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When I settle down beside him, he mumbles incoherently and rolls onto his side, facing me. I settle down on the pillow, tucking it under my cheek and closing my eyes. It takes all of five minutes before a heavy arm falls across my flank. Smiling, I move in a smidge closer and fall asleep.
When the alarm goes off, both of us jolt awake. Blearily, I reach over to tap it off. Rolling back over, I find Anthony blinking at me owlishly in the low light of the room. I hadn’t turned the lamp off when we came in, so it’s light enough to see his face; there are pillow imprints on his cheek, and his hair is flattened on one side. It’s infuriatingly cute.
“Did we fall asleep?” He asks, voice husky. I adjust my hips, slightly—I can feel that voice in my groin.
“Yeah. It’s early, yet.” I hold up my phone, showing him the time. His arm is still a warm, dead weight across my stomach.
“I should go home,” he says, in a way that leaves it up to me whether it’s a question or a statement of fact. I nod, because I’d rather not tell him to leave out loud. He pulls his arm back, skin sliding across mine and waking up my nerve endings. “You should go back to sleep, I’ll let myself out.”
I sit up, rubbing my eyes and willing them to focus. It’s always harder first thing in the morning. “That’s alright.”
Anthony dresses in silence, and I watch in silence. The air is thick between us, and I imagine he can feel my inner turmoil. Regret and a hefty dose of shame join me as I walk him to the door, leaning against the frame to watch as he gets in his car. I’llsee him in a couple hours and it’s this I remind myself of as he reverses, headlights cutting across the dark campus.
Anthony
“Really?”
I turn at Nico’s voice, smiling even though he sounds annoyed. “Morning! Sleep well?”
Nico shoots me a narrow, green-eyed glare. I keep smiling, because last night was a particularly late night for us so I know exactly how he slept. Or, didn’t sleep. He grabs the coffee pot I just placed back on the warmer and holds it up, sloshing the liquid at the bottom.
“If you take the last of the coffee, make another pot. It’s common decency.”
“Still some left,” I point out. To prove a point, Nico pours the dregs of the pot into his cup. It doesn’t even fill the mug halfway.
“Is there?” He says, sarcastically, and sets about making a fresh pot.
Turning, I look over at Troy, seated at one of the staff tables. He widens his eyes at me, a touch of red across the tops of his cheeks. He’s got his own full coffee mug in front of him, clasped between both hands like he’s worried someone might take it from him.
“Nicky took the last of it,” I tell Nico, shamelessly throwing him under the bus. The blush of Troy’s cheeks deepens and he shakes his head at me.
“Did not,” he says.
“I know you didn’t,” Nico tells him. “This neanderthal did.”
“The neanderthal isn’t going to take offense to that, because he’s the bigger person here.”
“Bigger idiot, more like,” Nico murmurs, barely audible over the sound of the percolator. Troy’s grey eyes flit between us, like he’s watching a tennis match. I drop him a wink, before turning back to Nico and nudging him with my foot.
“Grouchy this morning.”
“Does pointing that out to people usually make them less grouchy, in your experience?” He responds, testily. Troy clears his throat and we both turn to look at him. He holds up his phone.
“Uh, Cor is pulling in. Corwin. Sanhover,” he adds, looking over at Nico and making sure he made the connection between “Cor” and “Corwin Sanhover”.
“Thank you, Troy,” Nico says to him, in the polite tone of voice he never uses with me. He pours a fresh cup of coffee, shooting me another look that has me grinning. “Shall we go meet him out front?”
It is one of the more enjoyable days we’ve had at camp. Predictably, the boys are excited to see Corwin and Troy, though pretend to be unconcerned. Morgan, of course, treats them with the same hostile wariness he treats everyone with. Although Corwin, in particular, seems to hold his attention; more than once, I catch Morgan staring at him when he should be watching the puck.
“Hey.” I whack my stick against his leg pads to get his attention. “Pay attention.”
“I am,” Morgan replies, and then turns to fish a puck out of his net—proof that he hadn’t been paying attention. I raise my eyebrows at him and he huffs, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. “Dude, I had no idea Corwin Sanhover was such a babe.”
“Don’t call me dude. And—what?”
“Sorry, Tony. Seriously though,” he casts an appraisingly look at Corwin’s backside, and I have the urge to smack himupside the head, “I’ve seen him play on TV, but damn. Doesn’t exactly prepare you for the real thing, does it?”
“Stop staring at him.” I hit his pads again, more firmly.
