The Millennium on 13th St.
The truck rumbled into the first switchback on Cypress Bowl Road, engine humming low as the elevation climbed. We passed the occasional road cyclist grinding their way uphill, and Drew cracked his window as the forest shifted from second-growth cedar to something older, wilder.
The traffic was still light as we pulled into a viewpoint parking lot 2 minutes later, the air sharper at elevation but still sun-smeared. A group of riders by the picnic area paused when I dropped the tailgate and wheeled out the lime green Kona. One of them gave a low whistle.
“That’s a Kona?”
I didn’t bother answering; it was right on the frame. “Helmet first,” I said, tossing Drew my spare gloves: black Fox Rangers with the left thumb seam fraying from a tree branch incident last fall.
He caught them one-handed, turning them inside out. “Do I want to know how many sweaty ranger hands have been in these?”
“Just mine.” I yanked on my own gloves. “And maybe a squirrel.”
Drew fake-gagged but pulled them on, flexing his fingers. The cuffs swallowed half his wrists. “I look like a kid playing dress-up.”
I reached over and tugged the Velcro straps tighter. “Better than going home with a bunch of blisters.” My thumb brushed the gauze on his elbow, just briefly, before I stepped back.
“You sure this isn’t too much bike for me?” he asked.
“You handled the backflip fine,” I said, passing him a bottle from the back. “BLT starts mellow. I’ll call it if it doesn’t feel right.”
He nodded and clipped the helmet strap. “Lead the way, Ranger.”
We rolled out of the turnout and coasted past the picnic area toward the start of BLT. I dropped my seat post and gave Drew a quick look over my shoulder.
“This one’s chill. Mostly mellow flow, just a couple corners that’ll keep you honest.”
Drew’s eyes tracked the narrow trail as it dipped into the trees. “Mellow for you, maybe. This looks like bombing down 29th Street in the rain.”
I laughed. “You’re gonna be fine. Just don’t lock your front brake and you’ll live.”
We started in. I kept the pace easy, checking behind me at the flatter sections. Drew was handling it, loose in the hips, too much weight forward on the first few rollers, but he’d find his balance.
We stopped at a shady pullout a few minutes in, where the trail hugged a notch between two granite humps. Drew unclipped his helmet and dragged a sleeve across his forehead.
“Okay, I take it back,” he panted. “That root section? Nearly murdered me.”
I tossed him my water bottle. “You stayed upright. Most people eat shit on the second bend.”
He leaned on the handlebars, shaking his head. “I swear, that wasn’t ‘chill.’ That was ‘North Shore initiation rite.’”
I grinned. “You passed. Barely.”
He shot me a crooked look but didn’t argue. When he swung back into the saddle, there was a hint of something in his expression, confidence maybe, or just the high of surviving something that pushed him.
I rested one hand on my grip. “Slippery Canoe isn’t as bad as it sounds”. Nothing too sketchy. Want to try something slightly more challenging?”
Drew exhaled, but the grin stuck. “Lead the way, Ranger. I’ve still got both kneecaps, might as well use ’em.”
We pushed off again, tires crunching over pine needles as the trail leveled out. Less tech, more flow. The kind of riding that lets you breathe a little, take in the scent of cedar and damp earth. It was the kind of quiet that felt earned.
And for once, I didn’t need the silence to be alone.
We rolled back into the parking lot around 3:00, the bikes streaked with dust and pine grit, both of us sweat-damp and grinning. I had the Kona rental until four, but Drew was already peeling off his gloves like he’d gone ten rounds.
“Not bad,” I said, leaning the Ibis against the tailgate.
“Not dead,” he replied. “That’s a win.”
I dropped the tailgate and pulled out two water bottles and a protein bar. We were just about to start loading the bikes when another rider coasted up, maybe seventeen, with her hair in a low braid and a visor flipped backward. She was walking her own scratched-up Giant and gave us a quick once-over.
“Damn,” she said, nodding at Drew’s bike. “That’s a Process 153?”
Drew blinked, taken off guard. “Uh, yeah. Rented it.”
She squinted, approving. “Solid choice. Wish I could convince my parents. I need a full suspension for green trails.”
Drew smiled sheepishly, straightening a little. “It’s been good. I only ate shit once.”
She smirked. “Then you’re doing better than my brother. He cracked a derailleur on his first run.”
“Tell him to take up skateboarding,” Drew joked.
“Yeah, no. He’d cry the first time he scraped a knuckle.”
She grinned, then gave a little wave and rolled off toward the trailhead.
Drew watched her go, then looked back at me with a mock-serious face. “See? You weren’t the only one impressed.”
I tossed him the protein bar. “She was into the bike, not the rider.”
He ripped it open without another thought, still beaming. “Jealousy looks good on you, Charlie.”
We coasted down from Cypress, past the switchbacks, and back onto the freeway. I returned the Kona, mud-specked, derailleur humming a little louder than it had when we picked it up, and said a quick thanks to the tech.
After that, we cut west through the neighborhoods toward Central Lonsdale. The sun was lower now, dragging tall shadows across 13th Street. Drew leaned back in the passenger seat, his hair sweat-damp and a new trail of scuff marks across one shin.
“You wanna come up for a bit?” he asked, nodding at his street corner. “Grab a drink. Shower if you want.”
I hesitated with my hand still on the shifter. I could’ve said no. Should’ve, maybe. But I remembered, his dad was still away on the island. The condo would be empty.
“Sure,” I said. “But I need to find a parking spot first.”
He grinned. “Pull into the alley. I’ll let you into the garage and park in one of our spots. My dad took the Cayenne to the island.”
The underground was sleek and spotless, full of BMWs and matte-gray Audis. A black Maserati sat angled like a shark in its slot. My Chevy Colorado looked like someone had driven in from a different province.
“No one’s gonna care,” Drew said, slinging his pack over one shoulder as he got out. “Most of these guys don’t even live here full-time.”
I followed him into the elevator lobby. Drew tapped a black key card against the elevator reader and pressed PH.
Penthouse.
My stomach tightened, not from nerves, exactly, but from the sheer contrast to my Maple Ridge roots.
Eighteen floors wasn’t a skyscraper, not in this city, but when Drew unlocked his front door, the view made it feel like one.
Windows lined the entire far wall, looking out over the inlet toward downtown Vancouver, glass towers gleaming in the afternoon light. Beyond them, past the blue haze of Boundary Bay, Mount Baker in Washington State floated like some ghostly sentinel. It was the kind of view you expected from a real estate ad or a movie. Not from a kid barely out of high school.
“Holy Sh..” I muttered.
Drew shrugged off his shoes. “Yeah. My dad got the corner unit during pre-sale. He likes bragging about how fast it appreciated.”
I stepped closer to the glass. From up here, the city looked calm. Ordered. I’d seen a view like this before: once a summer, Allan, the District Director for Recreation & Culture, hosted a BBQ at his house in Forest Hills for all the full-time and seasonal rangers. His backyard had a similar panorama, minus the clean lines and marble finishes. Allan’s was all weathered cedar and native shrubs. You stood there with a burger and a beer in your hand, watching the sun dip past the skyline, thinking, yeah, maybe it’s not all politics and budget cuts.
This? This was colder. Too clean. No scuff marks. No messy cords. No IKEA anything.
“You want water or something?” Drew asked from the kitchen, already moving like this was normal.
“Water’s good,” I said, still looking out.
I turned away from the view and wandered farther in as Drew washed his hands in the sink. Drawn by the subtle clutter along the hallway console, just enough to feel lived in. A row of frames lined the wall above it. Most were matte silver with thick mats, curated like someone cared more about the gallery effect than the memories inside.
One photo spoke volumes more about his family than Drew ever could.
A blonde woman stood on a pristine lawn in front of a just-sold modern home, perhaps in the British Properties, smiling widely in heels and a fitted blazer. A toddler rested on her hip, blond too, cheeks round, and beside them stood a girl, maybe ten or eleven, hand on her mother’s waist, chin lifted like she already knew what ambition looked like. The “Sutton Realty: Melissa Hartley–Pierce” sign gleamed beside them.
That had to be Drew’s mom. And his sister. The name was hyphenated, and there was no sign of a husband in the shot. Independent. Driven. Maybe the house was her first big sale. Or it could have been theirs.
I scanned the others.
His dad showed up next, with a different vibe entirely. A crisp black robe at UBC Law convocation, smiling with what looked to be Drew’s grandparents. Beside that photo was another of him holding a champagne flute, toasting over a cake that read “Congrats Phillip – Called to the Bar!”
Next to that, a photo of Drew’s dad shaking hands with John Horgan, back when he was the Premier of BC. Both were smiling widely, though only one looked practiced at it.
The final photo among those was less polished, clearly shot on a phone. Drew’s dad was in a designer polo, standing in front of what looked like a Formula 1 car in a sponsor pavilion. The kind of picture you took, not because it meant something, but because it looked impressive. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Drew appeared at my shoulder, holding out a glass of water and another in his other hand. “Yeah,” he said, following my eyes. “That one’s from when he passed the bar. Before me.”
I nodded. “Your mom?”
“That was her first eight-figure listing. My dad said she printed it for all her clients that Christmas. She’s in Winnipeg now. Think it was last summer she told me she sold a penthouse to Connor Hellebuyck.” He gestured at the earlier frame.
“And your sister?”
“Lives in Toronto, did her degree in some theatre stuff, I think. Anna only comes back for some Christmases when her productions wrap up early for the season.”
Drew handed me the glass of water and leaned against the counter. I took a sip, cold, filtered, not tap. Everything here was like that. Just a little more refined than I was used to.
I drank my water as I looked at the edge of the table and saw the photos of Drew. One showed him tugging on a gold ribbon, a mess of wrapping paper around his feet, with who I guessed was his mom smiling behind him. Another was from the deck of a BC Ferry and looked recent, Drew in mirrored sunglasses, grinning into the wind.
And then one I didn’t expect: Drew, younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, in a navy blazer with a blue and yellow tie and a school crest I didn’t recognize. A private school kid, I realized. Polished shoes, pressed pants. It suited him in a way he probably wouldn’t admit. The kind of childhood that knew structure and expectation.
I didn’t say anything to him, but something about it twisted unexpectedly in my chest. Not envy, exactly. Just… the shape of something I’d never really had.
“You want a quick shower and fresh clothes?” Drew asked, finishing his water. “I’ve got some sweatpants my dad never wears. And I think there’s a new pack of his boxers in the linen closet. Still sealed. Promise.”
I still felt out of place up here and almost didn’t know how to respond, but perhaps I didn’t need to. He tilted his head toward the hallway.
“Guest bath is through the door next to mine. En suite. That’s the one Anna uses when she visits, so mind the heated floors. They’ll spoil you.”
The guest en suite was nicer than my entire apartment. White slab counters, one of those toilets with a bidet like you’d see in a luxury hotel, and a glass-doored shower that looked like it cost more than my truck’s last timing belt.
I dropped the sweat-damp mountain bike kit in a pile and stepped in, twisting the first knob. Nothing. I tried the second. Cold mist. Third, a scalding jet to the shoulder.
“Jesus—”
I flailed and slapped it off, already dripping, trying to find the sweet spot, but the system was one of those designer setups with no labels and too many settings, some mix of Euro design and sadism. I twisted another dial and got a blast from the ceiling rain head. Still freezing.
“Uh…Drew?” I called out, angling my body behind the frosted corner of the glass panel.
No answer. I tried again, louder this time. “Drew. You got a second?”
Footsteps padded across the floor outside the bathroom, then a pause. “Yeah?”
“Sorry, but how do you get the shower to stop trying to kill me?”
The door creaked a little as he leaned in. “Oh yeah. You have to turn the middle dial backwards, like toward the wall, or it keeps defaulting to cold.”
I reached and adjusted it. Warmth rushed in instantly.
“Got it,” I said, glancing toward the blurry shape behind the door. “Thanks.”
A few seconds passed before Drew replied, voice a touch too relaxed. “Yeah. No problem. You, uh… good in there?”
I smirked, water steaming around me now. “Better than five seconds ago.”
His footsteps faded. But not before I caught the hesitation.
The built-in shelf in the corner was stocked with floral-scented products, rosehip, something with pomegranate, a suspiciously glittery scrub, all likely left by his sister Anna months ago. I was just about to shout again behind the glass when I saw something Drew had left on the bathroom counter when he popped his head in: Kiehl’s Body Fuel. Masculine. Subtle. Good enough for me.
I scrubbed off the day, trail grit, sunscreen, pine dust, and stepped out onto the tile floor, only realizing too late that it was heated. I nearly yelped at how good it felt. Luxuries I didn’t know existed.
A fresh towel was already draped over the rack. I dried off quickly, tugged the bathroom door open, and wandered barefoot into the adjacent guest room. The lights were dim, and the late-day sun was casting long shadows across the floorboards.
Laid out on the neatly made bed was a pair of dark grey Under Armour sweatpants, a folded G/FORE golf polo made of soft athletic fabric, and a three-pack of Pierre Cardin boxer briefs, still sealed, size large.
Smaller than the XLs I usually wore, but I wasn’t going to complain.
I ran a hand through my hair, still damp, and took a breath. The condo was silent. Drew wasn’t hovering. He wasn’t at the door, smirking or ready to make fun of me for about to put on a dad bod outfit.
Part of me almost wanted him to be.
I grabbed the underwear and started getting dressed. Everything fit, but more snug than my frame was used to.
Picking up my MB clothes, I exited the guest room, closed the door behind me, and went into the kitchen, bare feet sinking slightly into the marble flooring. The condo was quiet, almost too quiet, the hum of the fridge and the distant city noise the only sounds.
I popped the built-in Miele fridge open and poured myself another glass of water from the Brita pitcher. Inside the fridge, rows of takeout containers lined the shelves like Tetris pieces. A few designer kombuchas. An unopened jar of kimchi. A single lemon from the Whole Foods across the street.
It was the kind of fridge that said: someone lives here, but not by necessity.
“You hungry already?” Drew asked, emerging from the hallway in pajama pants and a faded Hurley t-shirt that clung to his shoulders like it’d been through a dozen hot washes.
I glanced at the containers again. “You’ve got enough leftovers to cater a wedding.”
He smirked. “None of it’s mine. Dad eats takeout like it’s a tax write-off.” Drew came around the island and flicked open a food delivery app with muscle memory. “There’s this noodle place I like. Want me to order?”
I leaned on the counter and looked at the name. I’d passed it multiple times when rumbling down Lonsdale. “Isn’t that place like… two blocks away?”
Drew looked up from his phone. “Yeah. That’s what deliveries are for.”
I shook my head, half-laughing. “Guess you can’t carry it home carefully on a skateboard.”
He shrugged. “Welcome to the penthouse.”
We ordered without further discussion. Something with pork broth and soft eggs. While he tapped through the payment screen, he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the shower too. You can put something on the TV to keep you company if you figure out the remote.”
He disappeared into the hallway.
I made an honest effort, clicked the TV on, and stared at the interface. HDMI1. SmartHub. A Disney+ profile called Anna + May 🩷. Nothing made sense. The remote had voice commands. I gave up before I started accidentally pairing it to the window blinds.
Instead, I turned back to the window.
Vancouver’s skyline shimmered through the glass, early evening light painting the towers in steel and gold. Below me, container ships waited off Centerm like patient dogs. The SeaBus slid across the water, neat and quiet, while a Harbor Air floatplane carved its landing arc just before Canada Place.
The kind of view you couldn’t get used to, no matter how long you lived with it.
I took a sip of the cold water and let the silence settle around me. The hum of the fridge. The whisper of Drew’s shower in the distance. The ache of something just beneath it all.
Whatever this was, whatever we were slipping toward, it wasn’t simple. But for the first time I can remember, I didn’t want something simple.
Drew had been in his room longer than I expected. I’d finished my water. Scrolled my phone. Tried the remote again, failed. Even the skyline had started to fade into the summer haze, the AC was on full blast, and I was beginning to feel a chill.
I leaned around the kitchen island. “Your phone’s been buzzing. And I think the food’s here.”
A beat.
Then, from behind the door: “Don’t worry. Concierge got it.”
Right. Of course they did.
I sank back against the counter. My place had a broken buzzer, and the mail slots got broken into every month. Here, you had someone to intercept your ramen before it even hit the elevator.
Still, the silence stretched. No shower running anymore. No footsteps. Just my pulse picking up for reasons I couldn’t fully comprehend.
I walked to the window again, peering down at the row of tail lights inching down Lonsdale, tracing the SeaBus heading back across the inlet. The ache under everything had sharpened. Not loneliness exactly. Just… anticipation. Something heavy and low and patient.
The door behind me creaked.
I didn’t turn right away. Just heard Drew call out “I’m gonna grab the food” as he disappeared, shutting the front door with a quiet click, and the elevator chimed faintly beyond the hallway.
I waited a second, then drifted past the kitchen island and down the short hall. Drew’s bedroom door was open, just enough. Not like an invitation, more like a kid who didn’t think he had anything to hide.
The room felt like a snapshot: not staged, not messy, just lived in.
A longboard leaned against the wall near the closet, its grip tape worn smooth near the nose. His bed was low to the floor, the covers half-kicked off like he’d napped there earlier and never bothered fixing it. The UBC hoodie was slung across the back of the chair, sleeves inside out. There was a Hydro Flask on the windowsill, next to a phone charger curling like a snake off the edge.
A few framed prints hung above the desk: black and white architectural sketches. I guessed they were his, or maybe something he admired. One of them looked like a concept rendering of a skatepark folded into a public square.
Beside the desk, propped in the corner, was his backpack, the one I’d returned. Still unzipped. A mess of skate stickers and a crumpled receipt poked out of the side pocket. One of my Junior Ranger badge stickers was half stuck to the flap.
On his nightstand, a photo strip was pinned to a corkboard: Drew and some girl I didn’t recognize, both mid-laugh on the Stanley Park Seawall. It could’ve been a friend from school, or maybe just a memory he didn’t talk about. I tried not to feel jealous about who it might be.
I stepped back before I got caught lingering. The sound of the elevator rising hummed through the walls. I turned toward the kitchen, just as the front door creaked open again and Drew’s voice floated from the entryway. “Hope you like broth that could melt your sinuses.”
I stepped back around the island, just in time to watch him kick off his slides and drop the delivery bag onto the counter like it was contraband.
He caught my eye. “You didn’t touch the other remote, did you?”
“Thought about it,” I said. “Didn’t want the blinds to close ala ‘The Purge’”
He smirked, already unpacking the food. The rich scent of pork and garlic filled the kitchen. He handed me a bowl heavy with noodles, soft egg just barely jiggling in the broth.
We sat at the island, stools slightly too modern to be comfortable, our knees brushing once, then again. Neither of us moved away.
Drew blew on his noodles, then looked up, serious for a second. “Thanks again. For all of it. The canyon. Lions Bay. The bike. Even the weird-ass stickers.”
I paused with my chopsticks mid-air. “Wasn’t weird.”
“It was,” he said, grinning. “But… kinda perfect.”
I leaned over my bowl and dug in. The first bite hit like a warning. Drew had definitely ordered the spice level ultra.
I reached for my water without trying to make a face.
He caught it anyway. “Too spicy, Charlie?”
I laughed once, swallowed. “Not too spicy. Just… surprising.”
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed.
I nudged my bowl a little to the side. “Hey, you know, most of my close friends call me CJ.”
Drew looked up mid-bite. “CJ?”
“Yeah. Short for Charles Jacob. My mom started it when I was little, and it just stuck with some people.”
He chewed, nodding like he was processing. Then he grinned. “Nah. I like Charlie better. CJ sounds like a video game character.”
I blinked, then laughed. “Really?”
“Totally,” he said, jabbing at a clump of rice. “You’re a Park Ranger, not some dude who carjacks people.”
I hadn’t thought about it like that before. CJ was the name most of my family called me; I went by Charlie to my professors and TAs, but Dean and Soyara had been calling me CJ for years.
“Well, I guess I’m stuck with Charlie, then,” I said.
“Guess so,” he replied, and smiled.
Outside, the sky was still bright, the evening July sun soaking the balconies across the way, reflecting off glass windows and condo railings. Inside, it smelled like garlic and chili oil, and the playlist on Drew’s phone shuffled to something soft and reverb-y that I didn’t recognize.
My phone buzzed with a new notification: sonyaraontheshore posted a story to Instagram. I swiped it open, her and Thomaz at BC Place, mid-laugh, scarves tied in Whitecaps blue and white. If I’d said yes to the game, I’d be wedged in those cheap seats right now, sweating through a thrifted jersey instead of here, Drew’s knee brushing mine, the chili oil still burning my tongue.
“Is that your girlfriend?” Drew teased.
“Work girlfriend,” I said, thumb hovering over the screen.
When we finished eating, I gathered the empty takeout containers into a neat pile. Drew hopped off his stool and crouched behind the kitchen island, popping open what I’d assumed was a regular cabinet door. Instead, blue LED light spilled out, a built-in wine fridge, sleek and shallow, bottles stacked sideways like a high-end restaurant.
He glanced over his shoulder, already grinning at my surprise. “You drink?”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you offering?”
He shrugged, but his smile was already playing at the corners of his mouth. “Could be.”
I leaned onto the counter. “Drew, I’m not gonna let you drink. You’re eighteen.”
He groaned. “C’mon, my dad let me have some of the bottle of Scotch he opened on my birthday!”
“Do I look like your dad?”
“Maybe you do, you are wearing his clothes.” He shut the fridge with a soft thud, still grinning. “You sound like a narc. You know?”
I crossed my arms, amused. “I am a ranger.”
“Oh, right. And I’m the Junior Ranger narc, my bad.” He beamed somewhat mockingly. “Couch then?” he suggested.
I nodded.
We carried our water glasses over, flopping down onto a leather sectional so clean and white it barely looked sat on. I found the remote buried between two cushions and turned the TV back on. Same overly crisp, high-definition screen. The last time I sat here, I didn’t dare touch anything. This time, I clicked open Disney+ out of instinct.
Drew glanced over. “Didn’t peg you for a Disney guy.”
I didn’t answer because the profile names caught me off guard again: ‘Anna + May ❤️’
I hovered over it, then clicked in. The Recently Watched row appeared, and front and center was The Little Mermaid (2023).
I snorted. “Really?”
Drew immediately leaned over. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I said, tilting the remote just out of his reach.
He lunged anyway. “That’s my sisters’ account, you narc!”
“I can’t believe you watched this without me.” I swooned
“I didn’t!” He tried to snatch the remote, but I held it higher, leaning into the couch cushions, laughing.
“You totally did.”
“Give it…”
He climbed over me, straddling my hips, wrestling for the remote with both hands. His weight pressed down across my chest and stomach. I could feel the warmth of him, the stretch of his thighs around mine, the subtle shift of his hips as he reached.
“Charlie,” he warned, breath catching a little.
I froze. He didn’t move. The remote had slipped out of my hands behind the couch, forgotten.
I met his brown eyes, and this time, I didn’t pull away.
He leaned down first. Maybe I did. It didn’t matter. His lips brushed mine, tentative, then firmer. I kissed him back, my mouth opening as he deepened it. His hips rolled into mine without hesitation.
My hand slid up his back, under the hem of the t-shirt. His skin was warm and smooth, the muscles under it taut and real and here. I could feel the rhythm of his breath, could taste the trace of chili oil still on his lips.
When we finally broke apart, he didn’t go far. Just hovered there, hair slightly mussed, his expression unreadable but open.
“That,” he said, “was probably overdue.”
I didn’t know what to say.
He was still on top of me, palms pressed to my chest like he was holding me in place. I could feel my heartbeat, sharp and uneven, rattling somewhere behind my ribs.
Drew looked down at me. “Everything okay, Charlie?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just… surprised.”
“Not too spicy, though?”
I laughed quietly. “No. Not too spicy.”
His eyes searched mine for a second longer. Then he shifted, rolling off and flopping back against the cushions with a groan. “Jesus. That was—”
“A lot,” I offered.
“Yeah. In a good way.” He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly shy.
I sat up a little, legs still tangled with his. The TV was playing something now, muted opening credits for Moana 2, which had started as we fumbled for the remote, then I looked back at him.
“So, uh,” I said. “Was that a one-time thing, or…?”
Drew turned his head toward me. “Do you want it to be?”
I shook my head before I could talk myself out of it. “No.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Me neither.”
For a long second, we didn’t say anything. Just watched the cartoon, neither of us was interested in. I heard the faint hum of the fridge, the click of pipes shifting in the wall.
Drew stretched his arms behind his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal the waistband of those damn shark Ethikas. “Still think I watched Little Mermaid?”
“You totally did, I bet Halle Bailey is your type,” I teased him.
“I didn’t! No way!” he protested, laughing.
But I didn’t press the point. Instead, I planted my feet back on the floor and reached for his hand to pull him up, and he didn’t let go.
He didn’t ask where we were going, just followed, his fingers laced through mine like we’d done this a hundred times before. We moved through the penthouse’s unnatural quiet, past the kitchen where takeout containers sat stacked like abandoned Jenga pieces, past the guest bedroom where I nearly got 3rd degree burns in the shower.
Into the bedroom, his bedroom, where the comforter was still half-pulled back from this morning, and the UBC hoodie was still draped over the chair.
I turned to face him just inside the doorway. “Are you sure you want this?”
Drew nodded again, trusting my blue eyes burning with desire. “Yeah.”
I stepped in first. He shut the door behind us.
Drew pulled off his t-shirt to begin, tossing it toward the chair without looking. The warm lamplight picked out the curve of his shoulders, the faint tan lines from a summer already spent outdoors. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t stall either. When he shucked off his pajama bottoms, he stood there in the shark bite Ethikas, all long legs and sharp lines.
He caught me staring and half-smiled. “Remember these?”
I stepped forward, remembering how well I knew them, how well I knew him. The way they smelled like him. “Yeah. Just… yeah.”
He ran a hand through his hair like he wasn’t sure what to do with the moment, though his eyes never left mine.
I crossed the room, not to touch him right away, but to crouch down beside the chair where he left my hoodie and the navy backpack I’d seen earlier. I opened his pack and grabbed the handful of Junior Ranger stickers, then looked back at him.
When I stood, Drew was watching me with a confused little tilt of his head. “You’re really about to brand me?”
I walked back toward him. “I’d say it’s more of a badge.”
He didn’t move when I stepped in close; I just exhaled this soft laugh and placed my hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm, smooth, and just a little tense beneath my fingers.
I peeled one of the stickers free; it was blue with Jr. Ranger – District of North Vancouver printed above the municipality’s eagle logo, bordered by gold, just like the crest I wore on my uniform sleeves. I centered it over his heart and pressed it flat against his hairless chest.
“Temporary appointment,” I said. “Expires at sunrise.”
Drew glanced down, then back up with a crooked smile. “That’s it? No training? No uniform?”
I looked him up and down, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him blush.
“I mean… You survived the canyon in those. Pretty sure the shark Ethikas count.”
Drew stepped in again, closer now, his hands moving with the kind of confidence that came from having already made up his mind. He pushed me gently, but firmly, back toward the bed, and I let myself fall into the comforter, swallowing my body with a soft sigh.”
He climbed over me, one knee pressing into the mattress as he leaned in. My pulse jumped as he reached for the hem of the golf polo I was still wearing. I raised my arms without a word, letting him lift it off. The polyester peeled away and landed somewhere near his closet.
His hands found the waistband of my sweatpants next. There was a question in his eyes, but no hesitation. I gave a nod, and he tugged them down and off. Now it was just the two of us, me in the Pierre Cardins a size too small, him in those ridiculous shark Ethikas, neither of us pretending anymore.
Drew was captivated by silence. He just lowered himself until our lips touched again. The kiss was slower this time, more deliberate. His mouth was warm, a little dry, and still tasted like pork broth.
Drew’s hand trembled slightly as it pressed against the hair on my chest, not possessive, but steadying himself as much as me. His thumb brushed over the Junior Ranger sticker clinging to his breast, the adhesive failing under our shared heat. That tiny hesitation told me everything: the quickened breath through his nose, the way his eyes flicked down my body like he was mentally mapping unfamiliar terrain.
“I’ve wanted this,” I confessed, the words rough between kisses. “Since the canyon.”
His responding grin against my jaw was all teeth and bravado. “Me fucking too.” But when his fingers hooked into the waistband of his dad’s borrowed boxers, they stalled, just for a heartbeat, before tugging.
The fabric slid down, catching at my hips. Drew exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze raking over me with something between hunger and hesitation. Lamplight caught the gold flecks in his eyes as they darted from my chest to my hips, like he couldn’t decide where to land.
Then he leaned down, and his first touch of his tongue was experimental, a tentative stripe up my length that had us both gasping. His hands flexed on my thighs, grip tightening as if bracing for feedback.
“Jesus, Drew..” My hips jerked involuntarily.
He pulled back instantly. “Too much?”
The uncertainty in his voice undid me. I carded a hand through his still-damp hair. “No. Just… new.”
Something raw flashed across his face. Then he dove back in with reckless determination, all enthusiasm and zero finesse, sloppy licks, too much teeth at first, his nose bumping my stomach as he took me deeper. It was overwhelming in the best way: every shaky breath, every muffled cough when he misjudged, every time his fingers tightened like he was afraid I’d vanish.
When I finally tugged his hair in warning, he pulled off with a wet pop, lips swollen and chin glistening. “Yeah?” he panted, pupils blown.
“Yes, keep going.” I groaned.
Drew took that as his cue, his confidence growing with each stroke of his tongue. He figured out a rhythm that had me digging my nails into the comforter and my breath hitching in my throat. He watched me intently as he worked, learning my reactions, the way my body tightened, and the sounds I made. Finally, when I did come, it was a surprise to us both, hot and sudden, spilling into his mouth with a strangled cry. He didn’t pull away, just took it, eyes on me, his hand gripping the back of my thigh like a lifeline.
Drew’s hands trembled slightly as he worked the waistband of the Pierre Cardin’s off my body fully. I smirked at his wide-eyed reaction, like he’d uncovered something illicit, but before he could overthink it, I rolled us over in one smooth motion, pinning him beneath me.
“My turn,” I murmured, nipping at the waistband of the Shark Bite Ethikas. Drew gasped as I dragged my teeth along the elastic, teasing, before hooking my fingers under the fabric and peeling them down.
His cock sprang against his stomach, flushed and leaking. For a second, I just stared. Fuck. He was perfect, topped by a patch of blonde hair, his cut length was all smooth skin with eager twitches, his hips lifting unconsciously like he was already begging. I wrapped a hand around the base, savoring the way his breath fractured, when:
Buzz.
Drew’s phone vibrated on his desk, the sound jarring in the quiet. We both froze and waited for it to stop.
“Ignore it,” I muttered, lowering my mouth.
Buzz. Buzz. It started again.
“Shit…” Drew twisted toward the noise, his body tensing. “It might be the concierge again.”
I exhaled through my nose but released him, sitting back as he snatched the phone. He swiped to answer, putting it on speaker.
“Mr. Pierce?” A voice crackled through. “It’s Jag again at the door. There was something delivered this morning for your dad. I didn’t give it to you when you were down earlier because it was for him, but he hasn’t come home yet. I thought I should give it to you tonight before I go off shift because it was expedited and confidential. Should I bring it up?”
Drew dragged a hand down his face. “No, he’s out of town until tomorrow, I’ll….I’ll come down.” He hung up and flopped back against the pillows, suddenly looking exhausted.
I studied the way his shoulders slumped, the way his earlier confidence had evaporated. “Are you alright, Drew?”
“Yeah. Just… give me two minutes.” He sat up, reaching for the discarded Ethikas and yanking them on with none of the earlier teasing slowness.
I didn’t stop him. Just watched as he tugged his Dickies tee over his head, the Junior Ranger sticker still clinging crookedly to his chest. By the time he slipped out the door, the sticker had peeled off entirely, stuck on the comforter like a discarded note.
I let out a breath as the door clicked shut behind him.
Sitting there, I leaned back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling like it might offer an explanation.
He was eighteen. I kept circling that like it was supposed to make this clearer. Like it was supposed to erase the way he looked at me, or how Dean and Soraya were starting to give me looks that I needed to tread carefully.
But it didn’t.
If anything, it made things worse. Because under all of it, the confidence, the sarcasm, the boldness that seemed to flicker in and out like a dare, there was something softer.
Not innocent. Not naïve. Just… unfinished.
Like he’d slipped out of one version of himself too early and hadn’t fully landed in the next.
And for a second there, I’d stepped right into that in-between space with him, and I wasn’t sure I could find my way back out.
I got back up and tugged on the sweatpants and polo from earlier. My hair was dry now, but I ran a hand through it anyway, trying to shake the moment back into something softer.
When Drew returned, he didn’t say much. Just kicked off his slides and climbed in beside me, pulling the covers up in one motion.
Neither of us tried to start where we left off.
He lay on his side, head close enough that I could feel the exhale of his breath. I mirrored him, shifting until my forehead brushed his. His arm wrapped around my middle automatically, like he didn’t even think about it.
We stayed like that, the two of us beneath the weight of his duvet, the lamp still casting soft gold on the wall. I traced idle lines along his forearm where it rested over my stomach. He smelled faintly like the shampoo from earlier, clean and warm and unmistakably him.
Drew’s fingers slid beneath the hem of my polo, just enough to settle against my skin. Not in a way that asked for anything, just a presence. A reminder.
His voice rasped, “I like this.”
I turned my head slightly, just enough to press a kiss into his hair. “Me too.”
He tucked his forehead under my chin, and I could feel the tension in his body letting go, bit by bit. The city hummed beyond the windows, but in that little pocket of his room, the world had narrowed to the two of us breathing in sync.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer.
Eventually, I checked the time on the clock beside us and sighed.
“I should probably go,” I whispered, not moving yet.
Drew didn’t respond right away. Then, softly: “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” I said, fingers still brushing against his skin. “But I should.”
His arm around me tightened briefly before letting go. “Okay.”