I’mgladhe’s not here. Means I can get some undisturbed sleep.
I root through his closet to find something to wear, finding his toiletry caddy at the same time. There’s a toothbrush in there and everything. I slip out of his room to use the bathroom.
It’s nearly ten, so I’m pretty sure most of the other guys are asleep or out partying. I hear music coming from downstairs, but it’s not all that loud so I try to stay as quiet as possible, not daring to turn on the lights, relying solely on my exceptional night vision and the moonlight coming in the window to hobble my way around.
I’m almost done when I step forward to rinse out my mouth at the basin and slam my little toe against the edge of the vanity.
“Ow, fuck!” I yelp, clapping my hand over my mouth.
That’ll teach me.
Kai’s still not in his bed by the time I get back, but I don’t let that stop me from snuggling under the covers. I was hoping I’d fall straight asleep, but the smell on his pillows is distracting as fuck.
I try to turn them over, but that doesn’t help.
I don’t remember him smelling this good. Not the last time I was here, not when we were kids. Then again, I thinkbothof us reeked when we were kids. My dad never made sure I bathed. Ifit weren’t for the creek, I doubt my five-year-old self wouldeverhave been clean.
As I’m drifting off, I hear the bedroom door open. My eyes pop open, fixing on Kai as I try to think of how to announce myself.
Something’s wrong.
He’s not walking normally. His tall, muscled body leans to one side as he half-sidles, half-staggers into the room.
Is he drunk?
Boy, ohboy, the level of regret I’m experiencing right now…
Please God, let him go to the bathroom first. That’ll give me a chance to slip back out the window.
But no. Kai just starts tugging off his clothes, only pausing when he loses his balance and has to steady himself against the closet.
Then I guess he decides he’s not going to risk face-planting, so he stumbles over to the bed and perches on the edge as he pulls off his shirt and shoes and socks.
Despite the low light in the room, I can see a big band-aid on his shoulder that I’m pretty sure wasn’t there this morning when I left him on the sidewalk.
He used to get cuts and scrapes on him all the time back when we were kids. Bruises too. Most came from Ezra. The rest were a direct result of boys being boys.
But he’s a little too old to be getting scraped up climbing trees.
Like howI’mtoo old to be climbing in windows.
Kai falls onto his back with a dramatic groan, back of his hand on his forehead, the other slapping down onto his bare stomach. The smell of weed and booze rolls off him in a suffocating wave, entirely masking the smell wafting from his pillows.
He still hasn’t noticed me.
I’m about to say something when he groans again and slides a hand behind his boxers. I assume he’s adjusting his junk, but then his hand moves around behind the fabric in a verymethodicalway.
Oh.
Okay.
So this is happening.
I’ll tell him I slept through it all. That I didn’t even wake up when he got here. He’s so drunk, I could probably tell him I arrived at dawn and he’d believe me.
As long as I don’t move?—
Why is my hand inching down the football jersey I found in his closet? I couldn’t help myself—these things make excellent pajamas. Soft, silky, breathable.
