Page 57 of We Could Be So Good
He doesn’t know how to do this. All his experience is fast and furtive, either anonymous or near to it. He doesn’t know how to translate that to this. He doesn’t know how to exist in the space between mutually acknowledged interest and acting on that interest. They should already be kissing—fuck that, they should already be in bed—and instead Nick turns around and starts organizing the top shelf of his refrigerator, sliding a stick of butter to the right and a jar of mayonnaise to the left as if he’s going to get an award for having all the condiments at right angles to one another.
He hears Andy huff a laugh behind him.
The fact is that he doesn’t have any experience at all in whatever this is. He doesn’t know how to make a move on his best friend. He doesn’t even know if heshouldmake a move. Is that even what Andy wants? Maybe he wants to go slower. Maybe he’s nervous. Andy gets nervous, right? Nick is pretty nervous, too, now that he thinks about it.
“I have laundry to fold,” he announces, and marches down the hall to his bedroom, where indeed he has a pile of laundry sitting on his bed. Yesterday he had gone to the laundromat instead of doing what he usually does, which is spend a stupid amount of money sending his laundry out. It turns out that no price is too steep if it means he doesn’t have to fold his own clothes.
He stares at the mountain of laundry. Some of it’s Andy’s, since they’ve been piling their clothes in the same hamper since he moved in. “I have some of your clothes,” Nick calls out, unnecessarily loud considering that Andy is leaning in the doorway, regarding him with an amused expression.
“So you do,” Andy says. “Want me to come in and get them?”
That shouldn’t be a difficult question, should it? But Nick doesn’t know the answer. “Sure?” he manages.
They stand on opposite sides of the bed, sorting the wrinkled heap of clothes. Nick passes Andy a sock that definitely isn’t Nick’s. Andy passes Nick an undershirt. This is the opposite of seduction. If Nick quits theChronicleand instead devotes his life to seeking out the least seductive activity, he’ll never find anything worse than folding laundry.
Not that Andy is folding anything. He’s just gathering everything under his arm in a ball.
“You aren’t going to fold that?”
“Definitely wasn’t planning on it.”
“The ladies at the laundry place always fold it.”
Andy raises an eyebrow. “The ladies at the laundry place aren’t here to judge me.”
“What are you going to do, shove it all in a drawer?”
“Got it in one.”
“Barbarian.”
“Set yourself free, Nicky. You don’t need to fold your underpants.”
Nick’s face heats. Like a goddamn twelve-year-old, he’s blushing because a boy mentioned his underpants. “I don’t fold my underpants,” he grumbles.
“No, the ladies at the laundry place do.”
Andy crosses to Nick’s side, dumping his crumpled ball of laundry onto the bed. Nick can’t bring himself to look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Andy lift a hand, and then he feels Andy touch his shoulder before skimming his palm down Nick’s sleeve and taking Nick’s hand.
“C’mere,” he says, tugging Nick to face him. “You’re so nervous.”
“Am not.”
“You could at least look at me.”
Nick does. He flicks a glance at Andy and sees that his cheeks are a bit pink and that he’s biting his lip. “I can’t,” Nick says. “I literally cannot look at you.” He has the urge to close his eyes to hide from whatever is making his heart thud stupidly in his chest.
With his free hand, Andy touches Nick’s face, gently nudging him so he has to turn his head. “I’ve been wanting to do this.” His voice is little more than a whisper.
“Do what?” Nick asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.
Nick can’t understand why he’s so overwhelmed. He isn’t new at this. Not by a long shot. He isn’t even new toAndytouching him.
“You look like you expect me to pull out a switchblade at any moment,” Andy says.
“Sorry.”
“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Andy teases.
