“Yeah, I guess so.” He looks back up at me, and I see a flash of something in his gaze. Sadness? Guilt? I can’t be sure.
“But what about everyone else?” I ask.
“What about everyone else?” He shifts his weight, likely trying to get comfortable on this lumpy bed, but the motion pushes him closer to me, invading the last sliver of open space. His knuckles brush the back of my wrist, and my first instinct is to pull away, but…
His skin is warm. Smooth.
Calming. So I let it go.
“How do we know we are all still friends? I mean, yeah, we have the group chat, but it’s not like we talkallthe time oranything. Just random birthday and holiday texts, or dumb shit Alex sends once in a while.”
He sighs, chewing on his lip as he thinks over what to say.
“I think it’s different because of that. Because wedon’tsee each other all the time. It's safe to say we’re still friends because we can pretend we’re still the same. Like a time capsule.”
“But that’s a lie.”
“Life is full of lies.” He looks down between us. I shift my weight, leaning in just a little closer, because he almost looks sad.
“I don’t know. You’re… very different, but a lot the same,” I say.
His deep, sapphire eyes find my gaze, and I am acutely aware of the rise and fall of his chest. The space between us is warm. Like a cozy fire.
“So are you.”
His gaze dips between us, as if he’s nervous. Maybe I should change the subject. Or roll over and try to catch some sleep like I planned. But I can’t move.
All I can do is focus on him. On the way the edges of his wet hair are starting to curl a bit. On his dimples and his faint five o’clock shadow and the shape of his jaw.
His mouth.
His eyes flash back up to meet mine. He licks his lips. A knock on the door makes me nearly jump off the bed, and Trey curses. Another knock sounds, and he clears his throat.
“I’ll get that,” he says, nearly sprinting to the door.
One glance at my phone tells me the food is ten minutes late. I guess we lost track of time.
What exactly were we doing? I know we were talking, but our talk didn’t feel like the other times we’ve talked. Something felt different, though I can’t put my finger on it. Trey gives thedelivery driver a huge tip. They laugh about the shelter in place, the guy makes a comment about it being worth it for the tips.
We put the food on the bed, sit cross-legged, and eat. It’s a tight fit and his knees brush against mine, the large box of pizza, fries, and dipping sauces spread out in front of us.
Trey talks a mile a minute, bringing up a ton of memories from college that I forgot about.
Like the bar we went to all the time. The twins. The parties. The basketball coach that got fired because he was caught with one of the students.
“You remember a lot of stupid shit, Trey,” I say with a laugh.
“It’s not stupid if it’s making you smile.” He tosses a fry at me, and I lunge, trying to catch it but miss. It lands on my thigh. I pick it up and toss it back at him. He just laughs.
We devour the food, then lie in bed unable to move from being so stuffed.
“What the hell are we watching?” I ask.
“Dude Where’s My Car. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it.”
“I don’t have time for movies.”
“Don’t have time for much, do you?” he asks.
