Page 55 of Collide
I open the door wider. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for our session.”
“We didn’t schedule one.” I look at the time on my phone. “Your game ended twenty minutes ago, Aiden.” How he even managed to make it here in twenty minutes is beyond me.
When my mom used to take me to my dad’s games as a kid, most of the night was spent waiting outside the arena after a game. I’d wake up the next morning only to realize I had fallen asleep before I could even see him.
“I know.”
“You’re still in your gear.”
“I can change.” That’s when I notice the gym bag on his arm. “Do you mind?”
I point to my bathroom, and he stalks inside. “I can bring you a towel if you want to shower.”
Shower? Why the hell did I suggest that? He looks surprised by my invitation. Honestly, it surprises me too, but the least I could do is offer.
“You sure?”
I shrug. “Or if you want to be gross and sweaty for the rest of the night, it’s your call.” My lame attempt to cut the tension doesn’t work when he simply nods and heads to the bathroom.
Towel in hand, I knock and hear shuffling before he says, “Come in.”
I hesitate. When I open the door, he’s removed his shoulder pads and his body is on full display. My bathroom has terrible lighting, but he still glistens under the fluorescents.
He takes the towel. “Thanks.”
The tension between us is thick in my tiny bathroom. The whirring fan and the buzzing lights are loud as ever. “I can turn on the shower for you. It’s kind of difficult to get right.”
He presses his lips together and nods. The sound of clothes being removed resumes, and I swallow. I turn the faucet with my sweaty hands, and when I face him, he’s so close I startle.
If he smells, my brain isn’t registering it because all I can think about is how we’re alone, he’s half naked, and my pjs aren’t leaving much to the imagination.
“It takes a second to get hot,” I say, though that statement could apply to me. It doesn't feel like I offered him a shower, it feels like he’s waiting to tear off my clothes and take me against the shower wall.
He nods, reminding me that my overactive imagination is playing tricks on me.
“You won,” I say. In my defense, the shower does take a minute to heat. I’m being a good host if we really look at it.
“Barely.” He looks like he wants to say more. We haven’t talked in a week, but I have every right to be pissed. Though the memories of my anger are slowly but surely fizzling away.
When the shower steams, I step away. “I’ll be outside.”
The sound of running water fills my bedroom. To rid myself of my sinful thoughts, I sit on the furthest side of the living room.
Aiden steps out a few minutes later as I’m editing my statistics paper. He’s wearing a tight white T-shirt and black sweats. It’s distracting, until I notice the trickling red on his cheek.
I jump in alarm. “What happened to your face?”
He settles on the couch. “You should see the other guy.”
“You got into a fight? Can’t you get disqualified?” The NCAA has strict rules, and risking the penalty isn’t worth the punch most of the time.
“Some Princeton jackass had it out for me. He got the major.”
My worry unravels, knowing the infraction wasn’t on him. Still, when I get a good look at his cut, it unsettles me.
“I’m fine. Really.”
