“Cold?” he asks.
I shake my head and definitely blush, forever at the mercy of the involuntary reaction. One time I even looked up if how often I deal with it would be considered severe. That made methankful for the relatively small amount of blushing I have in comparison to legitimate medical cases.
Hmm, what’s my next question? I decided tonight was get-to-know-Matt night. I’ve already asked about his favorite food (tacos), if he prefers movies or TV shows (movies), and what sport, other than hockey, he likes to watch the most (soccer, which apparently his younger brother Connor played up through college). I think that’s the sport he was watching that first day at the bar. Oh, that reminds me…
“What’s the name of the bar?” I ask him.
“The Bar.”
“Yeah, the one you own with Nate. What’s it called? There’s no sign out front. I only knew to go inside for a drink because I looked in the window.”
Now Matt is laughing.
“Is it a dumb name? I won’t make fun,” I promise. I’lltrynot to make fun, I amend in my head.
“I think if I make aWho’s on Firstreference, I’ll just end up aging myself,” Matt says on a sigh, still smiling.
What the heck is he talking about? “That ship has sailed, Mr. MBA. Have you seen the way you text?” I give him a sweet smile.
He nips my hip bone at that and I hold in my yelp.
“The bar is called ‘The Bar,’” he tells me. “At first we couldn’t come up with anything, so that was our stand-in name. Then it just kind of stuck. Now it’s been around long enough it’s actually decently well-known with the locals and I think they like it. Obviously it leads to conversations like this sometimes, but I think that’s part of the charm.”
The Bar.Huh, I actually like that a lot. And it makes me feel like a local for knowing about it.
“I like it. It’s simple,” I tell him. “Was it your idea or Nate’s to open it?”
Matt gets up from his position sprawled across me, maneuvering himself next to me so our heads are both resting on the pillows and facing up toward the ceiling. I just have one lamp on in my room so the lighting is dim and soft. I grab the comforter and pull it up to cover us now that I don’t have the heat of Matt’s body on mine.
“It was my idea. I think I told you Nate moved here with me from our town in upstate New York? Well, he was a bartender for a few years just to have a job, but then he actually seemed to really like it, so it felt like a good idea,” he explains.
I think about Nate moving with Matt at such a young age—they must have been just barely eighteen. I’m glad they had each other, but I can’t imagine doing something like that without the environment of college and other kids my age around. I roll myself toward Matt so I’m facing him.
“Why’d Nate move with you? Didn’t he want to go to school or anything? It must have been hard moving away from his family, right?”
Now that I’m facing Matt, I wish I could take my questions back. His eyes are closed and he looks so at ease.
“We can go to sleep,” I whisper to him.
At that, he opens his eyes and smiles at me. “Nah, I prefer talking to you.” He leans over and pecks my lips before he sits up and switches off the lamp on the bedside table near him. He faces back to me. “But I wouldn’t mind a cuddle. Turn over,” he says, nodding his head toward the windows. I smile and quickly rearrange myself.
Matt slides his arm under my neck and gently wraps the other around my torso. He pulls me backward until I’m snug against his warm body, his nose tracing the shell of my ear. I feel his deep exhale against my neck as his body eases against mine.
I’m not teeny-tiny, but Matt makes me feel that way. It’s not that he’s a giant or anything. He just has a way of maneuveringme and taking charge that I feel so…safe? Yeah, safe. I wiggle back into him and feel myself relax.
“Nate moved with me because pretty much any situation would have been better than what he was dealing with at home. If I hadn’t been signed, we would’ve still left together somehow,” Matt says quietly.
That sounds…bad. I think of Nate and his easy smile, that curling blond hair and those crinkling eyes. I hesitate, unsure how much to pry. I don’t want Matt to feel pressured to share—especially if it’s not even his story to tell.
Before I can make a decision, I feel his body relax in a way only sleep can bring. His arm becomes heavier than before and his breathing a little slower. I revel in the vulnerability of this moment, holding tight to Matt’s arm around me and this feeling of deep contentment I get from being snuggled close to him.
I could get used to this.The thought surprises me, like my body sent the message to my brain without permission.
I trace his fingers with mine and think of how tired he seemed all night. Matt mentioned tonight how nice it was to drive five minutes to my place after his game instead of the twenty-five it normally takes him to get to his house. His house which I know I should eventually go to, instead of making him come to my smaller apartment and smallerbed. But that means driving, ugh. And he hasn’t complained about being here. Not that he would, I guess. I get the vibe that he likes my apartment just fine.
It worked out well tonight since I was off, but I know he has games on nights when I’m at work, so I wouldn’t be able to let him in on those days. Man, being fuck buddies takes some serious coordination with two demanding jobs.
I feel my mind start to drift as the day’s activities catch up with me. I fall asleep thinking of warm cuddles and logistics.
