I nod as my hand slips beneath the waistband of my underwear. I’m wet against my fingers. For Beau. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a guy this much. I’ve never had anyone make my body feel so alive, so full of want that I actually ache.
“Me, too. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He drops his voice, and it’s pure sex. I’m a little breathless as he whispers, “Does it feel good? Tell me.”
I reach behind me for my pillow and arch my hips, my fingers grinding slow circles against my middle. I bite my lip, pretending his lips are trailing down my body, setting it on fire each kiss, each touch.
No one tells you that having awkward Skype sex with your roommate is so hot.
I war between the sensations rolling through my body and his soft words, his sexy whispers. I should have guessed he’d talk dirty in bed. It surprises me though because I never thought I’d like it, but I do. A lot.
“…you’d be beneath me, my head between your legs, and my mouth would be sucking you, licking you. I bet you taste so sweet. My fingers would press into you, fill you up, until you come on my hand and mouth, hard.”
And I am. God, I am so close.
My breath is skipping, my heart racing, and I feel so much bigger than my body, as though a part of me needs to break out of this shell I’ve been stuck in. That sweet pressure mounts, and I open my eyes, meeting Beau’s as my release shakes through my body. It ripples over my limbs, sends a delicious shiver over my skin, sinks into my bones until I feel full. Satisfied.
I close my eyes in the minutes after, as the world and my body slowly fit back together. My breathing evens out, and then my thoughts catch up and…
What the hell did I just let happen?
“I miss you too, Mati.” His voice is haggard. “Open your eyes. Don’t go away. It’s okay.”
I shake my head, my cheeks burning. I can’t believe I did that. What the hell is he doing to me? I would never do that with a guy. I would never…
Except I did.
“I liked it, too,” he says. “It’s okay.”
I open my eyes and brush back my hair, unsure of what to say. I would never have done that before, never share something so…personal. He’s trying to make me feel better, and it works, but I’m still stuck with shame and embarrassment. I wouldn’t take that back for anything, but why do I feel so misplaced now?
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” I say. “I want to be there with you.” Our eyes connect, and I feel myself slipping toward the edge of the truth. “I like you and me. I miss kissing you.” I miss you.
That shadow falling across his face makes it hard to read his reaction. All I hear is a heavy sigh that leaks through my computer’s speakers and settles heavy around my heart.
“If I fall asleep, goodnight.” He sends me a link to a movie on Netflix, and I open it. I don’t even read the description before we both hit play.
I turn off my light and settle into bed next to my laptop. “Goodnight, Beau.” I set up a timer for my laptop to shut off if I fall asleep, too. I think I might—my eyelids are heavy.
“Hey, Mati?”
I’m not sure he can see me now that it’s dark, but I look into the camera, pretending again that he’s close. Pretending we’re up late, sharing secrets in bed. “Yeah?”
“I wish you were here, too.”
The movie starts and I try to concentrate, but now I have stupid grin on my face that doesn’t fall away until I give in to the sleep with Beau beside me as though we were in Portland, even though we’re miles apart.
Beau
There was a river I used to hike out to near Blackcomb Peak. It started wide and slow, the force of the water invisible unless you stepped into it. The cold water would rush over my bare feet, and I’d feel the pull, the threat of what could happen if I slipped on the mossy rocks. I’d be dragged under. I could drown.
That never bothered me, that threat. I was smarter than the water. I knew better than to slip. So even when the river picked up speed farther down the mountain and became white and angry, its quiet murmur building to a dull roar as it rushed by, it was still a river to me. It was still a river that filled my lungs with water when I fell in. Still a river that tossed me around, smashing me into boulders until panic crept in that I would drown.
I remember reaching my hands up toward the sun filtering down beneath the water’s surface while I struggled to break through and breathe. The river filled my lungs, burned me from the inside. Water seems so harmless until you’re about to drown—in that moment, it’s made of fire.
When the rapids slowed and I dragged myself to shore, I wasn’t laughing anymore. I lay back on the earthy bank, the pine needles pricking my body as I stared up at the sky. I waited for answers, but nothing happened. Nothing much except feeling overtaken by the infinite blue above, the truth that I was small in comparison, the fact that some things are too good to waste.
I fell for Mati the same way—wading in to learn her depths, to navigate her pull over me. I knew it was trouble. I knew once I was in, I was all in.
And I was. Am. Fuck, I really am.
I’m not going to fight it anymore. I’m not going to be the asshole who leads her on and pushes her away because I’m sick. That’s my secret to share, and someday I will. It’s still too early for us. Maybe it’s a mistake to wait, maybe it’s an asshole move to bait her, then surprise her with the truth.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I curl my lips around the beer bottle in my hand and swallow, closing my eyes at the memory of her. It’s been four hours, and I can’t sleep. I can’t get that soft sigh of hers out of my ears, the burning in my fingertips from wanting to be there so badly so I could touch her.
If my bank account wasn’t looking so empty after sending in my half of the tuition check, I might even be crazy enough to buy a ticket and fly out to Maine to surprise her.
I’d tell her everything then. And if I were having a good day, I might even take her ice skating. She’d wear her stupid pink Boston Red Sox hat and those ugly mittens she knitted at a bar with Aubrey, just to be ironic. Her nose would match her red lips, while everything around her would be white and brown, faded from the cold. And she’d be this burst of color who would wrap her arms around me and we’d kiss under gray skies. We’d kiss until winter didn’t look like death.
With her across the country, I feel as though I’m missing the best part of my day. And my bed is too empty without her. I miss the way she cocoons herself under my comforter. I miss the smell of her apple shampoo on my sheets. I miss waking up to her tangled around me.
Why the hell do I think I can’t be what she needs? I’ll be better for her. I’ll be good. I want to be.
An hour later, a few more beers, and a cold shower don’t stop the craving I have for her. I jerk off in the shower, thankful that I actually can, then drink more when I get out because I’m ashamed. I told her it was okay, but I still feel dirty thinking about her as I stroke myself. But I don’t want to think about anyone else. She’s it for me.
Guilty but hopeful, I decide to do a bit of drunk shopping. We’ll need a tent and a sleeping bag. I don’t want to go back to my parent’s place to get my old stuff because then I’ll never leave. I don’t think my mom forgives me for not coming home for Christmas.
Mati needs a helmet for my bike and a backpack. I shop around for a ticket to Maine but catch myself. I’m about to buy a canoe when I realize my Jeep is still at the house. I stop there, but it’s in my cart.
Another time, another adventure. Another six days before I can see her again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beau
The rest of break doesn’t go by fast, but at least it’s busy. I have shit to prep before I go back to school this semester. I’m working extra hours at the food cart to help my sad bank account. And I have another call from Coach.
I don’t need handholding, and I don’t need someone breathing down my neck to make a decision. I show up at the rink so he’ll shut up.
It’s the first time I’ve been back by the ice since I left the team. I might have been day-drinking with Noah before I showed up, something Coach didn’t appreciate. I’m not big into being a masochist.
I really hate looking out on that ice. Really hate the smell, hearing the blades cut over it. I hate how I watch from the bench.
Coach tells me he’ll pay me, that his assistant coach quit and there’s money in the budget. I tell him I’ll be cured before I skate out onto the ice again. I tell him a few other things, too, and think he’s going to send a fist into my face, but he doesn’t. He tells me to keep thinking about it. Well, his exact words are something like: Get your head out of your ass. I’m giving you another chance. Fucking take it.
I do think about it, especially after I pick up Mati at the airport this morning. Hunter’s finally fixed up my bike to ride like new. You can hardly tell I almost died on it.
I haven’t told her about hockey—or any of it, really, of who I was before—but the way her arms wrap around me when she comes down the escalator at the airport, the soft kiss she gives me on the cheek… I want to be better. For her, for me. I don’t want to be so fucking stuck this year. I want to tell her everything.
“So you didn’t die?” Ethan asks Matisse later that afternoon when he walks through the front door, his arms full of bags.
She scoots farther away from me on the couch. We’d been catching up before he burst in. It feels like shit to have to hide this from everyone.
“Sure did,” she says. “Sorry to disappoint.” She flicks another page of her magazine so violently it tears.
“And you didn’t kill each other?” he asks me. I’m not an idiot. I see the challenge in his eyes. He knows.
Now it’s only a matter of time before Reagan finds out, and that’s going to be a fucking shitshow for sure. I don’t want to have to move out, and I sure as hell don’t want roommate drama. I wasn’t really worried about moving in with my ex until now. Reagan will never forgive me, and she’ll make it hell for Mati.
Mati sinks farther into the cushions, her cheeks reddening. I’d been warming up her feet before Ethan interrupted.
“Mati broke the washer,” I tease, desperate to change the subject.
“Wha—” She jumps up, pointing a finger at my face. “I was half-delusional from a fever, and you made me do laundry.”
I didn’t make her do anything—nobody can, except for maybe her parents.
His eyes meet hers next, the same scrutinizing look he just gave me. I hate it. I rip the magazine out of her hand to do something, anything, so the question doesn’t come up. We’re both not ready.
Ethan throws down a bag of pot in front of me. “Merry belated Christmas, bud.” It’s enough that, if he ever gets caught, he could do some jail time. I don’t question it, but out of all my roommates, I know the least about Ethan. I know he’s older than me. I know he’s out a lot and travels. I know he’s got a dealer connection because he always has something on him. That’s it.
It never bothered me until now. It has a lot to do with the girl at the opposite end of the couch.
She folds into herself, deep red. I poke her with my foot, and she glares back. “The washer wasn’t my fault.”
Ethan doesn’t care. At least I don’t think he does until I hear him mutter, “Just fuck each other already,” under his breath as he goes to his room.
That pisses me off. I gawk at the sex article she was looking at, playing it up because I want to get a rise out of her. I want her mad because I don’t trust myself if she isn’t. We need to talk now that she’s back. I hate labels and plans and boundaries, but we’ve got to do something to figure out what is going on between us.
“Give it back.”
I shake my head, tilting the magazine to decipher the Kama Sutra move of the month. Not a chance in hell that I’d let a girl try that on me.
“Beau.”
She jumps to her feet, and I grin.
“I didn’t think someone like you needed any help in that department.” She waves at the magazine like the fucking queen, her shoulders lifted back.
The challenge in her eyes keeps me going. “I hope you’re not taking any of this seriously. It’s bad advice.”
She rushes up to the couch, leans into me, and I start fucking praying she’ll kiss me. I remember her straddling me here on New Year’s, and I forget now why we ever stopped. I remember our Skype calls, especially the not-so-innocent ones. There were a few, and we’re not in the same place anymore.
We have secrets.
“No,” she says quietly.
I keep my eyes pinned to her mouth. Closer, I want to whisper. Kiss me. “A guy’s dick would fall off with half of these stupid moves,” I say instead.
“You had to ruin it.” She scrunches her nose. “You should know.”
Mati sinks closer. I wink, thinking she’ll fall the rest of the way and kiss me. Instead she shoves me back into the couch with a knowing grin and storms into the kitchen.
“What about your magazine?” I yell.
“Keep it. Maybe—”
I stroll into the kitchen as she removes the steaming kettle off the stove. “Trust me. I’m good.” I toss it into the recycling bin, never taking my eyes away from her.
She rummages through the cupboards for a box of tea. When she reaches the back of the cabinet to discover the only box is empty, she curses, then throws it into the recycling bin, blowing past me into the living room.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
Mati spins, almost colliding into me. “Coffee.” She licks her lips, reaching up onto her tiptoes, and sways closer. “I need coffee.”
“Is that what you need?” I slip my hands over her waist, drawing her close. I cup the back of her head, loving her soft hair against my palm. Finally—finally—she stills and melts against me. I’ve waited three long weeks to feel her body against mine again.
“We’re supposed to be friends,” she whispers against my chest.
I kiss the top of her forehead, then step away. I shrug into my leather jacket and pull on my boots while she stays frozen in the living room.
“Where are you going?” she asks, picking at the hem of her oversized sweater. It drapes off one shoulder, a perfect curve I crave to nip with my teeth and hear that soft sigh of hers in person.
“You still owe me a coffee.” I put on my Ray-Bans. “Get dressed, Mati. We’re going for a ride.”
Matisse
It’s a rare sunny day in Portland, and I’m so happy to be back. It feels as though I can finally breathe again.
“I come up here on my bike sometimes,” I say, clutching the warm coffee between both my hands. The garden is quiet now because the roses aren’t in bloom, but the view of city is still breathtaking. “I’ll be home by the time the roses bloom again.”
I don’t mention the vase of lush yellow roses I came home to on my desk, complete with a note of a stick figure lassoing the moon that made me smile. Or the new plastic mat under my easel. Or the fact that my collection of flowers along the windowsill I tasked him with taking care of have never looked better.
“I thought you’d like it up here,” Beau says.
I sip the thermonuclear temp coffee instead of admitting he was right.
“Are you ready for classes again?”
I can’t handle how instead of being all flirty he’s now acting as if he’s trying his best not to flub a promposal.
“Sure, I guess. How’s…work?”
We stroll down the wide stone steps into the Shakespeare Garden. Beau stops, but I circle around the path, tracing the stone pattern with my eyes. I loved this garden more when it was dripping in flowers—in hundreds of colors. Now it’s brown, dormant. Even nature gets stuck.
“It’s fine. It is what it is.”
He’s not telling me everything. I hear the weighted back end of those words, waiting for the rest of the truth. I pause and look up, connecting with his stare. “What is it?”
; He scratches the back of his neck and glances away. “Nothing.”
When I blink again, Beau is in front of me.
“Come here,” he whispers.
My feet move forward without my brain catching up. It takes his hand on my waist for me to realize I’m almost plastered against him. I stare at the hollow of his throat when I hear my zipper pulled higher. His fist bumps against my chin, drawing my eyes up to his.
“You should bundle up.”
This would be a great time to say something. Anything. I have so much to say: secrets to share, confessions to finally shake out of my body.
My phone rings and saves me, but Beau doesn’t back away.
“Hi?” My voice rattles. I duck my head against Beau’s chest so I can hear better against the wind. That’s the lie I tell myself anyway.
“Hey, are you back yet?”
I’m not sure where Aubrey is, but it’s loud.
“Yeah,” I say. Beau rests his chin on top of my head and toys with the back of my collar, tucking my scarf inside to ward off the cold. “Flew in this morning.”
“Well, where are you? I’m at the bungalow. Came to surprise you, but you aren’t here.”
“Oh, I’m…out.” I nestle against Beau’s shirt, the thin cotton warm and soft against my frigid cheek. I close my eyes and inhale the smell of his leather jacket.
“What’s the matter, Matt? You sound weird.”
Nothing. Nothing except everything. I’m not ready for what’s next. I’m not the best at handling surprises. “Fine. I’m fine, Aubrey.”
“I don’t believe you, but get your ass back here. We’re checking out Cole’s show tonight, and I don’t want to be stuck here with the guys much longer.”
“Cole?” I don’t mean to repeat his name out loud. Beau tenses against me. “Why? I don’t…”
I don’t what exactly?
“I miss your face. Get. Home.”
Aubrey hangs up in a hurry, leaving me leaning against Beau. He hasn’t stepped away, but he dropped his hands from me as soon as I mentioned Cole. I don’t know why he drove us up to the Rose Garden, but I think I’ve ruined things.
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