place? Is he thinking about moving out already? But I just got him back!
I force my tone into something neutral. “Why? Did you change your mind? Because I’m warning you right now, I’m not carting all your crap back to Northampton, so if you want to leave, you’re on your own.”
Kai laughs. “That decides it, then. I guess I’ll stay.”
Phew. Crisis averted.
“Cool,” I say.
Kai snorts.
“Cool,” he echoes with a roll of his eyes.
For the first time in years, I feel like everything is exactly as it should be in the world.
4
Kai
Over the years, I’ve had the dubious pleasure of living with all kinds of people, so I’ve gotten accustomed to pretty much all the quirks anybody can have.
There was the guy who insisted on handwashing his socks and underwear in the kitchen sink, not giving a crap if there were dishes there or not, and then he’d dry them by hanging them on doorknobs all over the house because it helped keep the heel in the right shape.
A couple of years ago, I rented a room from two dudes who almost blew up the kitchen while experimenting with producing moonshine.
Another member of the highlight’s reel was the girl who insisted everybody in the apartment change their sheets a minimum of twice a week. She had a chart on the wall, and you’d get a frowny face sticker next to your name when you failed to comply with the rules.
The point is, it always takes time to get used to somebody’s quirks.
Not with Gray. With him, everything is simple. We fall into a rhythm like we’ve always been living together. I’m normally an optimist, but even I didn’t think getting used to living together would happen so seamlessly. But we’re a week into our new arrangement, and there have been no setbacks.
In the almost twenty years we’ve known each other, we’ve never lived together. I’ve stayed in his place, of course. A week here and there every now and then when I started feeling homesick and lonely, but officially being roommates somehow feels different, so even though I know Gray through and through, I always figured there might be some irritating habits he’s been hiding.
I was wrong. Living with Gray is easy. Everything with Gray is easy.
Well, almost easy, I concede as I walk into the kitchen on Friday morning and find my roommate in front of the stove, making breakfast.
Gray’s a multitasker. His morning routine is like some kind of a weird juggling act where every move is timed to perfection to waste the least possible amount of time, so he combines showering and shaving with preparing breakfast, which means I regularly get to see him in nothing but a towel. It’s almost impossible not to stare.
The dark blue towel is wrapped around Gray’s lean hips. His shoulders are dotted with droplets of water, and the muscles on his back create a fascinating display as he moves around the kitchen, stirring, lifting, pouring.
Gray used to be a skinny kid, but he has filled out over the years, so now, he’s all sharp lines and hard muscles. He’s not overly buff, but there’s strength in his body.
I can’t keep my eyes off him.
His dark brown hair is still wet from his shower, and I feel a very unwelcome urge to slide my fingers through it.
This here is the part that ruins some of the overall ease of living with Gray. These unwanted echoes of my long-ago crush. It’s nothing too worrisome, though. Once everything settles and I’m thoroughly used to living with Gray, those remnants of feelings will disappear.
They better.
Still, I take an extra moment to stare at Gray’s lower back. And then my eyes move even lower…
“You want some of this?” Gray asks without looking at me, and I almost swallow my tongue as I croak out some sort of a nonsensical sound that makes Gray turn around and look at me as if he’s checking I’m not about to choke to death.
I clear my throat and try again. “What?”
“Omelet,” he says, waving the spatula toward the pan. “There’s enough for two.”
Oh. He’s talking about breakfast. Yeah, that makes more sense. I force my thoughts far, far away from the gutter.
“Of course. You know my favorite kind of food is—”
“The food you don’t have to make yourself, yes,” he finishes my sentence for me. “Keep an eye on it, would you? I’ll go get changed.”
I stare at the pan like I’m afraid it’ll burst into flames if I turn my