30: Let’s do it again

We were both spread out on the couch like we’d just run a marathon, naked and out of breath.

His arm was over his face, mine was across his chest.

He finally spoke, “so… what now?”

I didn’t move, “we could sleep here,” I couldn't imagine walking to his place after what just happened today, I would have to think about it and I didn't have the time to process what just happened.

He turned his head toward me, raising an eyebrow. “On this couch?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, eyes still closed, “people do it all the time.”

“Hazel,” he said slowly, like I’d offended him deeply, “I’m not people.”

I laughed and sat up. “Fine, Your Highness. Let’s go to the bed then.”

He stood, stretched like a cat, then bent and lifted me up like I weighed nothing.

“You’re really carrying me right now?”

“Of course I am. I just destroyed your legs. I’m not letting you wobble down the hall like a baby deer.”

I smacked his chest lightly, grinning as he carried me into the room.

Once we got there, I pointed, “bathroom’s right there. I’ll get you something to change into.”

He walked over, paused at the door, then looked inside. His entire body froze.

“This is the bathroom?”

“Yes?”

He turned to me with the most dramatic stare I’ve ever seen, “there’s no marble, the sink is cracked. There’s a… a mop bucket in the corner.”

“Yeah, it’s a bathroom, not a spa.”

He blinked, “are you trying to give me an infection?”

“Use it, bro.”

He muttered something rich and dramatic under his breath and finally walked in.

I changed into an oversized shirt and headed to Frank’s room, yanked one of his T-shirts from a drawer and tossed it on the bed.

When Alan finally came back out, towel hanging low on his waist, hair damp, he looked around again like he’d entered a crime scene.

“I can’t believe this is where you live.”

I rolled my eyes, “here we go.”

He pointed at the ceiling, “is that mold?”

“It’s paint.”

“Hazel, it’s peeling.”

I grabbed the shirt and threw it at him, “put this on and shut up.”

“This place is like a student flat from a horror movie.”

“It is a student flat.”

He made a face. “No, no, you deserve better than this.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned, walking out to the kitchen.

He followed, “do you even have food? Do you eat? That fridge looks like it’s been through five world wars.”

I yanked it open and pulled out juice, “be grateful I even let you in.”

He leaned against the doorway, shirt now on, but still looking around like I’d dropped him into hell.

“This counter’s uneven.”

“Then don’t lean on it.”

He stared at the stove. “Is that… duct tape?”

“It works fine. I just have to jiggle it a little.”

He exhaled like I’d personally offended his ancestors.

I poured the juice into two chipped mugs and handed him one.

He held it like it was radioactive. “Hazel.”

“What?”

“This mug says ‘World’s Best Grandma’ on it.”

I looked him dead in the eye, “can you fucking shut it ?”

He snorted and sipped it anyway, then made a face.

We clinked mugs and I swear, he still looked around like he was waiting to get tetanus.

Spoiled ass billionaire.

Frank walked in, keys jingling, bag slung over his shoulder, and then he froze. Full stop. His eyes landed on me in my oversized shirt and Alan standing stiff in the kitchen like he was about to commit a felony.

I cleared my throat fast, stepped forward, and wrapped my arms around him like it was the most normal situation in the world.

“Heyyyy,” I said, voice way too high-pitched.

He blinked. “Um…”

“We’ll talk later,” I mumbled into his ear before pulling back with a smile so fake it hurt.

Frank gave me one last what the actual hell look before disappearing into his room without another word.

I turned back around and instantly clocked Alan’s whole body radiating rage. His jaw was tight, fingers wrapped around the mug so hard I swore I heard it crack.

He was fidgeting with it, like one more second and he’d smash it straight through the wall.

“You okay?” I asked, walking closer.

“Yeah,” he said, fake calm, “why wouldn’t I be?”

I glanced down at his hand, “you’re about to break the fucking mug.”

He didn’t look at me, “why do you have a man as a roommate?”

I blinked, “seriously?”

He finally looked up, jaw still tense.

“First of all, flatmate, not roommate and jeez, he’s my best friend, Alan,” I said, “get over it.”

“You hugged him.”

I stared at him for a second, then laughed. I walked over, slid my arms around his waist, and leaned into him, still smiling.

“And I just mouth fucked you.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth, his breath got shallow.

My hand slid lower, dragging slow down his crotch.

“And,” I whispered, “I kind of want to do it again.”

His grip on the mug loosened, his eyes snapped back to mine.

“I mean,” I smirked, “if you’re done interrogating my fridge and crying over duct tape.”