“Yeah,” I said, glad to have something else to talk about, something mundane that didn’t leave me feeling like my insides had been raked out. “But not your compression shorts. You have to lay them out to air dry.”
“Lay them out?Where?That apartment isn’t exactly spacious.”
“Personally, I prop the dishrack over the shower when we’re not using it and put them on that.”
Miles got to his feet, a bundle of damp clothing in his arms and a disgusted look on his face. “The dishrack.”
“Got to be resourceful.”
Dumping the pile on the bench, he started sorting through it for his compression shorts, pushing aside not only tennis gear but a pair of jeans and a faded hoodie. And a whole collection of loose socks and underwear. Something about the sight was uncomfortably intimate – a ridiculous thought when I’d often thrown Katie’s through the machine with my own.
He shoved it all into the nearest dryer when he was done. “Coins?” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Honestly, who even carries coins? Someone needs to make these card-operated.”
“Some are, just not this one,” I said, and tossed him my coin pouch. “Could be worse. Some places take notes, but if there’s even thetiniestwrinkle in one, the machines spit them out and you have to stand there smoothing—”
Miles made a disgusted sound, shaking his head. “No. Uh-uh.”
“What? It’s all just part of the solo-life-on-the-road experience.”
“I don’t care!” he said, laughing as he threw back the pouch. “I swear to god, Mat, if you take me to one of those, I will nevereverspeak to you again.”
WE WALKED BACK in silence, Miles following me all the way to the top floor, only to stop outside the first apartment across the hall. The grey cat from his photo was stalking back and forth leaning against the door.
“She seems to think it’s her apartment,” he said, digging in a pocket for his key.
“Maybe it is. Maybe you’re her Katie rather than the other way around. Well, catch you later,” I added and walked on, not wanting him to think I was lingering presumptively.
“Yeah, see you round.”
My door was a bit farther along and not once did I glance back, but as I jiggled open the old lock, the floor creaked behind me. Miles had dropped his bag and followed, and in the late afternoon sunlight now spilling through my open door, he ran a hand through his hair. A glance at me quickly shied away.
“Hey, uh, do you have plans tonight?” he asked.
Far from the first time someone had asked me that, but normally they weren’t scowling like their mother had forced them to play nice. “Not exactly,” I said, letting the words lengthen in confusion. “Why?”
“Because we could order in and hang out. If you’re up for it.”
Ordering in and hanging out had always been my favourite precursor to making out and hooking up, but this was Miles Callahan not a cute piece of arse, and there was no way he meant it as anything but friends. But we had never been friends and I couldn’t see why he gave a shit about changing that now.
“My treat,” he added when I didn’t answer. “Consider it thanks for helping me out today.”
“I thought your earlier compliments were for helping you out,” I said.
He lifted his hands and let them fall in exasperation. “Just accept the offer, Mat. Or don’t. Whatever.”
“I just don’t get it, all right? You haven’t talked to me for years and now we’re just friends all of a sudden?”
“No! Not friends, I just—” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Look, I’m not used to this, all right? I always travel with my team. And Tina. My sister. I don’t . . . sit around by myself on the road very often.”
“Ohhh,” I said, grinning. “You need a pity friend!”
Miles groaned, dragging a hand down his face and leaving behind a glare. “Must you?”
“Yes. Admit it and maybe I’ll let you stick around.”
“Fine! I need a pity friend, okay?”
“Damn that was beautiful. I should have filmed it.”
