Obsessed with My Rival

Lucas

I found my mug in the dishwasher, still warm and smelling faintly of lemon. Oliver had run it with six things inside. I knew because five of them were mine.

He was at the kitchen table with his laptop open and a slice of toast balanced on the edge of his plate. Outside, somebody was scraping leaves off the sidewalk. Inside, there was just enough coffee left in the pot for half a mug.

I held it up. "You want to tell me why you made coffee for one and a half people?"

"I made it for two. You slept through breakfast."

"It's eight."

Oliver looked over the lid of his laptop. He was already dressed for the rink, his hair still flattened on one side from his pillow. "It's nine twenty."

I checked the microwave clock. Nine twenty-three. We were supposed to be at the rink at ten, and the walk took twelve minutes if we caught the light.

"You could've woken me up."

"I tried."

He tapped his phone and a long, breathy groan came out of it.

I set the pot down too hard. A little coffee slopped onto the counter. "Why the hell do you have that on your phone?"

"You told me I was making it up."

"When?"

He turned the screen around. There I was on my bed, one leg out from under the covers, telling him to give me five more minutes in a voice that sounded like I had somebody in there with me. He'd filmed the whole thing from the doorway.

I remembered the dream. I'd been fighting him in it. I decided to keep that part to myself.

"You watched that more than once?" I asked.

"Once was plenty. Nice underwear, by the way."

"You found the good part pretty fast."

His eyes stayed on mine for a second. Then he picked up his toast. "You have coffee on your sock."

I looked down. By the time I looked up, he'd put his phone away.

Oliver had been getting me with that trick since we were kids. The infuriating part was that there usually was something on my sock.

"Delete it," I said.

"Okay." He finished chewing before he reached for the phone again. He showed me the screen while he deleted it. "You got ten minutes to get dressed?"

"I need five."

I needed eight. He waited by the front door with his bag while I spent the last two looking for my keys, and he didn't say a word when I found them in the pocket of the jacket I was already wearing.

By the time we got home that evening, there was a load of laundry waiting in the dryer. It was mine, but Oliver had his clean sheets in his arms, so I took my stuff out before he could ask. I left the basket on my bed and went to find a charger.

When I came back, he'd made his bed and set two socks on my pillow. The black one was mine. The white one had his initials on the sole.

"You keep putting my stuff in with yours," he said.

"They were in the same dryer for about ten seconds."

He took the white sock off my pillow and dropped it in his drawer. His clean clothes were stacked in neat rows. Mine were still in the basket in roughly the shape they'd come out of the dryer.

I waited until he went to brush his teeth, then pulled a pair of black boxer briefs out of his drawer and replaced them with the lace ones he'd caught me wearing before. I folded them so the lace was on the inside. He'd have to pick them up to see it.

I got back to my bed and had one leg over the edge when I heard the drawer open.

"Lucas."

I grinned at the wall. "Yeah?"

"Where are mine?"

"In the basket. Probably."

I still had them in my hand.

Oliver came around to my side of the room. I shoved the briefs into the laundry basket and started down the ladder. My knee bumped the basket on the way over. I had one foot on the bottom rung when I saw it tip. I grabbed for the handle, missed, and came off the ladder sideways.

Oliver caught me by the upper arms. I grabbed the front of his shirt and looked up at the exact moment he leaned down.

My lips landed squarely on his. Hard enough that my front tooth caught the inside of my lip.

For a second I stood there with my hands twisted in his shirt. I could taste his toothpaste. I'd just kissed Oliver Whitmore.

His fingers loosened on my arms and I let go so fast I knocked my elbow against the bed frame.

He took a step back. His thumb came up to his mouth, then dropped to his side when he caught me looking. I bent to pick up a T-shirt and realized it was the one I was standing on.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Elbow." I rubbed it so he'd have something to look at. There was a little color high on his cheeks. If I asked whether I'd hurt him, I'd have to say where.

"Your underwear's on the floor," I said.

He looked down at the pile between us. The pair I'd stolen was right on top. He picked it up by the waistband.

"These clean?"

"They were when I stole them."

"Okay." He folded them once, like he'd come over here to ask about the laundry and gotten exactly the answer he needed. "I'm gonna shower."

"Go ahead."

Go ahead. Like he'd asked. I waited until he was out in the hall before I touched my lip.

I put the laundry back in the basket one piece at a time. It gave me something to do with my hands. When I found the lace pair on the floor by his open drawer, I shut the drawer and shoved them in with the rest of my clothes. I'd already made enough of a production out of touching his stuff for one night.

Later, I got into bed and pulled the blanket up to my chin. The room was cool. From down the hall came the familiar knock in the pipes when somebody turned the shower on.

Hot water ran over the back of my neck.

I jerked upright. The heat spread across my shoulders and down my spine in a steady stream. I put a hand to the back of my neck, expecting to come away wet.

My skin was dry. So was the pillow under my other hand.

The water kept running down my back.

What the fuck?