Ice Cold

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥

Something cold presses to the skin of my forearm, and I groan, shifting along my mattress, tucked beneath the warmth of my blankets. Ah, wait. No. Not mine.

"What are you doing?"

I question, begrudgingly forcing my eyes open. Blake is standing beside his bed, looking entirely godlike, hair dishevelled at his brow, head tilted, quizzical. He holds a glass of water, topped off with ice, which I presume was the cold thing on my arm. He raises a brow. 

"Getting you some water. Oh, and.. my parents just left. Figured I should let you sleep for awhile after.."

He drifts off, glancing away. I grin. Blake fucking Beckett is shy.

"After we had sex?"

"That."

I shift, forcing myself to sit up so I can reach forward, prying the glass from his hands and into mine. I appreciate the gesture, and try not to think too hard about the fact that he's doing something nice. He was real nice straight after, too- he cleaned me up, got me a change of clothes, left me my space to sleep. However, I ignore how good it makes me feel- that isn't what I'm here for.. or what we agreed to. This is just sex. I sip at the water, watching as Blake moves to sink down on the end of the bed. He looks like he desperately wants to say something; he's fidgeting, fumbling about with his fingers. 

"Blake?"

He looks up, and his gaze meets mine. God, this man has beautiful eyes. Beautiful everything. 

"Was this a one-off, April?"

"I-" I pause, thinking. Was it? There isn't even any worth questioning it, really- I'm still wildly attracted to him. If there is nothing emotional going on between us...well, why wouldn't we just continue as it is? This way, nobody can get hurt. "No. It doesn't have to be."

"Good."

"Good? Is that-" 

He cuts me off, leaning forward, cupping my cheek and kissing me. It isn't so fuelled with desire as perhaps our most recent of kisses- no doubt, we're both too exhausted to even think about going again. This kiss is tender, sweet. I break it. He exhales, and I speak.

"That doesn't mean you can just kiss me whenever you'd like. This stays between us, only us."

"You're not gonna tell Lou? That girl knows about, like, everything there is to know about you." 

"Not this."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

We both nod, then sit in silence. I'm not quite sure what to say, so I opt for placing the half-drunk glass of water on his bedside table, before getting out of his bed, stretching my arms above my head. I catch Blake watching me out of the corner of my eye, mesmerised. 

"Look at me like that, and we won't need to tell anyone about this. They'll already know."

"I can handle not kissing you...but I've been looking at you like this for a long time, April. That's not going to stop now."

My cheeks heat, and I turn away from him, shoving away that little heart-skippy feeling in my chest. This man has not a filter in the world, and he knows exactly how to play the game, to lure a girl into his beautiful, beautiful trap. 

"I should go...you know, while I can."

I speak as I reach for my things, gathering them up in my arms. There's a slight creak as Blake pushes himself up from his bed, crossing the room to open his bedroom door for me. I remain silent, moving to pass by him and move down the hallway- I may not have been in his house under these circumstances before, but I've been here more times than I can count. As children, we'd be forced to 'go and play upstairs, kids!' so our parents could converse about whatever parents converse about. I know every inch of his house, and he knows mine. There is something strangely intimate about it; a house contains all of a person's belongings, all of their photos, their clothes, the place they sleep, what they eat, watch, listen to, the place they spend most of their time. Blake and I probably know more of each other than Lou knows about me, perhaps purely based on the time we've spent in each other's homes. I know that extra kitchen roll is kept in the cupboard beneath the stairs, but only accessible if you can pull the vacuum out of the way. He knows that, if you run too fast down my upstairs hallway, the floorboards can sink, and it becomes incredibly easy to trip. I know that sometimes, the light in his downstairs bathroom goes out, whereas he knows that the one in mine is a bit too unbearably bright. It's strange, really, and I don't realise how many details I can recall right off the top of my head until now. 

It takes us less than a minute to reach the front door, and we slow to a stop, turning to face one another. I find myself, for what seems to be the second or third time this evening, at an entire loss for words. Usually, I know exactly what to say, and when, but with Blake, it is like he steals the ability to speak right from between my lips. He sighs, leans back against the wall, and folds his arms. 

"So, how are we...how are we gonna go about doing this?"

"Don't text me. Lou likes to look at my texts."

"So, how exactly am I supposed to let you know that we could-"

"Here."

I dig into my purse, withdrawing a single penny, stained with a red mark. I'd found it on the street one day, cleaned it, and decided to keep it for good luck. Now, I can use it for this.

"Whoever has the coin decides when to use it. Give it to the other, and we get what we want over with. Then, the other has their turn. Deal?"

Blake grins, and I hold out the coin to him. He unfolds his arms, reaches out a hand and takes it, flipping it between his fingertips as he speaks.

"Deal."