I roll my eyes, even though I know Calum can’t see me through my mobile. In the past week of befriending the kid, I’ve come to the realization that he doesn’t understand personal space, or leaving me alone for more than a day. The day of his big fit of me being ill—and it’s not that uncommon, I’m human for fuckssakes—he slept on my futon and made sure I was okay the next day. Lo and behold, I kept down the cereal I ate that morning. And then I had to practically push him out of my apartment because, even though I enjoy his company, I enjoy my own as well—if not more.
But I know that with our newfound friendship, I’ve got to tread carefully. And it’s harder than I’d think when he’s calling me every day if we’ve not seen each other face to face just to “See how I am, I mean we are friends, right?” He’s the master of guilt-tripping. So even though I’m in someone else’s house, visiting someone else, I still take his call. And I still listen to him drone on about this cute little puppy he’s going to get.
I cast a quick glance to the red headed sex on a stick behind me. When I asked for Michael’s address last night because I was okay and wanted some, he sent it right it away. So I drove over, no clothing packed, not anything packed really, and knocked on his door. We stared at each other for a moment before laughing ourselves to abs. I dyed my hair only a shade darker than his. After some jokes of great minds, we skipped the niceties and just got to it.
I must say, he’s gotten better since I last saw him. Although, we were under the influence for two of the four fucks, and the other two with a hangover. And since we went at it until the early morning, he told me I could sleep over. I figure, what’s the harm if this’ll be a regular thing? We should get well acquainted enough to be willing to spend nights over each other’s houses now.
“You’re moving?” I whisper. We can’t have animals in our complex unless it’s a necessity.
“What? No. And why are you whispering?”
I cough, slowly crawling out of Michael’s bed and out of his room. Which is a mess. But it was easy to ignore with our… activities. But now that I’m not drunk on his sweat and kisses, I’ve half the mind to clean it. But the other half is focused on the boy on my phone and getting out of this room so I can chat with him without having to be quiet.
“Hold on,” I demand, not waiting for an answer. I set my phone on the edge of Michael’s mattress, and begin to look around the floor for my shirt and underwear. No luck on my shirt, I grab a random tee, sniff it, and then toss it aside. After repeating this a few times, I finally find a not-so-cringe worthy smelling shirt and pull it over my head. And then I’m on the search for my panties.
It takes me a moment as I try to recall where our clothing was flung as we disrobed each other. But I can’t remember because in the heat of the moment, I was kissing Michael, and paying attention to Michael, and forgetting about my garments because I just wanted them off. Thankfully, though, I find my laced undies hanging off of the knob of his closet door. How the hell it got over there, I have no clue. But I ignore the rationality of the situation and just pull them up and over my legs.
Finally as dressed as I’d like to be, I snatch up my phone and make my way from the room. “Alright. I’m back. You were saying.”
