Page 33 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

“Baaaas.” Despite the slight whine to Haley’s tone, she looks up with a toothy grin. Toby loves that grin. During those long months that he spent camped out on Matt’s living room couch, Haley’s grin was the first thing he saw each morning. It made it easier to face the day. “Hello Mike,” she says seriously.

There’s something rather hilarious about seeing a tough, devil-may-care guy like Mike melt like butter simply because a ten-year old with pink scrunchies and a garish Barbie is grinning at him. Toby has to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile when Mike crouches down to be at eye level with Haley. She isn’t easily intimidated, but Toby appreciates the thought all the same.

He’s also quite amused to see Mike—who only ever loses his cool when Toby pushes, and pushes—at a loss, searching for words. “Hi Haley. That’s a very nice Barbie. Did your uncle get you that?”

“No.” Haley’s headshake makes her unevenly braided pigtails bounce. “Bas doesn’t like Barbies. He says they make girls feel insecure when they grow older. But he got me an Eskimo dog that comes up to here” —she demonstrates shoulder-height— “and it’s really cool.”

“What about snow globes filled with glitter?” Mike asks. “They’re cool too, right?”

Shit, Toby should have expected the question. Taking a step back, out of Haley’s sight, he frantically shakes his head and makes a cut-it gesture, mouthing ‘Birthday’ in the hopes that Mike will understand.

“I don’t think Bas would like them,” Haley says after a moment’s consideration.

Mike’s reply is an enormous grin that’s just about the brightest thing in the bleak hotel corridor. It makes Toby clear his throat and look away quickly. “So,” he says. “Are we going down to the pool or what?”

“Just let me get my things. Anyone else need a towel?” Mike rises and keeps the door open as he crosses over to the wardrobe. A glance reveals that his clothes are neatly arranged, folded and sorted, a likely leftover from whatever military training Mike went through. There aren’t many clothes. There aren’t many personal items in Mike’s room, period: a small duffel bag at the foot of the bed, no pictures, mostly just the standard hotel furniture that is quickly approaching its well-deserved retirement age. While Toby’s apartments tend to remain relatively bare, he will always pin one of Haley’s drawings to the fridge. It makes the place feel a little less empty.

There’s a certain... loneliness about Mike’s room. It’s just a temporary fix until he finds an apartment, of course, and maybe he hid away some personal things before Toby and Haley arrived.

Anyway: towels.

“Thanks,” Toby says. “Got it covered.”

“All right.” Swim trunks in hand, Mike straightens. He’s smiling, just this small, private thing that he might not even be aware of, as he glances from Toby to Haley, then turns away to grab a towel off the bed. “Let’s go.”

***

Constant exposure, Toby tells himself. That’s the key: constant exposure, and he’ll be immune to Mike in no time at all.

It’s why Toby feels justified—compelled, in fact—to watch as Mike demonstrates the workings of the whirlpool to Haley. They’re laughing, both of them, the polished tiles and high ceilings amplifying the joyful sound that mixes with the gurgling of water. When Mike stands up, water rushes down his body in a glorious slide. His chest tapers into a narrow waist, the swim trunks clinging in all the right places, and Toby remembers what it felt like to have that body right up against his own, Mike’s weight on top of him, the controlled way Mike moves until he snaps and—

So not the time.

Constant exposure.

Stretched out on a deck chair, Toby pretends to study Liu’s dossier. Fortunately, Mike was right about the pool being deserted on an early weekday afternoon; there is only one other guest around, an elderly woman swimming stoic laps from one end of the pool to the other. If she’s a double agent, Toby is Elvis reincarnated—and he can’t hold a tune to save his life.

He glances up when Mike comes to stand next to him, is momentarily fascinated by the treasure trail that disappears into Mike’s trunks, before he manages to redirect his attention. Eyes up here, man.

Mike tilts his head and smiles. It’s vaguely disconcerting.

“What?” Toby asks. His voice sounds normal, thank God. “Why are you looming?”

Mike’s lips curve up further. When his stomach muscles tighten, it’s an advance warning for Toby, but he’s not quite quick enough to duck out of harm’s way when Mike shakes himself like a wet dog, spraying droplets of water everywhere. Toby snatches up his towel, considers shielding the information dossier, and instead slaps Mike with it. Choices had to be made.

It’s with a buoyant laugh that Mike evades him. “So Haley’s right: you really don’t like water.”

“I like water just fine,” Toby corrects. “When it’s in the form of drinking water and doesn’t smell like a chlorine factory threw up all over it. Oh!” He raises a finger. “I am also just fine with water when it comes out of my shower and I’m not wearing clothes, and there isn’t a folder with vital information sitting on my lap.”

“Your shorts were intended for swimming. They don’t count as clothes.”

“You’re deliberately missing the point about vital information.”

“A few droplets of water won’t do much damage.” Still grinning, Mike claims the deck chair next to Toby’s and reaches for a towel to quickly rub himself down. Toby deserves a fucking medal for how his gaze never strays. That doesn’t mean the distraction doesn’t cost him, though: Mike sends the conversation on a different track by asking, “So, Haley calls you Bas?”

It was only a matter of time.

“Well.” Toby glances over at Haley, happily splashing about in the whirlpool, the Barbie presiding over the proceedings. It’s because of Mike that Toby gets to see her this afternoon instead of whenever, and that’s enough of a reason to offer an innocent piece of truth. “It’s short for Tobias. When Haley was younger, she had trouble saying my name, and then my brother ran with it because he claims it’s more badass. My best guess is he thinks it’s better suited to a crime lord than Toby—Toby is your student neighbor three doors down, or the kid sitting behind you in class, you know?”

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