Page 16 of A Match Made In Evan
“But seriously,” Joey chimes in again, “how did you go from buddies to fu—uh—snuggle buddies?”
His words only make me think about how much I enjoy cuddling my best friend.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
“Well,” Evan shrugs, oblivious to my hitching breath, “it was kind of gradual, I guess? One day we just…connected…had a moment…whatever, and it felt…right.”
The strangest surge of emotion wells up inside me, bringing tears to my eyes and a longing that I just can’t comprehend. I swallow and clear my throat, blinking back the moisture, thankful for the darkness I was cursing on our earlier walk up.
“Chemistry and comfort, then,” Joey says as I have my moment. “Like you said earlier, Mister D.”
“Yeah,” my reply comes out a little strangled and I clear my throat again. Chemistry and comfort. Funny how I never thought of having those with Ev before. But I guess it’s not a lie. Wedohave those things. “That’s exactly it.”
“Well, damn,” he laments as he keeps walking. “I don’t think Tristan and I have those things.”
“He’s straight,” Mia calls back over her shoulder, and Joey huffs.
“Trust you to know that.”
Mia stops for a moment to glare at him. “Shut up.”
My ears perk up as my eyes narrow, and Evan gives me a squeeze. “Don’t,” he warns in my ear, his breath making me shiver like it always does. “She’s allowed to have some secrets.” Raising his voice, he says, “Keep moving. We’ve got ten minutes to get you all in and out of the loos and into bed.”
“I like it when you’re all authoritative,” I tease him, letting him know I’ll drop the topic of Mia andTristanfor now.
“I’ll remember that,” he replies playfully.
Chapter Eight
Evan
“Will you stop moving?” James grumbles as I sigh and roll over for what has to be the hundredth time tonight. It wobbles the entire mattress, but thankfully the bed isn’t squeaking like the one in the hotel we stayed in a few weeks back.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “Go back to sleep.”
“That implies I was asleep to begin with,” he chuckles. Then the mattress wobbles as he sits up, propping his back against the solid, timber headboard. “What’s up?”
“I dunno,” I answer, and it comes out mildly irritable. “I’m just…restless.”
I can’t quite pinpoint why. I’ve felt antsy ever since the bonfire earlier tonight. It’s like something is niggling at the back of my brain, but I really can’t put words to the feeling.
“Did you have too many marshmallows?” James asks teasingly, in the same sort of tone he used to use with Mia when she was little. It makes me smile.
“Fuck off, I can handle my sugar just fine.”
“Uh huh. My memories of Mia’s eighth birthday say differently.”
“Youdaredme to eat that cake.”
“Not the whole thing!”
“Yeah, well, that’s not what I heard at the time.”
On top of the lollies I’d consumed, and the litre of soft drink, I’d wound up throwing it all up and feeling like shit for days. I still blame him for the miscommunication.
“So…” he cocks his head, “what’s wrong, then? If it’s not the sugar, I mean.”
Giving up all pretence of trying to sleep, I sit up next to him. We’re both fully-grown men, with him a bit broader in the shoulders and thicker in the middle than me, and we take up the bulk of the space of the queen bed. It really does make me think fondly of all our youthful sleepovers, like I’m reclaiming an old part of our friendship which we’ve lost over the years.
