Heyyyy Lukey how are you
I might have had a few drinks tonight lol
Shit. So much for not being flirty.
I can’t delete the text, so I go take a shower, and a reply from Luke is waiting for me when I finish.
My heart skips a beat.
LUKE TREMBLAY
Jeg har det godt
I let out a sharp snicker. The fucker texted me in Danish. There’s no way that was an accident. Still smiling, my finger hits the call button and Luke’s face pops up on my screen. He’s in bed with adorably messed up hair, and if I didn’t know it’s only 5 p.m. in Toronto, I’d think that I woke him up.
“Hey, Erik, it’s pretty late where you are. What’s up?” he asks, with all the false innocence in the world.
“I’m not Danish!” I whine.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. How’s life in Reykjavik treating you?”
“Nice try Lukey, you aren’t that good at baiting me.”
Great. I used his nicknameagain.
Luke breaks into a heart-melting smile. “Lukey.” He rolls the syllables over his tongue as he speaks, as if he’s savoring the sound. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in ages.”
“Do you miss it or something?”
“Maybe a little bit.”
I bark out a laugh. “Maybe I miss you a little bit.”
Shit.
Luke, who was resting his phone on his knee, picks it up again and brings it close to his face. He bites the tip of his tongue, and I get a flash of his brilliant white teeth.
The silence turns uncomfortable as it stretches. “Luke, you’re killing me, say something?—”
“So it’s not just me,” he cuts in, snapping me to attention.
“What do you mean?”
“I said what I said.” Luke shrugs at the camera. “Fuck, Erik. I miss having you around.”
His words, the sight of him reminiscing, it’s too much. “Yeah, same. It’s been hell. You must have put crack in the food you gave me or something.”
Luke grins at that comment, his head rolling back into the headboard with a soft thud. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says. “You’re an athlete, after all.”
The right side of his mouth curves up even more, and he’s scrunching his eyes up in a way that makes him even cuter. I’m less drunk than I was earlier, but I still have a tiny buzz that might as well be acting as a damn truth serum.
And when I zero in on my mental state, it’s clear that alcohol has already worn off. There’s no dizziness, nothing. I’ve held my own under the influence of a lot more. Can I really pin my slip-up on drinking?
The answer is starting to look like a no.
My arm is getting tired, so I set my phone against my desk lamp before leaning back in my chair. “Sorry for having this conversation when I’m a mess,” I say, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “I just got out of the shower when you texted back.”
He’s wearing some kind of tense smile, one that I haven’t seen before. “Yeah, I can tell.”
