Tell Me Our Story

Jonathan shook him off and whirled toward him. Their gazes clashed hard, like cymbals, like heavy waves against boulders.

“Go back to her, O’Hara. I’m not interested.”

O’Hara pushed wet hair off his face. “I don’t want to.”

“What?”

That shivering, wet mess stepped closer. “I don’t. Want. To.”

Jonathan couldn’t . . . Rain continued to pelt them and O’Hara hugged his chest over a shiver.

Still frowning, Jonathan wrapped his warm hand around O’Hara’s freezing one.

He led him home, each step sending O’Hara’s shivers right through him.

Jonathan herded him into the warm hall, helped with his soaking boots, and pushed him into his room. “Change.”

O’Hara’s damp clothing clung tightly to him; Jonathan stood in the lit hall, veins pulsing hard. They stared at one another, one long beat.

With a stir of rain-scented air, Jonathan lunged for the door and shut it. His hand clutched the knob tightly as a wave of dizziness threw him off balance.

More shivers wracked him as he readied himself for bed, shut safe in his room; he stared blankly into his t-shirt drawer. Picked up a dark green one.

As he slipped under his fresh cotton sheets, a knock came at his door. Jonathan stiffened. “Yes?”

The door squealed open and O’Hara padded in, stopping at the bed. Only the slither of moonlight peeking through the gaps in the curtains gave the room any definition at all. But Jonathan didn’t need to see O’Hara to feel the air stir where he stood, smell the waft of damp hair that had been shampooed, hear the amusement in his voice. “Slight problem. Teeny tiny, really.”

Jonathan waited.

“My bed got drenched. My fault. I left the window open.”

Jonathan closed his eyes. “When you climbed out of it?”

“Um, yes? It’s kind of a habit.”

“. . .”

“I checked the linen cupboard. Even if I flip the mattress, you’re out of alternative bedding.”

This was . . . payback for procrastinating with last week’s laundry.

“Which makes the couch too cold to crash on.”

Payback for every bad decision he’d ever made.

O’Hara perched on the edge of the bed, inches from Jonathan’s prone body, mattress bowing, threatening to close the inches. “I definitely wouldn’t take Savvy’s room.”

Steadily, somehow, “That would be inappropriate.”

“So . . .”

Jonathan palmed his forehead.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” O’Hara scurried over him toward the free side of the bed, hands and knees and toes traversing Jonathan’s chest and thighs like he was merely uneven turf. O’Hara’s leg slipped between his knees and Jonathan sucked in a breath, grabbed O’Hara at arm’s length and propelled him to the free side. He landed with a bounce and a laugh and then wriggled his limbs under the covers, immediately curling on his side, annexing the middle of the bed. “Cold, cold, cold. Come closer.”

“You’ll warm up. Give it a second.”

O’Hara strampled his legs, like that might warm the sheets faster. All it did was shovel cool air between them.

A cold leg hit his warm one and Jonathan’s breath caught. “Back to your side.”

“But—”

“Your side.”

O’Hara grumbled and put exaggerated distance between them.

“Better.”

Huffy laughter. Then, “So what are we gonna chat about?”

“Nothing. Sleep.” The sooner they slept, the sooner this . . . situation would be done with.

“Yeah, there’s no way I can sleep just like that. I need lulling. Lull me.”

“Can you not lull yourself?”

“You might not appreciate the way I get myself to sleep.”

“. . .”

“So lull me.”

“Shameless.”

A pause. Jonathan pictured O’Hara grinning.

“Tell me a bedtime story. Or massage my back.”

“Not happening.”

O’Hara sighed and twisted onto his other side, facing the window. “You’re no fun—oh my God. You kept my poster?”

Jonathan’s eyes widened.

“It’s even stretched out on the floor. I’m on display.”

Jonathan launched himself across the bed, body slanting over O’Hara’s giggling one. He pushed the poster under the bed. The giggling grew to shuddering wracks, and thick puffs of laughter hit his ear. Their legs were a tangle and their t-shirts were bunched unevenly at their stomachs.

Jonathan glared down at O’Hara. “It’s not what you think.”

Another soft pelt of laughter. “What do I think?”

He gritted his teeth and glanced away. O’Hara steered his face back to him, moonlight stronger here so close to the windows. That arched brow and those quivering lips. “It fell there after your last shenanigans.”

“You didn’t roll it up and put it away.”

“I ignored it.”

“You didn’t open your curtains once in the last week?”

Their gazes held in the dark. Jonathan’s nose tingled so close to O’Hara’s. He pushed either side of those shaking shoulders and flipped himself back to his side of the bed.

He turned his back to O’Hara.

The shaking ceased. Softly, whispered, “I like that it’s in here.”

Long beats passed. Jonathan was glad for the dark. For once, he couldn’t have controlled his blush.

Another long pause. O’Hara cleared his throat. “I’m gonna put a picture of you in my room too.”

Jonathan almost rolled onto his back. Almost. He clamped his palm around the edge of the mattress instead.