Spinning and spiraling to figure out the ups and the downs and how to make it all order itself into something that made sense. Something that fit in with the person I thought I was or proved irrefutably that I’d been wrong all along. I couldn’t settle on either scenario, my world stuck in the limbo in between. I’d never been in between two places before.
At least, it didn’t seem like it. I knew I had been, the impossibility of getting from one place to the other without passing through the area in between crystal cut. But I usually made moves with precision, a straight line of least resistance and notably lacking in traffic.
In some ways, I hadn’t traveled much at all, sticking to my comfort zone even if I pushed at my levels of adaptability within it. I’d never felt like I was truly losing something that I desperately wanted to gain.
And that fact left me somewhat inexperienced emotionally in addition to physically.
The smell of Nik’s shampoo had me nearly coming out of my skin as I massaged it into my hair, the memory of its scent lodged in my brain from the moment I’d put my eager searching hands into his hair. The wet from the rain revived the scent as we’d kissed, bleeding it into the air like a slow release valve for the air on your tires.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Yeah?”
It cracked open slowly, a low-pitched squeal just barely emanating from poorly oiled hinges.
“I’ll just leave the clothes here on the counter,” Nik said without preamble or waiting for a reply. The door shut behind him with a click, and my head followed it by sinking into my hands.
I had to laugh to myself as I stood there under the warm water, bathed in the lingering awkwardness of his delivery.
Nervousness seeped off of his normally confident figure in the way he moved and spoke and looked at me. He said all of the right words, plugged all of the right holes, and answered all of the right questions, but he felt just as lost as me.
And the beauty of that was it made me feel a little less lost after all.
It was a spin on the old, “Not all those who wander are lost.”
For me, for us, I couldn’t help but feel that those who wander aimlessly together, aren’t, in fact, aimless at all.
When the last of the shampoo rinsed from my hair and the last of the soap slipped from my body, I turned off the water and stepped out.
His towel was fluffy and new, and its scent suggested a fresh wash.
I’d noticed briefly on the way in that everything seemed tidy and thoughtfully placed too. I wasn’t sure if this was an insight into his personality or if he just hadn’t spent enough time here to mess it up, but I logged the information and stored it for later, just in case.
His clothes were baggy, but not by too much, the muscle tone of his athletic body more lean that meaty.
I finger combed the strands of my hair and left them loose, took one last look in the mirror and deep breath in my lungs, and stepped out into the quiet darkness of the hallway.
The utter silence was disconcerting, but I figured with the riotous mess my nerves were, there could be a full blown concert taking place in his apartment and I still wouldn’t have felt completely at ease.
A small beacon of light shone from the living room, so I padded along the dark, berber carpet to the opening he’d shown me before and peeked inside. I didn’t know quite what to expect from any of it. From him, from our intimate encounter, or if it would directly lead into more.
I felt torn, both wanting to pick up where we left off and anxiously unready at the same time. When I’d stormed out of the gym, I’d been lost in myself and my mind and the lingering effects of him. Now, fresh from my shower, I’d scrubbed some of my boldness away, shining the surface to a cautiously inhibited clean.
“Hey,” he greeted me immediately from his spot on the couch, dry clothes replacing his previously soaked ones.
“Hey,” I waved back, unsure of where we were supposed to go from here.
I felt comfortable in his apartment, as much as I could under the circumstances, and I trusted him not to push me, but my experience in all things adult was limited.
I’d lived a very tunneled life, the traffic of my intentions flowing in one very distinct direction—Olympic greatness. That left little time for anything else, romantic or otherwise.
Now that I wanted it, I didn’t know how to take it.
“You look like a frightened puppy,” he called out, making my contemplative eyes jerk to his.
Mine narrowed slightly in mildly affronted reaction. “You don’t look exactly at ease yourself,” I argued.
Laughter rolled from deep in his chest, up the column of his throat, and out of his appealing mouth, letting out the breath we’d both been holding in one swift moment.
“You’re right.”
I walked over to him as he spoke and sat down on the couch across from him. His hand automatically sought mine, his fingers pushing through mine and settling into a hold that felt strangely like home.
“Let’s break the ice,” he suggested. “We’ll each admit something embarrassing to each other. Something you haven’t told anyone else and have tried your best to forget yourself.”
“Oh, yeah,” I grumbled, horrified. “That sounds like a great idea.”
He laughed at my obvious sarcasm and squeezed my hand, pulling the pair of them until the back of his entwined hand rested on his thigh. I watched as it went but pried my eyes free when he spoke again.
“It won’t be that bad. I’ll go first.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, but when I expected him to start his confession, he stalled a little more instead. “Just remember that this exercise is meant to endear me to you. If I find out you’re selling my secrets on the internet, I’ll be pissed.”
“No selling your embarrassing tales on the internet. Got it.” He nodded, but I held up a finger to slow him. “Unless, I stand to gain a fortune weighty enough to sustain independent wealth.”
One corner of his mouth hitched up.
“If they’re willing to pay that much, I’ll probably tell,” I teased through a face scrunch and a shrug.
“Deal,” he agreed good-naturedly, his whole being alight with humor and goodness.
I’d never considered the kind of man I wanted enough to know what qualities that included ahead of time.
The more I spent time with him, though, the more that list of non-existent qualities looked like him.
Patient. Forgiving. Unflappably rational.
Engaged in me and life and everything around him.
He actually spoke with his eyes, crinkling the corners and narrowing them just enough to make me notice when he was choosing his words carefully. They widened infinitesimally when he was working harder to make me agree with his point or when he really wanted me to listen. And they were just as expressive when he was listening to me. They emoted his every feeling and absorbed each accompanying one of mine.
I’d been noticing all along, but forcing myself to forget.
I most certainly wasn’t forgetting right then.
“Okay,” he said, getting himself ready to admit one of his best kept secrets. “Embarrassing. God, yeah, this fits the bill.” He paused again. “Who’s idea was this again?”
I laughed. “Yours.”
He nodded his resignation. “Right. Okay, so. I was fourteen, right?”
“I imagine you were at one time, yes,” I goaded.
He shook his head in amusement. “Well, you know what fourteen is like for guys—”
I raised my brows.
He chuckled and pushed his hair back out of his eyes in discomfort. “Okay, right, I guess you don’t.” He bit his bottom lip and considered his words carefully. “It’s a temperamental time for a young man—hormonally.”
I couldn’t help the stupid smile from forming on my face and sticking, both corners of my mouth secured indefinitely to the corners of my eyes.