Page 52 of In the Same Boat

I pause in the doorway, worried about what I might walk into. Daring myself to peek, I see Nico sprawled out on the sofa, controller in hand, shooting zombies on the TV. Oh, and he’s got a McDonald’s meal laid out next to him.

It’s hard not to notice that he’s only wearing his boxers, and the way his reclined position shows off his abs.

The TV flashes wildly, illuminating his face. And then he notices me.

‘Oh, hi,’ he says, his attention quickly turning back to the screen.

‘Hi,’ I reply. ‘I just came to get some water… Is that a Maccies?’

Obviously I know that it is – and it answers my earlier question about if there’s a McDonald’s here.

‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘There’s one right by the marina. I was still hungry, so…’

His voice trails off and his expression changes as he – I don’t know – encounters a particularly hard-to-kill zombie or something.

‘Do you want a fry?’ he asks.

‘Hmm?’

‘Do you want to share my fries?’ he says, still engrossed in the game.

It’s not that dinner wasn’t nice, or that I’m especially hungry, but you can’t beat McDonald’s fries, can you?

‘Thanks,’ I reply, sitting down next to him, popping a chip into my mouth.

Mmm. So good.

I can’t help but clock the way his biceps flex as he frantically hits the trigger buttons. I’m trying not to think about how good he must be with his hands, because that’s not a helpful thought to have right now, is it?

I tighten my dressing gown belt, cautious it might be easy to fall out of now I’m seated.

‘So this is what you do for fun,’ I say, an observation, not a question.

‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘You’re up late.’

‘I could say the same to you.’

‘You could,’ he says, his attention still on his game. I notice his tongue poking out, just a little, as he concentrates, and I’m not sure if it’s cute or an ick.

I look at the TV to see a zombie lunge out of a doorway. Nico shoots it like it’s second nature.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’ he asks.

‘No, it’s hard to drift off when your mother’s knee is pressing into your thigh and you’re quietly fuming about the situation she’s landed you in…’

‘Yeah, I can’t say I love this either,’ he replies. ‘You could leave.’

‘So could you,’ I clap back.

He just laughs and, for that, I take another couple of fries.

‘My mum wants me here, so we’re just going to have to be mature about it,’ I insist.

‘You’re up to that?’ he checks.

‘We’re adults,’ I remind him. ‘We keep it civil, polite, and avoid each other where possible. Are you up to it?’

I ask the question in a tone that suggests I think he might not be.