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He turned and gave me all his pure, uncut attention, and yeah, I was hungry for it, but it was almost too much. I felt like I’d plunged into a hot bath all over again the way his eyes sizzled on me. The way he could touch me without touching me was something else.
“I could give you something to wear,” he offered.
I shrugged like I didn’t care, like the idea didn’t light me up inside, like bundling up in his clothes instead of pulling on my ratty shit wasn’t some kind of kink in itself, and he thumbed through his hangers and tossed me a plain black tshirt, just like the one he was wearing. His wardrobe was not about variety.
I pulled it over my head, surprised by how well it fit. Little snug all the places I popped and he didn’t, but not bad. We could share clothes, I guess. Like besties. I snorted. Me and The Beast, BFFs. What the fuck.
“What are you laughing at?” he asked me, going over to his dresser next, pulling a pair of gym shorts and a pair of sweats out of the bottom drawer, holding them both up.
“Nothing.” I chewed my lip, trying to make a choice, and after a minute he made it for me, tossing me his sweats. Relief hit me so hard it was embarrassing, just from not having to pick one and point at what I wanted. My head was so fucking tired and empty and blank, even making easy decisions felt like an impossible amount of work.
I swapped the towel out for the sweats, ignoring the extra fabric bunched up at the bottom the way I ignored those extra inches he had on me. Mostly. Stupid, giant, no-sports-playing motherfucker, making me feel so goddamn tiny. His clothes felt as cozy as his towel though, and I was about ready to fall over. Had the warm and relaxed part down for sure.
“I made you some room,” he said, standing up and pulling out the top two drawers and gesturing at the closet. “You can take the top drawers. And the left side. Unless you want to switch.”
“I don’t mind switching. Top is good. Bottom is pretty good too.”
He raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting around in a laugh, but he didn’t say anything and neither did I, I just looked back and forth from the drawers to the clothes hanging in his closet. The half he was offering me was still twice what I was used to, and a weird achy, tingly feeling started fucking around in my chest. That new-notebook feeling, but different. Bigger. Louder. Scarier.
“So you just straight up like… think we’re living together,” I blurted out.
“Well, weareliving together,” he said, shrugging, matter-of-fact. “Take it how you want it, but you still need somewhere to put your clothes.”
“You know I can’t…” I knew how I should end that sentence—You know I can’t actually stay, you know this is all bullshit— but I couldn’t make myself say it, and also I didn’t want to. This was a mistake, probably a huge one, but I was back to having zero options again, and for once I liked feeling trapped. As traps went, this wasn’t so bad. “I don’t need all that room,” I finally said instead. “I can just… you know.” I pointed at my duffel bag still sitting at the foot of his bed.
“Live out of your bag? No. Especially not that bag. No offense, but it smells like the locker room.”
“Pretty uptight for someone who said they wanted to choke on my sweaty jock.”
He snorted. “I don’t think that’s exactly what I said.”
“My bad. Somebody else, probably.”
That out-of-place amused look, I suddenly realized, was maybe him wanting to spank me, and not gonna lie, that made me want to perfect that sweet spot between teasing and being an asshole that he seemed to like so much.
“Why don’t we put all this in the laundry,” he said, nodding down at my stuff. “Bag too. And then you can put your clothes away. In the closet and the dresser, where they belong. Okay?”
I chewed at the inside of my mouth, looking down at the ratty bag, thinking about how nice it would be to have my clothes actually beclean.Not greasy-and-cold, washed-in-the-sink clean or gritty-and-scorched, washed-in-the-locker-room-industrials clean, but soft and smelling good like him.
The bag could stay or go, honestly, the only thing it was really good for anymore was hiding my secret stash of cash, the envelope duct taped to the inside lining like drugs taped to the toilet. The locker room smell worked as a deterrent, but I guess I didn’t need that anymore. Felt weird to voluntarily shut down defenses, but it’s not like I expected The Beast to rob me.
“Okay?” he asked me again, and I nodded.
“Yeah. Alright.”
Christ, I wished I knew why I liked being bossed around by him and only him, why thefuck you, I don’t need your helpsimmered in my stomach but stayed there instead of spewing out my mouth. But bottom line, I was bone tired,soultired, and it just felt good not having to worry about all this shit.
Having somebody worry about it for me, lay the steps out simple for me to follow, was a weird kind of turn on, like a sex thing and not a sex thing at the same time. I wasn’t sure if that was normal or if I was just being fucked up. Not that I had much of a grasp on what normal meant.
I just stood there feeling awkward like I needed to say something. “I have practice on Sundays,” I finally told him. “So you know.”
He nodded. “Okay. I usually grocery shop and do laundry and other boring shit on Sundays. But I can take you if you want.”
When I laughed it wasn’t even to be mean, it was genuine surprise. “I can get myself there.”
“Alright. What time’s your practice?”
“Why, you wanna come spy on me?”
