Page 8 of Late Nights

It was just past eleven. On a Tuesday. Did he always stay out this late on weeknights? I knew he had to be to work early in the morning.

I hated how I couldn’t just focus on this dumb movie and not care about a certain roommate’s nightly extracurricular activities. And I hated that I was annoyed at the movie when it was fine, good actually, but it was really me who was dumb for not having the strength to keep my thoughts from drifting.

The sound of the door handle turning had me hurrying to look more relaxed and nonchalant on the couch, although I’m not sure how I could look more chill than sitting on the couch with a blanket watching a movie. My heart raced as if Cannon would find out what I’d been thinking and how I’d been waiting for him to get home.

The door shut, and I turned to look over at him, instantly wishing I hadn’t. Rumpled Cannon looked just as good as fresh and dressed-up Cannon. His hair was more disheveled than normal, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. Or maybe someone else had run their hands through his hair. A sharp twinge of jealousy hit my stomach, and I hurried to push it away.

“Oh, hey.” He looked surprised to see me. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Was that disappointment in his features? Had he been purposefully staying out late so he wouldn’t have to see me?

I worked to hide the hurt and hoped he couldn’t see any of my feelings in my expression. “Uh, yeah, I thought I would be too, but sound sure travels through those vents.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Ah, right.”

“I came out here to distract myself from the certain nightly activities and then got caught up watching this movie.” If only that last part were true. All I’d wanted was for this movie to completely distract me.

He nodded, looking away from me. “That makes sense.”

An awkward silence stretched between us.

I wracked my brain to figure out what had changed, from when we had been talking in his room on Sunday while unpacking to where we were now. He had seemed fine with me moving in here two days ago. Now he was acting like it was something he had to endure.

“I’m going to go take a shower and head to bed.” He quickly walked toward the hallway that led to the bathroom.

“Cannon, wait,” I called out after him.

He stopped, slowly turning to face me.

“Is something wrong?” I searched his face for any information that might help me understand. “Did I do something?”

His features softened. “No, Demi. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel unwelcome. I’m just…tired.”

Just the sound of him saying my name made me want to melt.

I had a feeling it was more than him being tired, but he obviously didn’t want to share what else was going on.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He walked out of the room and down the hall.

I wanted to turn off the movie and go to bed myself, but I was worried it would look like I really had been waiting for him to get home. I forced myself to finish the movie, listening to the running water of the shower, trying to not picture a naked Cannon.

I was not proud of my lack of success in that endeavor. Visualizing his bare chest as water ran down in streams across his skin, down the ridges of his abs (yes, I’d seen him shirtless and knew all about those ab ridges, thanks to the pool at my parents’ house and summer vacations), continuing their path to the tantalizing lines that shaped into a V before they disappeared farther down his sculpted body to the places I had not seen.

When the water finally turned off, I breathed out a sigh in relief. It had started to get a little warm in here. I blamed it on the fact that I hadn’t been with a man in a while. Surely that was the reason behind my overactive hormones.

The soft pad of bare feet sounded on the tile floors, and I looked up. Cannon strode out into the kitchen in a pair of sweats and a fitted black t-shirt, his wet hair freshly combed. I was grateful his back was to me, or he would have seen the drool that was surely on my face.

I watched as he took a bottle of water out of the fridge and tilted his head to drink it, his back muscles bunching in time. He even made drinking water sexy.

Yanking my gaze away from him, I forced my attention to the end of the movie, the part where the couple was finally getting together after the third-act breakup. I should be looking forward to seeing the couple getting their happily-ever-after, but I was feeling the need to flee this room as fast as Cannon had earlier before I did something totally embarrassing, like throw myself at him, which would only result in what I assumed would be his horror before gently letting me down, both physically and emotionally.

In my peripheral vision, I could see Cannon making his way into the living room, taking me by surprise, as I had thought he was going to bed.

Keep your eyes on the screen, keep your eyes on the screen, I kept chanting, hoping I could pretend I was more into this movie than I really was.

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