Aspen chose that moment to shake himself awake and launch off the couch toward Derek with his full morning enthusiasm.
“Hey buddy.” The morning rasp in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.He crouched down to rub behind Aspen’s ears and Aspen pressed his entire face against Derek’s bare chest.
Lucky dog,I thought and then caught myself thinking it and suddenly the urge to leave was overwhelming.
Why hadn’t I left last night when I had the chance? This wasn’t a walk of shame—nothing had happened—but it had the same awkward energy. The morning after without the before.
“Thanks again for watching Aspen.” He paused, hesitating, like he wasn’t sure what the protocol was here either. That made two of us. “Do you drink coffee? I’ll put on a pot before I walk him.”
“I’m fine. I should go home,” I said, already calculating the fastest route to the door. “I need to shower before I head to the rink.”
“Shower here. We can drive in together.”
The offer hung in the air between us. Casual. Reasonable. The kind of thing roommates or friends might say to each other without it meaning anything.
We were not roommates. We were barely friends. I had slept on his couch and used his shower gel and spent an unreasonable amount of time noticing the little trail of hair that disappeared into his waistband. Showering here again felt like crossing a line I couldn’t quite articulate.
I opened my mouth to say no.
I knew how to say no. I said no constantly. I was, by most accounts, extremely good at no—deployed it regularly andwithout remorse, had been told more than once that I could stand to soften my delivery. No was not a word I had ever had difficulty with.
But he was looking at me so expectantly, his eyes patient and kind, his hand still moving behind Aspen’s ears. No agenda. No pressure. Just an offer, extended without strings.
“Uhm,” I faltered. “Okay. I can put on the coffee.”
What the fuck, Mathéo?
Something crossed his face—not surprise exactly, more like a quiet satisfaction. The expression of someone who had made a small bet and won it. “Great, thank you.”
He disappeared back into his room and came out a minute later in a Chicago Frost t-shirt that was soft with age, yanked the Frost hat from the hook by the door—the one I had borrowed—and leashed Aspen up.
The door closed behind them.
I stood there for a moment, replaying the last thirty seconds. I had just agreed to shower at Derek Sullivan’s apartment. Again. While he was here. And then drive to the rink with him. Like we were—what? Friends?
It wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever had. The bar was admittedly low. I shuffled off the couch and stood alone in his kitchen, the silence pressing in.
You could still leave, I told myself.He would understand.
But I didn’t leave. I found the filters, measured out the coffee and water, and put on a pot.
???
His shower was significantly better than Avery’s. The water pressure alone was worth accepting his invitation to shower here.
I used his shower gel. Warm and citrusy. I stood under the water for longer than necessary, telling myself it was the good pressure, and tried not to think about the fact that I was going to smell like him for the rest of the day.
Appealing,said some part of my brain.
Shut up,I told it.
I dried off and dressed in my skating clothes—a t-shirt with a fitted black jacket and compression leggings—and went back to the kitchen to pour two cups of coffee and wait.
Derek returned with Aspen and a paper bag from a café on his route. Turkey bacon, egg, and cheddar on English muffins, wrapped in wax paper, the bag spotted with grease in a way that suggested they were good.
“Hope that works,” he said, setting one in front of me and unwrapping his own without pausing.
“Thank you.” I picked mine up. Took a few bites from the egg and turkey bacon, working around as much of the muffin and cheese as I could manage without making it obvious. The coffee was black and strong and I focused on it.
