Page 26 of The Naked Cleaner

“So… You only want me for my TV-show-watching skills. Or company…” He goes quiet. Then he sighs. “Sorry Pontus, I get all flustered talking to you. My mouth says stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” Says the guy who is about to piss his non-existent pants right here on the sofa.

“You!” He almost shouts. “I want to come and sleep in your bed and have masses of sex with you, but you haven’t even responded to my texts and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on and I can’t read your mind and I’m crap at this, all of this.”

He runs out of steam and I hyperventilate.

“Please.”

MY. STUPID. MOUTH.

“Please what? ‘Please fuck off, Louis,’ or, ‘Please come and fuck me, Louis?’ I can’t read minds. I need you to tell me because I am going crazy here. Absolutely crazy.”

Breathe, Pontus. Breathe.

“I… I missed you today.”

Charming Pontus.

“Answer the fucking question, Pontus. Do I mean anything to you? Or was last night just a clusterfuck of a mistake?”

He sounds desperate. Pathetic. Sad. Distraught. All kinds of messed up and my heart is jolting in my chest and I kind of want… to hug him.

“I need a hug.”

Right there. Pontus Andreassen wins all the nerd-of-the-year awards. Fucking hell.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up. Just like that.

Oh fuck.

What did I just do? Did I just admit to wanting him to come? Did I agree to bottom? What was that? He’s coming here in twenty minutes, and I am not wearing underpants. And I burst into tears. Because that’s been a whole day of holding it all in and now, I am falling apart.

He just kind of shouted at me and I think he missed me, and now he is coming here and I need…

A hug.

Louis.

My head examined.

Honestly. Seriously? What the hell am I doing?

Chapter Ten

Louis

He’s been crying. Oh fuck, I’ve made him cry, and it’s obviously obvious because his face is all wet, like he has tried to splash water on his face to dull the swollen redness and puffy eyes, and it’s all so obvious, it makes me want to cry myself.

And on top of it all, he just stands there with his arms hugging his far-too-skinny body in that threadbare dressing gown and I just…

I think I’m in love. I am crushing. Infatuation is a thing.

I just stand there like a fool, staring at him, and he doesn’t even move. Almost like he is frozen in place, as his whole body is shivering with unease.

“You have been crying.” I say softly. “Please tell me it isn’t because of me. I don’t want to make you cry.”

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