roll over, reaching to feel the cold spot on the bed beside me.
Even though I knew Patrick was going to be staying overnight at his parents’ house, a small part of me still hoped he’d come back late at night. The need to be near me, touch me, smell me; unbearable for him. But, it wasn’t.
I reluctantly roll out of bed, aware of the fact that my roommate may be in the bathroom or in the kitchen, so I throw on some oversized sweats and a sweatshirt, tossing my mess of hair into a messy bun and head for my lifeline; the coffeemaker.
As soon as I open the bedroom door, I’m hit with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and the back of a certain someone’s head.
There’s no escaping him.
Walking into the kitchen, I brush past where he’s sitting at the table.
I’m not totally over the embarrassment of last night, but I’m also not the type of person who holds grudges. Today is a new day and the ability to get along with him, or at least tolerate him, is inevitable.
I grab my favorite mug from the cupboard, sensing his eyes all over me as I pour myself a cup. Feeling the need to clear the awkward air, I sigh against the counter, then turn to face him. He’s sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, legs crossed in his sweats and no shirt. His hair is wild and twisted all over the place, but he pairs it with a shockingly bright smile on his unfortunately attractive face.
“What are you so happy about? It’s not even nine.” I groan, crinkling my nose.
He slides down into his seat, crossing his arms behind his head, clearly unaware of how disgustingly perfect that makes him look, and shrugs. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just a happy kind of guy.”
The comment, made by probably the moodiest person I’ve ever known, has me nearly buckling over with laughter.
“You must be insane.” I shake my head, putting some creamer into my cup.
“Honestly,” he begins, swallowing, and my curious eyes find his again. His humorous face drops into a solemn look. “I just wanted to let you know I’m sorry about last night.”
My lips part. I don’t know what to say. I don’t even understand last night, nor do I really want to.
“It’s fine. Really.”
“Are you going to tell Patrick what happened?” he asks abruptly, catching me off guard.
I stall at his question as my mind swirls around it. Was what happened significant enough that I’d need to tell my boyfriend?
I suck in a breath. “Uh…no. I mean, what is there to tell?”
“Right,” he murmurs, his eyes wincing in the corners.
I stare at him with my cup in hand, trying to figure out this man in a glance, as I lean against the kitchen counter. He sits forward in his seat, eyes on mine as well. We stay like that for a minute at least, and it’s the strangest feeling. It’s strange because it doesn’t feel weird.
Just two people gazing at each other.
“Well, I’m sure you have plans today—”
“I don’t,” he answers immediately, eyes still glued to mine.
I suck in a breath, then blow it out. “Okay…”
“Okay, well…wanna watch a movie or something? I don’t have shit to do and I’m not gonna lie, I’m bored as hell.”
How kind.
“I’m really thankful to be here for you to fall back on when you have nothing else cool to do,” I snap sarcastically.
He chuckles, showcasing that little dimple on his right cheek. One that I’m sure most people never get the chance to see or even know exists. I hardly believe he smiles at anyone except for me when he’s taunting or teasing.
“Cool,” he says, clearly mocking my use of the word playfully.
The word sounds so unnatural coming from him and his whole badass look.
“C’mon, we can be friends.” He runs his hand along the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side.
“Friends?” I cock a brow. Yeah right.
“It’s not like we don’t live together now. We should find a common ground. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Favorite movie? That’s like asking a lawnmower which blade of grass is its favorite.”
His face contorts. “What a strange thing to say.”
I chuckle. “I just mean, there are so many I love to tear through. I could never pick just one.”
He nods lightly, as if understanding. “Okay, genre?”
“Mob movies,” I answer immediately.
He tips his head at my quick response, nodding while circling his finger around the edge of his coffee cup.
“Looks like we found our common ground.” He grins at me with a certain twinkle in his eye.
We settle into opposing sides of the couch and decide on Goodfellas, one of Hawke’s favorite movies.
I get curled up into the blanket as he stretches out entirely on the end part of the L-shaped couch. I check my phone, hoping to see a good morning text from Patrick anytime now, but keep waiting with nothing activating my phone.
It’s ridiculous really. I understand he’s working hard, but him being gone from the house for this long is getting weird. I refuse to believe he’d actually be seeing someone else. A cheater in the Catholic world does not fly. His family would castrate him before I would. But despite that, this entire situation is hitting a nerve of mine.
About halfway through the film, I hear slow, steady breaths coming from the other end of the couch. I peer over at Hawke and find he’s sleeping. One hand draped over his stomach while the other is casually resting above his head.
My phone vibrates against my thigh, so I check it immediately.
Patrick: Hey, I was up late working, only slept a few hours, will try to finish out some of these files this afternoon if that’s alright. I’ll be back later today. Love you, Angel.
Great. Just great. I’m trying not to get angry, but it hurts. It’s a heartbreaking kind of pain to come second to someone who always comes first to you.
I turn back to Hawke and study him for a moment. The previously repulsive, egotistical asshole suddenly looks peaceful and soft. Almost childlike. His mouth is slightly parted, leaving his full lips looking pouty, and I finally get a close look at the random tattoos littering his arms and chest.
Random shapes grouped together, the hawk on his hand, skulls paired with roses, and a few choice word slogans. One slogan says, ‘I lied to get here.’ Another says, ‘Aren’t we all sinners?’
There’s a strange beauty in his chaos, a deceptive depth to his story, a magic to his madness.
A blanket lays propped up behind him on the edge of the couch, so I get up, walk over, and quietly pull it off. I reach over his sleeping body to pull it and when I finally do, he rustles beneath me. I still myself above him then lay it down across his exposed chest, covering the length of him while hoping he doesn’t wake up.
As I’m turning to go back to my warmed space on the other side of the couch, I’m stopped by a hand on my hip.
Hawke grabs me, pulling me down onto the couch next to him. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me back into his chest, then wraps the blanket over us.
I stiffen immediately, my breath catching.
Does he know what he’s doing? Is he dreaming?
He curls his legs up behind me, spooning me while he sighs and breathes softly against my neck.
My heart rate is racing and I’m frozen in position. What do I do? If I get up and he wakes up seeing me here, what will he think? As much as I know I need to move, I settle into his warmth, his hard chest behind me. I can’t help but to be totally and completely aware of the presence of his manhood pressed against my backside. Good Lord.
I swallow, trying to regulate my breathing by watching the movie, then decide to move after he’s fallen into a deeper sleep.
Before I can do just that, I slip into my own slumber, peacefully falling asleep with Hawke curled around me.
The ringing in my ear is loud and obnoxious. I press the button on my snooze, but it doesn’t stop.
“Make it stop.” I hear a deep, raspy voice in my ear, causing my spine to straighten and sit upright.
“Oh my God,” I say breathlessly.
I fell asleep next to him.
Panicking, I search the living room, then behind me towards the kitchen, seeing no Patrick in sight. My phone rings again, snapping me out of my horrified thoughts.
“Hello?” I say before clearing my throat, sounding guilty as hell.
“Hey, Angel, I’m on my way back, just wondering if you want me to pick up some food. Maybe a pizza? Is Hawke there?”
Shit.
I look back over my shoulder at Hawke, who is still lying there with his eyes closed.
What am I doing?
“Yeah, uh…yeah, pizza sounds good.”
There’s a slight pause in the conversation and I convince myself he knows I’m a dirty whore who takes naps with random ex-convicts in her boyfriend’s home.
“You alright? You sound a little out of it.”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry, I just woke up from a nap.”
Fact.
“Ah, alright. Well, I’ll grab a couple of pizzas and be back soon. Love you.”
My heart hurts.
“Love you too,” I respond, wincing in regretful pain.
I hang up the phone, sitting there for a minute, trying to convince myself I’m not the worst person in the world when I feel Hawke move beside me.
“Fuck yes, pizza.” He groans, stretching his legs.
I get up immediately, pulling the blanket off him entirely, then chuck it back at him, hitting him in the face.
“The fuck?”
“Why did you do that?!” I yell.
“Do what?”
“Pull me into you? I’m with Patrick.”
He scoffs, running his hand through his hair that I so eagerly messed up with the blanket. “Chill out, crazy. I didn’t see you moving. You could’ve got up.”
I grit my teeth, scowling at him. He’s right and I hate it.
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” he says coldly, rolling his eyes.
“Just…please don’t tell Patrick,” I ask, feeling my heart ache in my chest.
“Tell him what?” he comments angrily, before getting off the couch, heading towards his room, and slamming the door.
I go to the bathroom, adjusting my messy hair and spraying some of my perfume on to cover any smell of Hawke that may be lingering on me.
Patrick comes back home after another ten minutes and I imagine how it could’ve been if he didn’t call and just walked in on us curled up together sleeping on the couch. My stomach churns.
“Za’s here! Come get it while it’s hot!” he announces loudly.
He drops the pizza on the table at the same time Hawke exits his room. I was really hoping he’d stay locked up in there for the rest of the evening, you know, to make my life easier.
“How was your night, Angel?” Patrick kisses my cheek, making me blush.
“It was”—I glance at Hawke, who’s also conveniently looking at me—“interesting, to say the least.”
“I missed you,” he comments before kissing my lips.
I kiss him back eagerly, almost attempting to kiss away my strange cuddling infidelity. Hawke clears his throat, ruining the moment. I roll my eyes.
“Hawke, sorry man.” Patrick chuckles. “How are you?”
“I’m great. Refreshed from one of the most comfortable naps I’ve probably ever had.” He grins smugly at me.
My smile drops instantly—heart racing, throat constricting.
“Yeah, that bed isn’t so bad, is it? Nic and I slept on that our last year of college. It’s comfortable for being so old,” Patrick answers, oblivious to the remark.
“Is that so?” Hawke cocks his head to the side. “Did you enjoy sleeping on it too, Nic?”
He directs the question at me, with an emphasis on the “ick” of Nic. With a twinkle in his mischievous eyes and a smirk pulling at his lips, it’s clear to me he’s thoroughly enjoying this little game of his.
“Unfortunately, no. There’s a pesky coil that pops up and ruins everything. Worst sleep of my life,” I reply, eyes narrowed at him.
“What? I thought you loved that bed?” Patrick comments, grabbing a slice as Hawke’s eyebrows raise humorously.
“Loathe. Loathe is the appropriate term,” I grumble.
We know the truth behind the conversation, the euphemisms for our little nap setting up a fun game for him.
I can only hope Hawke plays nicely.
