We Go Way Back

chapter six

RORY AND MILES hung up at nearly two in the morning, and only when Corbin very loudly got up, sighed, and went into the bathroom after bidding a curt goodnight. I spent a few more minutes gushing about the baby with them before they decided it was too late for them to be awake. I turned off the iPad and fell against makeshift bed on the sofa, surrounded by my bags of clothes. Yet again, I forgot to ask for a blanket, so I grab a puffer coat and wrap it around me.

Corbin must've closed the black-out blinds before I arrived at the apartment, but I refuse to fall asleep before seeing that breathtaking view of the lake. I walk over to the switches, turn off the lights and with a soft buzz, the blinds go up, revealing the bay and the buildings on the other bank and the boats. The sound of the shower mingles with the noise of rushing waves. How did such a moody, broody person get blessed with this panoramic view? God really has its favorites.

"Delilah?"

I turn on my heels as the one I was thinking about materializes in front of me. I back up against the glass as I notice that he is not wearing a shirt.

I won't lie and say that I have never stared at Corbin's physique in the last two decades. We've been contrived roommates in far too many vacations; I've seen him change through the mirror of various hotel bathrooms, averting my gaze too late; I've seen his lean body diving into pools like a sharp arrow more times than I can count.

It doesn't help that, despite his revolting personality, his body is easy to look at. The room is illuminated by sparkling lights reflecting against water, casting an eerie glow over him. He's little more than a shadow, but my mouth goes dry at the sight of his chiseled torso. It's a purely physical reaction, pheromones, and shit.

"Yeah," I mutter, forcing myself to look up at his face. "What is it?"

"You need to take these bags out of the living room," he says. Corbin is freshly showered, and his hair is finally free from the layers of gel that tame the curly strands. I can't think of a reason that would lead him to get rid of his curls and waves.

I bring my defenses back up and my arms to my chest. "I can't quite shove them in my pocket, uh?"

"Put them in the closet, in the bedroom." He tiredly runs a hand through his face as he yawns.

"I don't know how I feel about entering your bedroom while you're sleeping," I muse, picturing the scenario in my mind. Whatever I do, how quietly and quickly I get in and out, it ends up with him throwing something at me. "And I get up pretty early, I don't want to wake you up."

He sighs, he sighs a lot now, I've noticed. "I don't really care, just put them there," he insists. "I don't want them scattered in the living room. It makes me restless. Sleep in the bedroom if you must."

I groan. "Fine, I'll put them there," I concede. "But I'll sleep here, if you wake up with me walking in, that's on you."

"Whatever," he mumbles, retreating to his bedroom.

I follow him, carrying two of my bags in my arms. He opens the farthest closet door and I chuck the bags inside, shuttling back to the living room to get the rest. I pray for the day in which I will not have all my belongings in grocery bags and old suitcases.

When all my things are safe inside of Corbin's closet, I retrieve my laptop from my backpack and sit down on the island. Three industrial light fixtures fall from the ceiling, illuminating the marbled surface while leaving the rest of the room in the dark.

"Are you studying?" I almost fall from the stool, startled. Corbin slowly ambles into the kitchen, heading to the fridge, from which he takes the bottle of milk. I thought he was going to bed now and that I'd be alone. "Coffee?"