Page 43 of Passing the Red Line
“No,” I say, turning to face him. Christian is currently washing his body and seeing him all wet and lathered up is doing something to me between the legs. But like he said, he has to get to the airport, so there is no time for anything fun. But how I wish I could get a little relief. “I heard you loud and clear. You’re not going to be here, so I’ll sleep at my rental. Like I have been doing.”
I watch as Christian comes closer to me, pushing me further under the shower head until he is under it too and his body is pressed against mine.
“You haven’t been sleeping at your rental, though,” he says, washing his body off, throwing a smirk at me.
It’s too early for him to be smirking at me like that.
“Yes, I have. I slept there the other night,” I threw back, remembering going to the small apartment I have in San Jose and putting on my sleep clothes and getting to bed.
“You mean the night that you called me at eleven o’clock at night because you wanted ramen and instead of you ordering it yourself and sending it to your rental, you made me get out of bed to meet you at a dingy food truck and then we came here afterwards? That night?”
Crap.
Have I really not slept at my rental?
I go there, that’s where I do most of my work in the morning before going to the soccer arena, but have I really not slept there? I try to think but the last time I can honestly remember spending the night there was before the balcony where me and Christian had a heart to heart about how we got into our careers.
That was almost three weeks ago.
“Have I really spent every single night here for the last three weeks?” I ask out loud, not able to believe it.
Christian nods, coming closer to me and pushing me against the wall until his body is completely pressed against mine and his face is able to go directly to my neck.
The way he kisses my neck makes me weak in the knees.
“You have,” he says, taking my earlobe between his teeth and letting his hand roam down my naked body.
As much as I would love to get lost in him right now, I can’t. I’m having an existential crisis.
“Wait,” I say, pushing him back a bit. Just enough for me to see his face but still have his body mushed up against mine. “If I’m spending every night here, does that mean that we’re dating? Are we in arelationship?”
I know that we said that we weren’t going to be with other people however long that we do this for, but did I unknowingly step into a relationship with a hockey player? A hockey player that is technically my coworker at that?
“I mean, we fuck,” Christian says, leaning down again, this time bending down further so that he can pepper kisses, nips and sucks against my breast. “But we also go to dinner.” Suck. “We eat breakfast together.” Kiss. “And we meet up to have lunch.” Nip. “We sleep in the same bed. We see each other every single day, text each other all the time.” He takes my nipple in his mouth. “I think our hate turned into lust and then turned into like, which has blossomed into something.”
“Something?” I ask, half moaning at the way he’s taking care of me.
“Something,” he says, giving my nipple one final tug before he stands back up at full height. “Is it a full-blown relationship? I don’t know. I do know that I don’t find you as annoying as I did when you broke into my house. I also know that I like having you here and spending time with you. Maybe it’s not a full-blown relationship but it has the possibility of getting there. For me at least. You may not feel the same.”
It’s not even a thought. I do feel the same.
Christian is right.
Our hate and annoyance for one another turned to lust and it quickly became something more. I’ve been more open with him and being around him has made me feel something that I’ve only felt through photography. And that is a little bit freer. He makes me laugh and doesn’t judge me or get mad when I bring out the sarcasm or the attitude. He matches it just as much. And we have a lot more in common than I thought we would when I first walked into his house.
I don’t even hate the fact that he’s a hockey player. I mean, I do, but not as much as I did when he first stepped into my life. My hate for him being a hockey player is more about what I’ve experienced from other players and I’m projecting it onto him. I’m used to people wanting to be with me or spending time with me because of my dad and what he can bring to the table. Christian doesn’t need that from me. He’s already at the highest level, he’s already playing for the team my dad’s coaches. He doesn’t need me in the other way that others have and like he told me himself,hisname could get me places. Do I want it to? Absolutely not, but I’m not used to it being that way.
I’m not used to men, especially those in this profession, to not need me in that way.
There’s this feeling deep inside of me that tells me that if me and Christian do become more, with time, he will make that hate for his profession and for his sport completely go away. That being with him will make me fall in love with the sport that was once a big part of my life again. Not only that, but he is also capable of giving me something that I have yearned for for a very long time.
True companionship.
God, how did this all happen so fast? Two months ago, I was trying to get under his skin to see if he would break and now, I’m in his shower thinking about jumping into a relationship with him.
I’ve been so in my head that I didn’t realize that he was waiting for me to say something until I look up and find him staring at me all while the water is hitting his face.
Time to be honest with him.
