He paused, catching Lake’s eye. “Good morning.”
Bit by bit, Lake unglued himself from Knight. “You’re awake and you willingly let me slobber all over your chest?”
“You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“But you hate it when I suck water straight from the faucet. How can you stand this?”
Knight set the book on the bedside table. “This cannot be compared.”
“I know, it’s worse. I should wake up depressed about last night. Not worrying if I’ve repulsed you.”
“Trust me, I feel anything but repulsed.”
That sounded decidedly honest and tender. Although, of course Knight meant it sensibly. No one could control themselves while sleeping, and drooling was natural. Nothing to be ashamed of.
“Fine,” Lake said. “I won’t apologize.”
“I wouldn’t accept it if you did.”
“Ugh, you’re too much in the morning.”
“Me?” Knight sounded genuinely surprised.
“Yes. You’re hyper awake, with no hair out of place, while reading and sanctimoniously telling me it’s okay that I dribbled over your nipple.”
Knight considered this. “Would it help if I said I ran a hand through my hair?”
“Absolutely not.” Lake smirked. “Now I really understand why you’re single.”
Knight glanced at his wet, matted chest hair. “Back at you.”
Lake shoved Knight off the bed, laughter bursting between them.
His surprisingly good mood lasted throughout his morning shower until he bumped into Harry in the kitchen.
Harry, steaming mug in hand, had better color in his cheeks this morning. “How was the party?”
Discomfort wormed in Lake’s gut. He barely felt the bite of cool tile on his soles as he padded toward the coffee machine. How did he begin to disappoint Harry? “Um . . . it was . . .”
How could he look at that cute face, clearly hopeful that Lake would share something about Philip missing him, and tell him the truth? “It was fun.”
How did Lake live with himself?
“Are you spending another day in bed?” Lake asked.
“I’m feeling better, but . . .” Harry flushed. “Martin’s coming by and making me soup. Wants to watch a movie.”
Lake eyed Harry’s flush, understanding the temptation behind it. Remembering Knight pressed against him, those brown eyes seductive in the dark. “Too much stimulus”—Lake snapped from his deviant thought—“might make your cold come back.”
“I’ll take it easy. It’s been awkward with him since I said I didn’t want to return, so this feels like a white flag. Us, just moving on.”
Lake nodded. He would not interfere. Look where that had gotten him.
Knight swept into the room, dressed in cargo shorts and an old, threadbare shirt. “Ready?”
Not really. He hadn’t even started coffee.
But what else were coffee shops for but to avoid telling your friend you fucked up their love life. “Yep, let’s go.”
They arrived at Tranquil Café before the Sunday rush. Rain droplets slithered down their faces. Knight lifted his shirt, dabbing himself dry, and Lake snorted. A weird nervous response to how sharply his body reacted.
Knight dropped his shirt and eyed him, and Lake beelined toward a free table. Coffee consumed at record speed, he fidgeted with his phone. Knight kept looking at him, like he wanted to say something.
Did he want to know why he’d hurried them out of the house? “I chickened out, okay?”
Knight lifted a brow.
“Telling Harry. Isn’t that what you’re wondering?”
Knight frowned into his cup. “Not even close.” He looked up. “You will have to tell him though. Better from you than from Philip.”
Lake cringed, and grabbed his phone.
Knight nabbed it from him, chuckling. “Not via text.”
“He’s going to hate me.”
“Harry is one of the kindest guys I’ve met. I find that hard to believe.”
Lake’s phone buzzed. West flashed on the screen.
Lake greedily grabbed his phone back, earning a startled look from Knight. “It’s about Taylor’s party this Sunday.”
“What remarkable enthusiasm. How can I get that too?”
Grinning at Knight, he tapped out a reply. “Be funny, gay and single.”
“I’m all those things.”
“I’m enthused.”
An hour later, they arrived at Lake’s cottage stocked with supplies and tools. Four hours after that, stomach twisting, Lake left Knight DIYing to get to the food bank on time. To his utter relief, Philip had swapped his shift, so Lake only had his own memories to haunt him through the day.
Exhausted, Lake picked up a mortar-dusted Knight and drove home, the fun prospect of talking to Harry occupying his mind.
“I won’t hold back this time. Won’t procrastinate. I’ll confess that I screwed up. That I misread Philip.”
Knight hummed, and Lake shot him a look.
“What does that mean?”
“This is a sixty zone. You’re going thirty.”
Lake’s stomach jumped with nerves with every ounce of pressure he applied to the gas. “Okay, okay, okay. The faster we’re home, the faster I’m done.”
“That’s the right attitude.”
“This is the worst day of my life.”
“You’ll feel lighter once Harry knows.”
Lighter? Hmpf. “I’ll feel like throwing myself under a train.”
“Are you just being dramatic, or dramatic and referencing Tolstoy?”