“You’ve beaten me before.”
I snort. “Barely.”
“Maybe my suffering will be enough to give you an advantage tonight.”
“Oh, no way,” I argue. “I love that you love trivia night as much as I do, but please do not drag your broken ass up to Trailhead tonight.”
“I have to deal with my bike, and I told Beau I’d be there.”
"You know Beau will help with your bike if you call him. And that'll make him a lot happier than if you show up at the bar justto see his sorry face. So stay here. Nap when I leave. Order food. Ignore the rest of your dishes. Take a book out back. Finish the bottle of wine on the counter."
Jake closes his eyes for a few seconds, already groggier by the time he opens them again. “I have to work, too.”
“I highly recommend doing that after the nap, but before the wine,” I say. Then I carefully slide out from beneath his feet and keep my coffee close as I stand. “Seriously, I’m not gonna threaten you with the group chat again, but I’dreallylike you to heal sooner rather than later, so please take a break from us for a while.”
“If you’re not too busy in the keg room, do you think you could text me a few of the really good questions?”
I’m so glad I’m not halfway through another sip, my laugh quick and sharp. “Gonna be free to text you questions all night long, old man.”
“Are you gonna keep calling me that when we’re—” Jake shakes his head and sighs, but I swear he blushes, too. “When we’re better friends?”
“It’s not usually my thing, but I guess we’ll find out.”
“Hey now, I’ve been around you long enough to know I won’t be your first old man. What about the attorney in WeHo?”
Jesus. I’d wanted to ask him about that night, and now that he’s brought it up, I have a different point to make. I smile down at him, fully aware that I’d rather drop to the couch again.
"I didn’t mean that older men aren’t my thing—just that I rarely get off on calling them something sweet mid-fuck," Iexplain. "Might complicate things more than I’d like."
“Ah, of course. Gotta keep that emotional distance when there’s nothing else between you.”
I wink before I turn and take my coffee back to the kitchen, doubling back afterward so I can jog upstairs and grab the few things I’d left in the guest room. By the time I return, Jake’s pulled a light throw blanket over himself, probably the perfect counter for the air conditioning humming from everywhere else, and his eyes only flutter open when he hears me step close enough to catch him on his way to a nap.
Years at Trailhead have given me plenty of chances to see Jake when he’s tired. Hell, last night—or early this morning—I’d watched him sleep in his own damn bed. But something about this is different, and I’d be a fool to compare it to any of the other times I’ve walked away from someone too worn out to bother with a more enthusiastic goodbye. Jake’s a friend, and I’m going to see him again soon enough, and this is barely a goodbye at all.
It still feels like the end of something important.
I pause and think maybe I need a nap of my own, especially when I don’t just thank him for the coffee and run.
“Hey, Jake?”
“Hmmm?”
“You asked me what this is,” I start, pausing almost immediately to clear my throat. “If it’s not help or a favor or charity—you want to know what this is.”
“I do.”
I press a fist to the back of the couch, careful not to reach any further before I nod once, confident all over again.
“It’s a fucking privilege.”