I shiver as I hand them over. My nerves are on high alert as I look around for any witnesses. It’s just us out here. I pass him two of my bags, and I hold my school bag. I’m only here for tonight, I tell myself. This is just a one-night thing.
My heart somersaults when I see that the living room is full of very large men. We’re walking in right when they’re cleaning up for dinner.
“Reeve, man, we saved you a plate.”
The guys shuffle around, cleaning up after themselves. It’s quite the sight to witness. I thought boys didn’t clean. The four of them look over when I walk in.
The room goes quiet, and their eyes have questions that their mouths don’t ask. My face goes hot anyway. I lift my hand in a small wave because my mouth won’t work.
“Hi, Lucy.” Stanley says it first, in the careful version of his voice.
Benson announces in a loud voice, “Lucy’s going to stay here as long as she needs.”
He places his hand on the small of my back and ushers me in the direction of his room.
I lift my hand to correct him. “I’m only here for tonight.”
The room absorbs both statements. Blue glances at Percy across the rug. Percy glances at Blue. Stanley opens his mouth, closes it, and reaches for another chip.
Rowan says from the kitchen counter, “You can stay as long as you need to, Lucy.”
“Thank you,” I mutter back.
Benson steers me toward the stairs with his hand on the small of my back.
His bedroom smells like him. His bed’s made. His wall has more things scribbled on it. His hockey gear overruns his desk.
Benson sets my bags down and starts cleaning up his gear. “Sorry,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting visitors.”
It smells like Benson in here, boyish sweat mixed with the locker room smell and clean sheets. When he finishes putting his gear to the side, he asks, “What time do you usually go to sleep?”
He’s asking a genuine question, and I don’t want to ruin his routine. “Around ten. What about you?”
“Now.”
I look at the clock on his desk. It’s barely past nine. “Really?” I can tell he’s serious, so I fill the silence with, “Okay. Let’s get ready for sleep.”
He grabs a towel and says, “I’m going to shower. You good?”
I nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
He leaves the bedroom and closes the door behind him. I hear his footsteps to the bathroom.
I’m standing alone in his bedroom, and it dawns on me that I’ve never slept over a boy’s house before. He’s the first. I walk to the wall and feel like I’m intruding when I see his entire life scheduled out on calendars and schedules. He has practice at six. His game days are in red. His class times are written in blue. It looks like he has travel days for games.
Our tutoring sessions are handwritten in pencil. I look at the Tuesdays and Thursdays for the next three weeks.LUCY. LUCY. LUCY. LUCY. LUCY. LUCY.
My name is on his wall. He has written me into his schedule. My heart feels light when I imagine him writing down my name on here. It puts into perspective that we’ve been around each other a lot these past few weeks. In the window, I catch my reflection, and I’m smiling at the wall like an idiot.
The bedroom door opens, and I turn to run and hide the fact that I’m staring at his calendar. But my throat clams up when I see he’s dripping wet in his towel. My mouth drops open. The towel is low on his hips. His hair is wet and pushed back. His chest is bare, and there’s water sliding down the line of hisstomach toward the white of the towel, and I watch it go for two inches before I tell my eyes to do something else.
But my eyes don’t want to do anything else.
I remind myself that I’ve seen this body before, I’ve had my hands on it, it’s even been on me, against me, inside me. I’ve even seen it wet inside the shower.
“You okay?”
I swallow, darting my eyes to his. “Yeah. Yes. I’m okay.”
