I always miss him. As much as his protectiveness can get old at times, it's also a testament to how close we are.
Nate releases me and pulls at a lock of my hair.
"It's longer," he says. "I like it."
This may be the longest we've gone without seeing each other. I reach up and flick the hair hanging across his forehead.
"So is yours," I say. "And I don't like it."
I smile to let him know I'm kidding.
I actually like the shaggier look on him.
People have always said we look a lot alike, but I don't see it. His skin is a lot darker than mine, which I've always envied.
Our hair is the same rich hue of brown, but our facial features are nothing alike, specifically our eyes. Mom used to tell us that if we put our eyes together, they would look just like a tree.
His were as green as the leaves, and mine were as brown as the trunk. I always envied that he got to be the leaves of the tree, because green was my favorite color growing up.
Nate acknowledges Evans with a nod of his head.
"Hey, man. Rough night?" He asks the question with a laugh, as he knows exactly what kind of night Evans had last night.
Evans walks past both of us.
"I don't know," he says in response. "I don't remember it."
He walks into the kitchen and opens a cabinet, retrieving a cup like he's comfortable enough here to do so.
I don't like that.
I don't like comfortable Evans.
Comfortable Evans opens another cabinet and takes out a bottle of aspirin, fills his cup with water, and pops two of the aspirin into his mouth.
"Did you get all your stuff brought up?" Nate asks me.
"Nope," I say, glancing at Evans when I respond.
"I was kind of preoccupied with your neighbor most of the night."
Evans nervously clears his throat as he washes the glass and places it back in the cabinet. His discomfort with his lapse in memory makes me laugh.
I like that he has no idea what happened last night. I even kind of like that the thought of being with me seems to unnerve him.
I might keep this façade going for a while for my own personal gratification.
Nate looks at me as if he knows what I'm trying to pull.
Evans steps out of the kitchen and glances my way, then looks back to Nate.
"I would have gone back to my place by now, but I can't find my keys. You have my spare set?"
Nate nods and walks to a drawer in the kitchen. He opens it, grabs a key, and tosses it to Evans, who catches it in midair.
"Can you come back in an hour and help me unload Adele's car? I want to shower first."
Evans nods, but his eyes cut briefly to mine as Nate starts walking to his bedroom.
"We'll catch up when it's not too morning," Nate tells me.
It may have been seven years since we've lived together, but he apparently remembers I'm not much of a talker in the morning.
Too bad Evans doesn't know this about me.
After Nate disappears into his bedroom, I turn and face Evans again.
He's already looking at me expectantly, like he's still waiting for me to answer whatever questions he asked me earlier.
I just want him to leave, so I answer them all at once.
"You were passed out in the hallway last night when I got here. I didn't know who you were, so when you tried to get inside the apartment, I might have slammed the door on your hand. It's not broken. I checked it out, and it's bruised at best. Just put some ice on it and wrap it for a few hours. And no, we didn't hook up. I helped you into the apartment, and then I went to bed. Your phone is on the floor by the front door where you dropped it last night because you were too shit-faced to walk."
I turn to head to my room, just wanting to get away from the intensity in his eyes. I spin around when I reach my bedroom door.
"When you come back in an hour and I've had a chance to wake up, we can try this again."
His jaw is firm.
"Try what again?" he asks. "Getting off on the right foot."
I close my bedroom door, putting up a barrier between me and that voice.
That stare.