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“Bit dizzy,” he murmurs.
“What’s the likelihood you’ll chuck?”
He shakes his head vehemently.
“Won’t be the end of the world if you do.” I let him go and crouch before him, offering my back. “Hop on.”
Fingers graze over my nape, and I feel his hesitation.
“Easier to carry you like this,” I say.
Slowly, arms slip around my neck, and Lyle’s warm body nestles against my back. I push up, using the bollard to help, and curl my arms around Lyle’s knees.
He rests his head against my shoulder and his words tickle my neck. “Put me down any time.”
I keep moving.
The waterfront is quiet around us; a few pockets of people are scattered here and there, but mostly we have the broad path and light-speckled harbour to ourselves. I’m glad he didn’t try to make his own way home. There are no fences here; one wrong step could’ve had him in deep water.
I tighten my grip on his legs.
“Did you have a good evening?” I ask.
He hums.
“Was . . . the guy you’re interested in there?”
A long pause, and another hum. “He came.”
Something churns low in my stomach. “Is he the reason you keep bailing on me on Fridays?”
Another hum.
I grumble, “Did you drink so much because of him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Not sure he’s into me the way I want.”
“How do you know?”
“Observant.”
“What’s so good about this guy?”
Lyle sighs and the warm breath funnels under my jacket. “He’s caring, good natured, solid,”—he whispers the last part in my ear, like it’s a secret—“hot.”
I laugh. “Remember he’ll have shades. He’s probably a right mess under all that.”
“Hmm. A little bit.”
“You still like him?”
His chin hits my shoulder as he nods.
I chuckle. My curiosity is sated, but my stomach continues to churn. “I hope—” I turn my head and our noses bump. After a hitched breath, Lyle pulls his face back an inch and casts his gaze towards the approaching carpark. I look away too, clearing my throat. “I hope he’s not another Robin.”
Arms stiffen around my neck.
“What I mean is, you’re not allowed to get hurt again.”
“Do you have this kind of say over me?”
“Yep.”
He nips my ear, growling.
At the truck, he slides off my back and I help him in. He sinks into the front seat, eyes watering as he stares out the front window. I pull the seatbelt and carefully draw it around him, clicking it into place.
He tugs my sleeve as I retreat, and looks at me. “I’ll just observe him a little longer.”
It rains heavily the next week—so heavily, leaks spring in my roof, dripping onto my bed and in the lounge. I call the landlord, who promises to have someone come round tomorrow to fix it, but until then . . .
Until then, I have to make do.
It’s past ten on a Saturday night, but Lyle answers my call on the second ring. “Jase?”
He sounds groggy, like he’d been asleep.
“My place is damp, wet, and cold. I’m coming around to crash.”
The sound of shuffling comes down the line. “Shouldn’t you be asking if that’s okay?”
“You’re not an acquaintance anymore.”
“So no need to ask?”
“Such are the privileges of being close.”
He huffs down the line.
I grin. “I’ll make it up to you.”
A sigh. “No need. I’ll set up the couch.”
“The spare room isn’t free?”
“Jordy’s here.”
“I’ll be quiet. I’ll text you at the door.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lyle creaks the front door open and quietly ushers me inside.
“I’m having trouble with the pull-out couch.”
We shuffle through dim light to the living room and try transforming the couch to a bed, but our insistent tugs meet resistance, and in the end, the stubborn frame creaks and cracks and collapses.
My last over-enthusiastic tug has sent me sprawling to the floor, and Lyle is torn between silent bouts of laughter and groaning at his poor couch. “Let’s try fixing it in the light of day.”
He sighs.
“Guess we’ll have to bunk together,” I say, and pause at his hesitation. “You don’t want to?”
“It’s not that . . .”
“Then?”
“It might be misinterpreted.”
“Ah. Jordy?”
Lyle rubs his nape.
“I’ll get up early. He won’t see.”
He twists away from me sharply, then croaks, “Come on, then.”
His room is bathed in soft moonlight coming in through mesh curtains. One side of the bed is rumpled from where he’d been sleeping earlier, and after stripping to my t-shirt, I slide into the other side. The sheets are cool; instinctively, I curl towards him, foot sneaking over to his side for warmth.
He uses his toes against my shin to shove me back into my place, and I smirk.
“No barrier this time,” I murmur. “Look how far we’ve come.”
Lyle takes his pillow and whacks me over the face with it, muffling my laughter. He steals it back and fluffs it under him. “Let’s keep it down.”
Jordy.
I suck in another chuckle. “You have him over a lot. What a good brother.”
Lyle sobers, the lines of his face sharpened in the moonlight. “Not really.”
