”
I turn the pot on, finding our least nicked mug.
“It was Luis’s thing. He passed it on to me, and then to Carmen, I guess.”
“Did you do, like, family plays?”
“No,” I chuckle. “Carmen’s always been into musicals, soI’vebeen into musicals by default. Luis was into straight plays, though. We just…appreciated theater together. In high school I took the theater survey class and the director convinced me to go out for the fall play.”
“That’s a cliche. You know that right?” She fights a grin as I slide her coffee on the table, rushing back to flip the pancake.
“Oh, yeah. It was very good for me. Girls love an athlete who can doHamlet.” Claudius, actually—the villain thing was a goddamn birdsong, and my teammates were pestering the director to play even a tree before the semester was through.
Her cheeks deepen into a rosy hue and she brings her mug to her lips, hiding the flush with a weathered radio station logo. “A real Troy Bolton. Did you have a Gabriella?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “For a couple years. She got married right after graduation.” Bianca, whose sporadic posts about her toddlers are a bizarre reminder of how much life has happened in the same span of time that Luis has been gone.
Her eyes fly wide. “Oh mygod, Andy. You’re jokin’?” The mug sounds against the table and she rests her head against her hand.
“I wish I was,” I admit, slightly embarrassed but relieved to be telling her about my life. No one knows much, I realize, other than Will.
The pancakes are perfect, and I drench them in butter and syrup without checking before setting it in front of her.
“How’d you go fromthat,” she cocks her head as she cuts into the stack, “to…this?” Her eyes don’t lift when she asks, just flutter shut as she savors the bite.
I flip the trio burning in the pan, silently cursing the unevenness of this stove as I turn down the heat. “This?”
“You know. You’re like…a different woman every weekend kind of guy,” she says, pursing her lips, and I can’t tell if there’s jealousy laced in her gaze or true curiosity.
Raking a hand through my hair I sigh, pouring my own cup of joe before plating my breakfast and sitting across from her. “I think…” I cut a piece of the stack until it’s mush, and Sloane sits there in silence. “I think Luis dying changed the way Isee things. And college is the time for all that, I guess,” I tell her, regretting that this will always be her first impression of me as I shove the bite in my mouth before sitting back.
Gazing into her coffee, she squints. “I get it. You don’t really know yourself yet, you know?”
“I mean, do you ever?”
Her eyes float past me, latching onto something as she squints. “I should grab my stuff.”
Turning, I notice it’s already eleven, and that Connie’s supposed to be discharged at noon. The hospital’s half an hour away, and I’m out of time. Her half eaten pancakes sit on the table as we pad back down the hallway.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” I say instead ofplease don’t go. A small smirk plays at the corner of her lips as I step close and draw circles on her smooth skin beneath the hoodie, my gaze dipping to her lips.
“I haven’t seen my friends in forever. I need to…debrief them,” she adds with a small shrug before disappearing to the bathroom.
When she comes back, I’m mentally fumbling over ways to get reassurance. It’s fucked, how lost I am to this feeling. “And what are you going to tell them?” I ask her, dragging her toward me by the hips. I gaze up at her, wanting nothing more than to pull her back down to this bed and…not even touch her. Just talk. Listen to everything she usually leaves unspoken or carefully tiptoes around.
