Only One Bed

I was about to tell him it was okay and that he didn’t have to play when he began a familiar-sounding song. It was one of those old Christmas carols I think I sang in choir in elementary school. Not “Silent Night,” but similar. My brain whirred as I tried to place it.

Etienne’s fingers danced, his wrists undulating. He swayed a little side to side, his posture still perfect. I was mesmerized. A lyric from the song filled my head.

Fall on your knees

The butterflies in my stomach flapped, and I had to be blushing even harder now. What was this? I didn’t… Did I? With Etienne? With my best friend?

Why couldn’t I tear my eyes away from him? Why did I…want? What did I want?

The gentle music rose and fell like it was controlling my breath. I stood frozen in place beside the piano, watching Etienne’s profile. He had to be concentrating, but he didn’t look like he was. His lips were parted and eyes hooded. Those thick eyelashes swept over his cheeks that were still pink from the cold.

The song—I remembered suddenly the name was “O Holy Night” or something similar—filled the air, and if this was Etienne rusty at the piano? I’d seriously not paid attention to how good he was.

It seemed effortless, like his fingers stroking the keys were magic. I’d watched him skate a ton, and it was a skater’s job to make extremely hard moves look easy. He and Bree would glide along with the lightest smiles that masked the burn of lactic acid in their legs. Etienne was an expert at faking ease.

This was different. I felt like he really was relaxed as he played the song, seemingly lost in his own world that I wanted to be a part of.

I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to kiss my best friend.

I wanted to kiss my male best friend.

Oh shit. What? Why? How? Since when? I didn’t kiss guys. I’d never wanted to. Had I? Staring at Etienne play, I felt like my brain was leaking out of my ears. Because I definitely wanted to kiss him, and I guessed it didn’t matter who else I did or didn’t want to kiss.

Because no one else mattered.

I was about to climb on the piano and straddle his lap so I could get my mouth against his when the song ended with a last echoing note. A new noise filled the air, and I realized everyone in the lounge was looking our way and clapping.

Good thing I didn’t climb on the piano.

Etienne stood and nodded, giving the people a little smile. They all seemed genuinely impressed and not just being polite. I was struck with a memory of the first time our class in grade nine saw Etienne skate.

Some of the kids—especially the boys—had teased him when they found out he was a figure skater. Not just a skater, but an ice dancer, which sounded even more feminine to the assholes who thought skating was for girls.

It was actually how we’d become friends. I knew how hard and awesome skating was. I think I stood up for him one day? It was a blur now. He’d known who Henry was, and we’d sat together at lunch that day. And every day after.

Now, as I looked at the impressed faces in the lounge, I remembered the day our gym class went skating. How Etienne had flown around the rink going forward and back, spinning and weaving around the guys who skated okay from playing hockey but were clumsy next to him.

He’d won their grudging respect that day, and I’d been so proud of him. Pride burst out of me now, and I realized I was grinning at him. He returned the smile, hitching one shoulder in a shrug.

“That song’s easy too,” he said.

And shit, I still wanted to kiss him.

“Eat!” I blurted. “We should eat.” I was so lightheaded it would be my turn to faint and get a concussion if I didn’t get my shit together.

We found a pair of leather armchairs with a table between, and the server brought us appetizers and cocktails. He told me about Theo Sullivan stepping up to help and how everyone had pitched in to create a routine for him on the fly. I listened and smiled and ate little melted brie quiches and truffle fries.

And I still wanted to kiss him.

Fuuuuuuck.

After pacing the tiny cabin for too long, I tapped my phone and called Henry. It had been a whole night and day since I’d wanted to kiss Etienne. I’d barely slept, way too aware of his body so close to me.

I’d hardly breathed with longing. The bed had seemed smaller, Etienne right there, mumbling in his sleep as he’d shifted, his elbow brushing my ribs.

What was happening? Why was this temporary insanity not going away? We’d hung out and played League, which I’d sucked at massively because I kept getting distracted by the way he bit his tongue when he really concentrated.