“I like how you smell now.” He gets into the shower.
I linger at the frosted door. “What do I smell like?” I shout over the running water.
He laughs. “Like sweat and old books.”
Iguessthat’s a complement. Who doesn’t like old books?
Christos makes quick work in the shower.
“But you also smell sweet. Kinda like fruit but I couldn’t tell you which one.” He holds my face like he did back in the bedroom, but there’s no mess to marvel at. Still, he has that look in his eyes, like I’m the only thing in the universe worth looking at.
“Stay here.”
I bite my lip to avoid shouting‘yes!’
“Just for a while longer.” He’s so needy he’s practically begging.
I hold his hand in mine, press my cheek into his palm. “We could watch a movie?”
“I’d love that.”
We get dressed back in the bedroom, Christos putting on pajamas while I’m back in my sweats and shirt. Which reminds me of my workout clothes sitting in a gym bag in my car, causing me to groan.
He lifts a brow.
“I left my workout clothes in my car. It’s going to smell like boy sweat in there for a week.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Wow.” I’m not sure who reaches for who first but we hold hands. “I don’t remember musk being on your kink list.”
“They only let you put so much on the app before they make you pay for premium. Also, if you want to do a load of laundry, be my guest.”
“It’s just a few things.” I should kick myself down the stairs. Here I am about to subject myself to a trip to the dorm laundry room when I could do it here.
Christos either remembers the pain of college laundry day, or he notices me wavering. “Go get your gym bag. Any movie preference?”
“I dunno, not a horror movie. Or a war movie. Whatever you like.”
Stepping out into the cold dark is a major reset. The whole walk to the car, I check over my shoulder as if Bekken is going to jump out of the bushes with Terrence and Leroy in tow. As if the three of them don’t have better things to do than stalk me and Christos.
Shit, did I text Terrence an excuse? Do I need to? He’s my roommate, not my mom. I decide against it. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
After loading up the washer, I join Christos on the couch. He throws a blanket over our laps and wraps his arm around me. Hepresses play and a familiar score makes my ears perk up.
“An American Wolf in Paris?”
“It popped up in romantic comedies and the title sounded familiar. You know it?”
I use his pec as a pillow. “I might be a little obsessed with Gershwin.”
“Right,” he nods. “You skated to—” He stops. Grimaces. “Nevermind.”
I know what he wanted to say. That I skated to a Gershwin medley last season. It was the routine that landed me a bronze at the Grand Prix and a gold at Nationals. I love that routine. I don’t think I’ve told him that.
The overture swells and that’s the end of that. I pay more attention to his heartbeat than the dialogue. Listen to his breathing like it’s my personal symphony.
I’d getsix whole hours of sleep if I was laying in bed right now. Unfortunately my dorm is still ahead of me, all the windows facing the quad dark. So, I’ll be less-than rested during tomorrow's coaching sessions with Maude. Not that I regret the movie with Christos. Or letting him kiss me a few too many times on my way out the door.
