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Raziel just huffed and shook his head.
I bit back a laugh. Yeah, assuming they didn’t kill each other, and assuming angels and demons even had sex, it was probably only a matter of time before this pair wound up fucking just like Dominic and I had.
I just hoped it didn’t happen while they were still on my shoulders. Or in my bed. Eww.
On my phone, I flipped to my text app, ready to send Cory a message aboutLOL, I swear these two are one argument away from screwing.
But I froze. Thumbs hovering over the keyboard, I hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. I’d monopolized his Saturday, and he’d said he had things to do today. Plus we’d be together again tomorrow. He didn’t need me to—
Cory started typing.
My heart jumped into my throat. A million possibilities rained down in my mind. Was he canceling for tomorrow? Did he want Andras and Raziel to help him figure out his profile? Though… he’d honestly done more for mine than they had, so he probably didn’t need any help there. Was he… Whatwason his mind?
The typing icon disappeared.
A moment later, it reappeared.
I swallowed. My heart pounded as I waited for him to send something. Seriously, what was he trying to say?
But after a minute or so, the icon vanished again.
And this time, it didn’t come back.
Cory
This is pointless. I’m a coward.
I exited the text app for probably the fortieth time and laid my phone on my chest. Then I stared up at my bedroom ceiling.
The ghosts of long-quieted creaks and muffled moans needled at me, and I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands over my face.
The way our apartments were laid out, Matt’s bedroom was conveniently over the top of mine. Noise-canceling headphones had saved my sanity on more than one occasion, but not entirely. Even if I could shut out the sounds of the man of my dreams getting laid right above my head, I couldn’t shut out the mental images. It was almost a relief that he’d been in a dry spell for a while; I felt bad for him, and I hated that he was miserable and frustrated, but my sanity needed a break from that period when he’d been getting fuckedveryregularly.
Admittedly, I brought some of that on myself. There’d been nights when I’d skipped the headphones and let myself listen. I couldn’t fucking resist sometimes. Matt was vocal in bed, and the way his floor and furniture told it, he liked things on the rough side. One night, a strained, bordering-on-a-sob,“God, yeah, harder,”had filtered down to my room, and I’d come before either of them had.
Matt would bemortifiedif he knew.
And what would he feel if he knew what I’d been trying work up the courage to text him? If he knew I’d been vacillating between wishing I could bow out of tomorrow and…
Ugh. Christ. Either way, that would be awkward as all hell. I knew where we stood, so what was the point? Why make things weird with my friend? Because at the end of the day, even if I couldn’t have him as the lover I so desperately wanted, I still had him as my friend.
Admitting I loved him would just complicate things.
Matt
I’d say one thing for Cory’s version of my profile—it was getting more positive attention than the old one. By the time I decided to head to bed, I had some new matches on the various apps, and a handful of messages.
I’d also read and reread what he’d written, and every time, that weird restlessness kicked in even harder. The words were just so…me. How did Cory have a better handle on who I was and what I wanted than I did?
And why did I keep hoping that the next person to swipe right would be him?
That was stupid. Completely and utterly ridiculous.
But… it was also driving me out my head. Cory and I spent time at both of our apartments doing all the things he’d described in my profile. When our schedules lined up, we’d go to the gym together. He’d taken me kayaking last summer after his sister had canceled at the last minute, and we’d talked about doing it again this year. We even grocery shopped together sometimes, ostensibly because there was limited parking at our preferred supermarket, but really because I just liked having someone come along with me.
I liked havinghimcome along with me.
And that part he’d included about cooking together—fuck. That had hit me in the feels. Some of my best memories were of the two of us laughing as we navigated effortlessly around each other in his kitchen or mine. Nothing in the world compared to the flutter I’d get in my chest when I’d have him taste something I was cooking, and he’d get one of those expressions or make one of those sounds that wasalmostsexual.
