“You keep garbage as a trophy?”
A beat of silence stretched out. “Well, you keep an empty room and a duffel bag.”
Aleksey snorted, a half-laugh that sounded surprised out of him. “That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. I actually own the garbage. You’re sentimental over broken laces.”
“I’m sentimental overonebroken lace,” I said, stealing another fry from his carton. “Singular. I don’t make it a habit.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Johnston collects trash. Noted.” He nudged my leg playfully with his foot, leaving the pressure of it there a second too long.
A soft snort escaped me.
A beat later, the amusement drained slowly from his face, his gaze settling on me with a heavier, longer weight. “So you were, what, six years old when you scored that goal?”
“Seven. And it was a breakaway.”
“Breakaway.” He said it like he was testing the word for lies. “Against a goalie who probably still had trouble standing up.”
“He was very upright,” I admitted. “Until I deked him.”
“Deked him.” Aleksey shook his head, but the smirk hadn’t faded. “Nice move.”
“It was.” I looked at his hands cradling the styrofoam container for a moment, then nodded towards the phone sitting dark by his work boots. “Earlier, you said your mom texted you about rent?”
Aleksey stared at his half-empty food container. The edge to him was gone, leaving just exhaustion. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m sending money over to her tomorrow.”
“After your shift?”
“Right after.”
I grabbed another fry. “She works a lot?”
“Double shifts at a nursing home,” he said, keeping his eyes on the floor. “She cleans offices at night, too. She does whatever it takes to keep things running.”
Up until tonight, everything between us had been a high-speed collision. Shoving each other against walls, hiding in back hallways, just trying to get off without getting caught. It was always frantic.
But sitting on his floor, eating lukewarm fries and just talking, the adrenaline dialed back.
Aleksey slid off the mattress and settled onto the floor next to me, his shoulder pressing against the same cracked plaster wall. His knee knocked into mine and stayed there.
For the first time all night, he looked at me without the usual guarded tension.
“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked.
I forced my expression to remain neutral. “Doing what?”
“Not walking away.” His voice dropped quieter. “Bringing me food. Putting up with my crap. I’ve given you an easy out. You could’ve just taken it and stayed in your room.”
Reaching up, I traced the thick scar on his jaw. “I tried that. It sucked.”
Aleksey held my eyes for a heartbeat. Then he tilted his head and pressed his mouth to mine.
I gave in immediately. Every other time we’d hooked up, it had been frantic—shove each other against a locker, grab what we could before someone walked in. But this wasn’t that.
He took his time, kissing me slow with none of the usual desperation.
