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“Where’s your roommate?” he asks suddenly.
I glance at the French doors off the kitchen, which are open, showing Connor’s empty room. “No idea. Maybe with his boyfriend in Uptown. I think something’s up with them, but he won’t say what. Boy troubles,” I add as a joke. Sky gives me a chuckle of understanding, then the two of us draw silent again.
I wonder if it was a mistake to come out to him the way I did, like a splash of cold water without any warning. Of course, if I hadn’t, then we would not have ended up on my side of town, and Skylar wouldn’t be standing in my apartment right now.
Maybe things work out one way for a reason.
I nod at the couch. “You wanna kick back for a bit? Throw something on the TV? Chill?”
“Yeah, uh, sure. Totally. Let’s do it.”
We relocate to the living room. Sky plops onto the couch so surprisingly close to me, our arms are pressed together. He seems like he’s about to scoot over to give me space, but after I grab the remote, turn on the TV, and settle back into place on the couch, he seems to stay put, our sides touching.
“Just like the old days,” Sky teases anxiously.
“Yep,” I agree. My heart is thumping as if I’m running for my life. I want to put my arm around him, but I know that’s not a good idea. “Just us.”
“Hanging on the couch.”
“With a couple beers. And all the frat guys are busy in the basement playing pool.”
“Or fucking girls in their rooms, even though it was prohibited.”
“Or studying for exams—whatever that is,” I add as a dumb joke. Then I squint. “Wait. Fucking girls was prohibited?”
Skylar shrugs. “I think they weren’t supposed to be upstairs during parties? I don’t know. I never paid attention to the rules,” he admits, and we both laugh, then go silent too fast.
This isn’t weird, right? This is going fantastically?
He glances at me which, considering our close proximity, puts his face very close to mine. “I think you could’ve succeeded in college if you really put your mind to it, Brett.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Uh, what’s with the spontaneous motivational poster slogan?”
“I just … I still feel a bit bad about how we left things the other night. What I said. And that look on your face. Ugh …” He sighs. “I felt like an ass when I went back to my hotel. Dwelled on it the whole night.”
By total instinct, I throw an arm over the back of the couch, almost scooping him into my side like a boyfriend. For a split second, I experience alarm. “Don’t sweat it,” I make myself tell him, my heart now beating twice as fast as before. I try to ignore it and act normal. “You had a point. And I heard it.”
He looks stiff. “I … had a point …?”
“Yep. I need to take my life more seriously.”
“Brett …”
“And I’m going to. I want to be someone you’ll be proud of. Someone you can respect.”
“I do respect you. I am proud of you.”
He hasn’t pulled away from me. My arm is still over the back of the couch, an inch from resting on his back. Every single fiber in me wants to pull this guy against me and snuggle him to death. I want to put my lips on his and pray that the bartender was right. I want to do so many fucking things right now.
We go quiet again. A movie is on, but I get the sense neither of us are really paying attention to it.
“You were gonna say something at the club,” I remind him yet again.
He snaps out of it, turning his head to me once again, his lips inches from mine. “Huh?”
“On the dance floor. Remember?”
“Oh.” He shrugs, and with his body so close to mine, I feel every bit of it. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yeah, nothing.” He chuckles, as if to laugh it off. “I even forgot what all that was about.”
I have a suspicion he didn’t forget at all. “You can tell me. Whatever it is, Sky.”
He kicks a foot up on the coffee table in front of us, then leans his head back against the couch. It rests on my arm unintentionally. “Either the drinks I’ve had tonight are doing a number on me, or it’s getting late.”
I turn my head to him. His eyelids are growing heavy. “Dude, if you don’t want to trek back to your hotel … I mean …”
“Hmm …?”
I swallow. My unblinking eyes are on him. My heart is still racing. “You … can crash here.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Did he hear me?
“I mean, if you want,” I quickly add. “I don’t want you having to call a cab this late. It’s gotta be a half-hour ride or longer to your hotel.”
