Page 66 of Diamond Ring
“This place have a washer?” Alex asks. “I can put it in.”
Jake’s stomach roils. Because some things have changed but Alex treating him like that—gently, if he’s being generous, or indulgently, if he isn’t—apparently has not. “I can do my own laundry.”
A shrug from Alex. “I know. Go shower.”
In the bathroom, the comedown is different than how Jake normally feels after sex—different from the pleasing orgasmic drop or, more recently, the frustration that makes enjoyment difficult. Instead his mind is quiet as he takes a ballplayer-quick shower.
Maybe he should have pulled Alex in with him, extended that feeling. Maybeonceonly wears off at the stroke of midnight or when the sun comes up, when they have to go back to the ballpark. A negotiation with himself for more time that he somehow loses. Because they really,reallyshouldn’t be doing this. Not as teammates. Not as people who’ve spent ten years carrying old resentments like burrs.
He soaps up, rinses off, dries himself with a towel when he gets out. On the counter, his toothbrush and razor handle are pointing in different directions. He leaves them. At least he can control that for now.
When he returns into his bedroom, Alex is still on his bed, though the bedspread isn’t. “I followed the care instructions,” Alex says.
Distantly, the thump of his washer. No way it’ll be done by the time Jake needs to sleep, but he can find his spare blankets. Or ask Alex to stay.
“Food should be here in a few minutes. I got you pancakes,” Alex adds.
That was something they used to do—go out for breakfast when they were on the road. “My meds make it hard to eat in the morning,” Jake says.
Alex nods. “Figured it was something like that.”
There’s space next to where Alex is sitting. Jake should insist they go to the living room, should insist on reestablishing boundaries, or at least talk about how they’re going to work together after this. Stuff he doesn’t want to do with an almost juvenile reluctance. So he climbs on the bed, slotting next to Alex, who hands him a pillow to stuff behind his back.
“You want to watch something?” Alex asks.
As if this really is the date they were supposed to have. “If I was actually Ben, what would you be doing?”
Alex’s forehead wrinkles slightly. “Probably this.”
“Hanging out about to eat pancakes?”
“Sure. If I was Mike, what would you be doing?”
Asking to see you again. Because you’re hot and smart and good in bed.“Probably this.” Jake finds the remote and begins scrolling through fairly dire TV options. They’re sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. For a second, he wonders what it’d be like to have Alex drape his arm around him. To do a full-on postcoital snuggle, one at odds with the notion that they’ll go back to being friends tomorrow. If that.
Alex’s phone buzzes a while later. “Food’s here.”
“I should answer the door.”
“I don’t think they ask for ID.”
“I just meant I’m less famous or whatever.”
“Being a backup catcher isn’t exactly the life you think it is.”
“Yeah, well,” Jake says, “beats the alternative.” He answers the door, accepting a bag loaded with to-go containers and a brief look of what might be recognition from the delivery guy, though it also might be because Jake’s shirt is on inside out.
He’s pulling out silverware when Alex comes into the kitchen, sliding behind where he’s standing at the counter, hands at either side of Jake’s waist. “Everything arrive okay?” Alex asks. And his voice is a rumble between Jake’s shoulder blades.
It’s easy to lean back a little, to think about what it’d be like if they were Mike and Ben, their alter egos with normal jobs and no history beyond a days-old chatlog. Until Alex pulls away.
They sit on Jake’s couch, Alex with a plate of eggs, a few slices of bacon. “It’s turkey if you want some.” Like he got it in anticipation of trading for a few forkfuls of pancake. They eat. Alex gathers the plates, then washes the dishes, singing something to himself that Jake doesn’t recognize.
“I was gonna head out,” Alex says after he’s wiped his hands on Jake’s dish towel and gathered his shirt from the floor. When he’s waiting by the door, possibly unnecessarily, for Jake to undo the latch.
Jake does, opening the door, unsealing the bubble of his apartment to the rest of the world. They stand for a minute, Jake unsure if they should kiss or shake hands or just go their separate ways.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Alex says finally.
