So I don’t ask.
Instead, I put the leftover homemade chicken pasta in the fridge and grab two half-pints of ice cream and two spoons.
When I sit next to him, he looks up, as if he finally remembers where he is and that he isn’t alone. I offer him his pint and a spoon.
“Thanks,” he says, his voice far away.
I tap my spoon against his.
“Cheers,” I say with a grin before digging in.
And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I do what I said I wouldn’t do.
I ask.
“You okay?” I shovel a spoonful of sweet cherries and chocolate into my mouth.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He leans back against the couch, and scoots closer to me.
I wonder if he’s aware of all the little things he does, the way I am. If he notices every time his fingers drift to my thigh or if he notices how he goes to bed every night on his side and wakes up with his limbs tangled around me. Probably not. But I do. Those little things are what I look forward to the most.
“You’re quiet,” I say carefully. “Quieter than usual.”
I watch as he takes a big bite of his cookies and cream.
“Just tired, I guess.”
I let it go because I’m too scared to press him further. I don’t want to know.
Because somewhere deep inside, I do know. I always know the ship is going to sink, but I board the boat anyway.
There’s nothing more I’d like to do right now than shove him into my car, take him somewhere, and buy him whatever he wants until he feels better.
Until I feel better.
But I can’t. I mean, technically I can. Guys hang out with each other all the time in public and no one assumes they’retogether.
Would he want to be seen with me like that? Even if no one would know, would he risk it?
No. Probably not.
Because he doesn’t want you like that, Alex. You know that.
I shove another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and sigh.
“Want to cuddle and watch stupid rom-coms with me?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows. “There’s a marathon of Kate Hudson ones on.”
He laughs, and it’s genuine.
“Sure.” He hands me the remote. “Have at it.”
I flip through the channels and he settles against me, eyes glued to the screen.
I like this. Him, here with me like this. Our mornings of coffee and kisses before he leaves. My days full of projects I can’t wait for him to notice. When he comes home and wraps his arms around me after work. Our evenings on the couch, soaking up each other’s body heat. Watching games and making out on the couch so I don’t have to listen to the dumb announcers. Our weekends spent getting sweaty between the sheets and discovering new ways to make each other come.
I never knew that my life could be like this. But now that I know… fuck.
How do I let this go? I can’t.
