Page 33 of Meet Me in the Blue

“Don’t be immature,” she whispered. “Like I didn’t have to listen to you and all your exploits during your sexual awakening. My therapist says I’ll never heal from the trauma.”

I shoved her shoulder and she laughed. “I never… You are such a liar.”

“I’m happy you’re home,” she said and set the MacBook back on my lap. “It was never the same without you.”

She stretched her hands over her head. “I better go spring Rook, or he’ll be trapped in that kitchen all night. I bet Mom has him fixing the drain again.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, it’s been leaking and Dad…” We both stared at his sleeping outline under the covers. “He hasn’t had a chance to do it himself.”

“I’ll go help.” I closed the laptop and set it on the coffee table. “You should head home before it gets too late.”

“I’m staying here tonight. I have an appointment with a realtor in the morning.”

“You’re serious?” I asked, feeling more excited than I had any right to be. “You’re really going to move back?”

“I think so.”

I hugged her until she pushed me away with a breathless,I can’t breathe, then made my way into the kitchen and almost walked straight into the open pantry door. Rook was standing by the sink, shirtless and wet and laughing while he dragged a towel over miles of warm brown skin and muscle. My eyes snagged on the light smattering of hair on his chest, and how it trailed to his stomach and vanished below the waist of his jeans. He was beautiful and strong lines, cuts and angles, and Jesus, he had abs. I didn’t remember him ever looking this hot without a shirt. I tried to rake through all of the teenaged, lustful, jock fantasies I’d had about him when I was younger and came up empty. Nothing could have prepared me for the man standing in front of me.

“Honey?” My mom stared at me, and I forced myself to breathe, to say something.

Unfortunately, all I could muster was a sputtered one-word answer. “N-naked.”

“What?” Rook gave me a worried look.

I held my forehead and stared at the wall. “No… not naked-naked, but why?” I waved a hand in Rook’s general direction and pinched the bridge of my nose as my face flushed with heat. I’d bet my life my cheeks were the color of a ripe tomato. Fuck. Apparently, somewhere between the living room and the kitchen I’d lost the ability to form a coherent sentence. “Why are you without shirt, shirtless, all…” I waved my hand again. “Like that.”

“Are you feeling alright?” By the tone of my mother’s voice, I could tell she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or be genuinely concerned. I outright refused to look at Rook. “Sit down before you hurt yourself. You’ve been running all day and—”

“I’m fine, Mom, I was just…” What? Caught off guard? By my best friend’s abs? Platonically, of course. “What’s going on? Why is Rook all… wet?”

“I might’ve accidentally turned on the water too soon while he was still tightening the pipe.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “You know me, I have the patience of a two-year-old.”

Rook set the towel on the counter, and against my better judgment, I turned to look at him.

“The pipe shouldn’t cause you anymore trouble,” he said and picked up his soaking-wet shirt, wringing it out over the sink. “I added enough plumber’s tape to last you a lifetime.”

“Let me get you one of Isaac’s t-shirts. I’ll throw this in the washer,” she offered and took the shirt from his hand. “I’ll be right—”

“I have a hoodie he can wear,” I blurted. “It’s in the coat closet.”

“Will it fit him?” she asked, and I resented her dubious expression.

I wasn’t that small. I had abs, too, damn it.

“It will fit.”

It barely fit.

The light-yellow fabric hugged his shoulders and arms, a size too small, but Christ, he looked hot. And there was this complete caveman satisfaction in having him wear something of mine for once. In high school, I’d practically lived in his hockey jersey, and I’d loved how it had made me feel like his. It had been stupid and childish, and I guess I still had some growing up to do because seeing him in my clothes made it feel like he was mine too.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said as we walked down the driveway to his car.

“Around eight?”

“Sure.”

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