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“Just tell him I’m out, okay? I can’t stick around for whatever this is. I have to—”
“Yeah, I know, I got you.” He winked and whipped his stress ball at my chest, and it bounced back and rolled under the bench. “Have funstudying.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Your building always smell like this?”I asked him as we climbed up the stairs, and tacos and chili and definitely something chocolate swirled around the halls. Living here was kind of torture it seemed like.
“Yeah. On the weekends especially. You hungry? You must be starving after practice.”
I’d already used the hungry for your dick line and it still applied, but as much as I wanted to be a cocksucking monster right now, I was struggling just to get up the stairs on my jelly legs. I was always starving after practice, but I just shrugged as he let us into his apartment and he headed straight for the kitchen not really caring so much what my answer was.
He got in the fridge and pulled out his pitcher, pouring a huge glass of water and handing it out toward me. “You must be dehydrated too. Drink this.”
That I could do. I was shaky weak from getting drained by the sun and his mouth, and when I swallowed it down in huge gulps until it was empty, he took it back and filled it again.
“Don’t they give you water?” he asked me, and he looked so bothered by the idea I could totally see him marching on the field and starting a fucking hydration riot.
“Yeah, just… It never really catches up, you sweat it off faster than you get it down, you know?”
“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it.”
He stood there watching and I finished off the second glass, feeling sick for a second while it swirled around in my stomach, and then it started to spread through my limbs and cool off the rest of me and I got a little energy back, shaking off the shivers like a dog.
“Cool. I’m good. Thanks,” I told him, handing the glass back, and he nodded.
“Sit down, I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You just busted your ass for hours at practice. And then… a little extra for me.” He seemed kind of embarrassed about that, like he didn’t realize it was the best part of my day. “IfI’mhungry I know you are. Are we gonna do this whole you argue with me about eating thing, again? Because I’m game. But I’m not sure you’re up for it.”
He seemed mostly like he was teasing, but I had zero doubt if I fucked around I’d find out he wasn’t. I wasn’t really looking for that, though. He was right, I was too worn out to argue. I was too worn out to eat really, but the guy really like shoving food at me, so I guess I could try to rally.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he told me, and I looked up thinking he was reading my mind, and realized I was scratching up under my hair where I’d lost my little bandage somewhere between my sweaty helmet and my paranoid shower.
No blood when I pulled my hand back, just a little twinge up by my hairline and my fingers telling on me that I was more stressed out than I should be, and I went over to the sink to wash my hands anyway because it just made me feel gross all over. That scab kept sticking around making me feel stupid, like some kind of English class metaphor that wouldn’t heal.
“Lemme look,” Caleb said when I turned around, and I just stood there while he pushed his hand back through my hair and tilted my head and swear to god, was this a fucking kink because I had it.
The gentle, worried way he touched me just made me want to fall down and skin my knee on the playground so he’d look at it and frown and clean me up.Drama queen, somebody in my head said, and I pulled back, trying to shake it out.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s better than it was. But let’s clean it up again anyway. Then we’ll eat.”
It was a suggestion. Sort of. Just not the kind you could say no to, and honestly, I was so ready to not have to think for a little while that I was cool following him down the hall and letting him nudge me into the bedroom while he went to get his first aid, and if he wanted to play doctor, okay.
The bed looked good, but the pile of stuff on the dresser glowing like a fucking prize wall at the carnival caught my attention more and I walked over there instead.
“I grabbed you a couple of things when I was out,” Caleb said, walking back in, and I stared at thecouple of thingswhich was a flat out lie. Toothpaste and deodorant and shaving cream and mouthwash and weird hair gel shit I’d never use but maybe he thought I did, and somehow my heart sank and exploded at the same time like some terrible boating accident.
“What is all this?” I asked him, reaching out to touch it and then pulling away, turning to look at him.
“It’s for you. I mean you can use anything you want. Anything I have. I just… I know sometimes it feels good just to have your own stuff. So you don’t feel like you’re borrowing everything. Or whatever. It just feels more solid when there’s… stuff.”
This was clearly a him thing, not a me thing, except it wasn’t. Whatever hisstuffissues were, there was a big overlap, and it hurt so fucking much when he read my mind like that, put words to uncomfortable things I didn’t try to think or feel out loud.
He was right. Having your own shit was freedom from not feeling like you had to measure out every swallow of mouthwash or every drop of shampoo, stuff that constantly stressed me out even at home where yeah, maybe I technically lived there, but I was clearly just borrowing and stealing when it came to food and toiletries, using way too much of everything and never appreciating anything I had.
