Leo laughed, quiet and warm against Dawson’s temple. “I have to get the door.”
Dawson let go. It took more effort than it should have. Leo climbed off his lap, grabbed cash off the coffee table, and went to the door as he struggled to fasten the button on his pants. Dawson sat there on the couch, shirtless, and ran both hands over his face.
They ate on the couch with the pizza box on the coffee table, Leo tucked against Dawson’s side with his feet up. Some show was on that neither of them was watching. Leo ate three slices while talking about the road trip to Duluth next week and whether the new rookie would survive his first game there, and Dawson listened and ate and kept his hand on Leo’s knee and let himself have this.
He stayed later than he should have. When he finally stood to leave, Leo walked him to the door and leaned against the frame.
“Dawson.”
“Yeah.”
“Today was good.”
Dawson looked at him. Leo in his doorway, hair wrecked, barefoot, pizza sauce on his shirt. He hooked a finger through Leo’s belt loop, pulled him in, and kissed him slow, taking his time with it, just Dawson’s mouth on Leo’s and Leo’s hand coming up to rest on his jaw, and when he pulled back, Leo’s eyes were closed.
“Yeah,” Dawson said. “It was.”
He drove home in the dark with the heater on, the radio off, and the taste of Leo still on his mouth. Ethan was on the couch when he got in.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Out.”
Ethan looked at him. Looked at him again. “You good?”
“Great. Just tired. I think I’m going to hit the hay.”
He went to his room, sat on the edge of his bed, and pressed his palms against his eyes. He could still feel Leo’s hands on his neck, Leo’s heartbeat under his ear, Leo’s quiet laugh against his temple. He was in so far over his head that he couldn’t see the surface anymore. .
For the first time in his life, that didn’t scare him. He wasn’t being dragged under by something he hadn’t signed up for. Hewas choosing it. Leo, his apartment, his couch, the way he said Dawson’s name when he was half asleep. All of it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Audi was in Leo’s parking spot when he got back from practice, and for a second, he forgot about the rental idling beneath him. The hood was seamless. The bumper was new, the headlight assembly clean and unmarked. Leo pulled the rental in beside it, got out, and ran his hand along the front quarter panel. Waxed. Not a trace of the deer, the ditch, the county road at midnight. Five weeks in a rental that smelled like cleaning chemicals, and now his car was sitting here as if none of it had happened.
Dawson was on the stairs to Leo’s building, leaning against the railing with a coffee. No truck. No ride home. He’d arranged his morning around delivering Leo’s car and being stranded here when Leo got back.
“You could’ve called,” Leo said. “I would’ve come and picked it up.”
“I was already out.” Leo knew that was bullshit. The garage was on the opposite side of town and Dawson had been moaning the night before about how busy they were. He had dozens of tasks he could be doing, but he’d shown up here anyway.
Leo opened the driver’s door and the interior stopped him. Seats conditioned, dash wiped, floor mats replaced. It smelled like leather cleaner, not the greasy smell his car usually had when he got it back from being worked on. He sat behind the wheel and put his hands on it, and his shoulders dropped. The car felt like his again.
He got out. “You detailed it.”
“Part of the service.”
“Dawson. I’ve owned this car for three years. No one has ever detailed it unless I paid them.”
Dawson drank his coffee and studied the parking lot like it held answers. Leo leaned against the open door, arms crossed, and waited.
“Invoice is in the glovebox,” Dawson said. “Insurance signed off last week.”
“Thank you. The car’s perfect.”
Dawson nodded. Another sip of coffee. He was standing in Leo’s parking lot with no ride home, and neither of them had acknowledged it yet.
“So,” Leo said. “I still need to drop the rental.”
