Page 221 of Becoming Us
He shrugged, lips curled. “For now,” he said cheekily.
I laughed. “For now, yeah. I’ll take that.”
Atty lifted off my lap, and I shuddered at the slick, aching drag of slipping out of him.
“Stay here,” I said, sitting up. “I’ll go get something to clean you up.”
He nodded, glancing around for a second before dropping down beside me on the mattress. The second his weight hit, a loud bang echoed through the room—and the floor seemed to tilt sideways.
With inhuman reflexes, Atty grabbed my neck and pulled me toward him as the headboard lurched forward, now hanging precariously at an awkward angle.
It took a beat to register. We were almost on the floor.
The bed had broken.
We’d broken the bed.
I snorted.
“You okay?” Atty asked, wide-eyed.
I slapped my thigh and burst into laughter. Loud, full-bodied, ridiculous laughter. I leaned into his chest as it overtook me.
We’d broken the fucking bed.
Or, more accurately, we’d fucked the bed broken.
Another wave of laughter tore out of me, completely uncontrollable.
The door banged open, and Atty scrambled to yank the sheets up, covering us as best he could.
“What the fuck just happened?” Colin asked, staring like he’d been slapped awake. “What was that noise?” His hair was a mess, and his eyes were still bleary from sleep.
I clutched my sides and buried my face in Atty’s chest for a moment, laughing so hard that tears stung my eyes.
“Would you reel it in?” Atty asked, but he was laughing too now.
“The bed broke. You two broke the bed?” Colin gawked at us.
Atty nodded, face flushed tomato red.
“You’re the worst fucking roommate on the planet,” Colin grumbled as he turned and stormed off. “It’s five in the goddamn morning! On a Saturday!”
“Sorry,” Atty called out, grimacing.
“This is just so fucking perfect,” I said, still catching my breath.
With the blanket still looped around us, we stood, and I stared down at the lopsided wreck of a bed and sighed. “RIP, bed. You put up a good fight.”
“You’re the worst.” Atty shook his head—but there was a smile tugging at his lips.
“Want to go over to my place and sleep a little longer?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll take care of this”—he waved at the mess of a room—“later.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I looked around. Everything felt different.
This was the same room where, once, he couldn’t say he loved me—and I’d cried, thinking sex was the only thing keeping us together.
