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Excitement runs through my body, and if I’m feeling strangely lusty, it’s only a lust for power. Only that.
“Charlie,” Lucas says.
I jolt, cheeks burning. “Huh? What?”
Lucas tilts his head. “This is our stop.”
“Oh. Right.”
I follow Lucas off the tram. Once we’re on the street, it’s only a few metres to our building. As we walk in and take the elevator, I don’t look at Lucas. I don’t want to see his face. He doesn’t say anything to me, and I have the suspicion he’s avoiding my eyes too.
“Bags the shower,” I say as soon as I unlock the front door to our apartment. I barrel into my bedroom, letting the door close behind me, and make a beeline for my underwear drawer.
Ever since the first time Cleo came over, I’ve kept all of my stuff here, not bothering to move it back to my bottom bedside table drawer, even though that’s a more convenient location.
I push my hands to the back of the underwear drawer and pick up one of the brightly coloured silicone objects. With my other hand, I grab a tube of lube, then tuck both items under the front of my shirt in case I run into Lucas in the hallway.
To my relief, he’s already gone to his room. Thank god. I don’t want a repeat of that time the first week we’d moved in together and he almost caught me with a bright purple, eight-inch d—
Anyway.
I step into the bathroom, lock the door, and take out a fresh towel from the cabinet, folding it over the rack.
By the time I jump into the shower, hot water already steaming the air, I’m totally hard. I use the suction part at the end of the toy to stick it against the tiled wall and some lube to stretch myself out. Taking care to keep quiet, I press my lips together. Even with the rush of water pounding against the shower tiles, I still worry that Lucas might overhear me.
If he heard the noises I make, I’d seriously consider moving to another country and legally changing my name. That’s the law. Having anyone overhear my personal time would be bad enough, but Lucas — childhood friend, high school enemy, current flatmate Lucas — yeah. That’d be too far.
After I’m finished, skin pleasantly warm and body relaxed, I wash myself and then get out of the shower. I dry myself off, brush my teeth, and wrap the towel around my waist. As soon as I leave the bathroom, I run into Lucas.
“Took you long enough,” he says. He’s wearing his pyjamas, which translates into a pair of old grey shorts that reveal way too much of his thighs.
If Cleo ever stays over and Lucas is here too, I’ll ask him to wear longer pants, and a shirt as well. All that skin on display is distracting.
Back in my bedroom, I change into my pyjamas, and I’m about to collapse onto my bed when I remember I left my things in the shower.
Oh, fuckity fuck. What a rookie mistake.
I sprint into the bathroom, almost tripping over in the hallway as I do so. When I burst into the bathroom, Lucas’s brows jump up and he gives me a weird look. He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth, and some white toothpaste is on his bottom lip.
I ignore him and lean into the damp shower, past the droplet-splattered shower curtain, trying not to get my pyjamas wet. I grab the lube off the floor where it’s fallen on its side, next to the conditioner bottle. Then I pull off the toy. The suction makes a squeaky, squelching noise that’s far too loud in the tiny bathroom.
I pray Lucas isn’t listening too hard.
With nowhere to hide the two items, I resign myself to shoving them under my shirt, the dampness of them pressing uncomfortably against my stomach. Ugh.
Then I run out of the room before Lucas can say anything. Though, to be honest, he probably isn’t even paying attention to me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Then
The time Lucas and I went to the beach, a few days after moving into our apartment, he wore red board shorts that made his waist look tiny compared to his broad shoulders.
Earlier that day, we’d taken the bus to the beach in St Kilda. The place was packed, with more people, umbrellas and children’s beach toys than sand. Leafy seaweed wafted through the water. Lifeguards were on duty, wearing yellow and red uniforms.
We dropped our stuff near the water, just beyond where the tide came out. He pulled his shirt off over his head and I snuck a peak. He had a summer tan, his skin honey gold. His chest was more defined than ever, and his nipples were a light brown colour, and below that, his abs looked hard, like stone.
Then there were his large hands, which he used to point at the ocean, and his arms, corded with muscle, and his shoulders, and his neck, and then his face, that gorgeous face.
