Page 60 of Under Water

“Um, excuse me,” Logan says. “No friend poaching. Unless you’re hitting on him⁠—”

“Oh my god, Logan,” Matty groans. “Can you not?”

“We’re just two awkward nerds who want to be friends,” I say. “Give him my number, will you? We can hang out.”

Logan nods and pulls out his phone right as something knocks into my back. I tumble forward and catch myself as strong hands haul me back up to my feet. I turn and see Ozzie there, looking mortified.

“I am so sorry. I tripped on my shoelace. I forgot to—eep.” His voice trails off on the oddest little rumbling squeak I have ever heard. His eyes are wide, fixed on Matty, and for a moment, I think he might be behaving weirdly because of the cane. Then he says, “That’s Matias Murphy,” he scream-whispers.

Matty clears his throat. “You know I can hear, right?”

Ozzie’s entire face blooms red like a tomato. “Right. No, I…I know. I’m a huge fan. Was a huge fan? Am? Oh god. Kill me now, please.”

“Go easy on him,” I say, leaning toward Matty. “He’s also a rookie, and he’s way more awkward than us. But he’s a good guy.” When Matty nods, I straighten. “Ozzie, this is Logan’s friend Matty. Matty, this is one of the rookies from the fire station.”

Ozzie shoves his hand out, then pulls it back, then shoves it out again. Matty can clearly see the movement because he’s holding back a smile, and eventually, he takes Ozzie’s hand and shakes it.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you! God, your last game—that final slapshot that nearly took out the net,” Ozzie breathes out.

Matty brightens a little and clears his throat as he takes his hand back. “Uh…thanks.”

“I also cried when they framed your jersey. Anyway, I’m going to go. I’ve embarrassed myself enough.” Then he turns on his heel and literally runs in the other direction.

“So,” I say, turning back to Matty. “You’re kind of famous.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Trust me, I’m not. But it’s nice to know that I’ll go down in history for some people as the guy with the good slapshot and not the rookie who bitched out after his second season.” He squeezes his hands into fists, then hisses in pain and turns to Logan. “So. Want to drive me to my new place?”

I’m being dismissed, and while it stings a bit, I have an actual job to do. “Catch you around, Matty.”

He shoots me a salute off the side of his forehead, but I can see that his fingers are curled, and I think maybe there’s more to Matty’s story than quitting because he didn’t feel like playing any longer. But I’ve already been a nosy dick enough today.

I have my own drama and issues, and while this little incident did enough to take my mind off tonight, now that I’m alone, Easton’s face floods my mind again, and my dick gives a single throb in my pants.

I have no idea if this evening will be a disaster or not, but I’m hoping against hope it ends better than the way our tryst started.

I’m staring at the sad little to-go container of food on my desk, the pasta crusty at the edges from drying out in the microwave. I know I could probably go raid the fridge because there’s every chance North stocked it with something amazing, but I can’t be fucked to get up.

I pick up my fork and poke at the edge when there’s a sudden knock on the door. My gaze snaps up, fully expecting it to be another lost soul, when my heart leaps into my mouth and settles between my teeth.

Easton’s leaning against the doorframe, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other holding a bag in his hand. He’s wearing a tight T-shirt that should be fucking illegal to show off all those muscles, and his hair is a little windswept, several curls sticking up.

He smiles at me after a beat. “Uh. Is that your lunch?”

I glance down, then back up at him. “Leftovers.”

He wrinkles his nose and walks over, setting the bag in front of me. Immediately, I smell the fragrant spices from Saag and Saffron. And I’m pretty sure my nose immediately detects the tandoori chicken I’m obsessed with.

“What, ah,” I say, then clear my throat. “What is this?”

“Lunch. I had a feeling you’d be all sad and alone at your desk.”

“Fuck off,” I snap, but only because he’s right, and it makes me feel pathetic.

His smile doesn’t falter. He turns and closes the door, turning the lock, then draws the blinds and grabs the chair from the other side of the desk, plopping it down next to me.

I clear my throat again. “Are you going to feed me?”