I waited for Angel to come out of his shower stall, then I came out of mine. He took three steps. Yeah, I was walking rather close, my towel in my hand instead of around my middle. Maybe I bumped him. Maybe I didn’t. His feet were huge, and suddenly, he was on just one, his arms whirling like a propeller. Then he was up against me, and we hit the bank of lockers with a crash.
“Sorry,” he said, his mouth close to mine.
“Don’t be.” Though Angel’s klutziness was serendipitous, I knew we were alone. I’d taken the longest shower of my life on purpose, listening to him whistle “Deck the Halls,” a song I worried might forever after give me a hard-on. Angel must have known we were alone, too, because he didn’t make a move to get his wet, nude body off mine. “I miss us doing things like this.”
“
