Page 78 of Puck Me Back to Life

The man is a professional athlete who is regularly hit by grown men traveling at 20 miles an hour. Yet somehow, a compliment is enough to destroy him.

I enjoy it immensely.

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Definitely not.”

The blush gets worse.

I decide not to push my luck, I pull off the ruined top sheet and grab a spare blanket from my closet.

I point toward the bed. “Get in.”

Kai narrows his eyes, then obeys.

I head toward the kitchen before he can change his mind. The fridge contains exactly what I expected.

Leftover takeout.

Three sports drinks.

Questionable leftovers.

A single lemon.

I grab two bottles of Gatorade and head back. When I step into the bedroom, I stop. Kai is sitting in the middle of my California king bed. His hair is still damp from the shower. My shirt hangs loosely from his frame. The sight hits me harder than expected. I immediately decide not to think about that.

Instead, I toss him a bottle.

Kai catches it. “Thanks.”

I turn on the television. The first thing I find is an old sitcom rerun from the nineties. Perfect. No thinking required. No emotional growth. Just bad jokes and a laugh track.

I climb into bed beside him. Kai immediately stiffens.

I wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer. The resistance lasts approximately three seconds.

“Ash.”

“Hm?” I say groggily.

“I really don't need⁠—”

I look down at him. “Finish that sentence.”

Kai wisely chooses not to.

I nod. “Good boy.”

The sitcom continues playing in the background. Somebody says something ridiculous. The audience laughs. Neither of us is paying attention.

Kai settles a little more with every passing minute. The tension slowly leaves his body. His breathing evens out. Eventually, his head ends up resting against my shoulder.

I don't point it out.