I Lost a Bet to My Hockey Rival, Now I Wear His Number novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: The Eggs

Gaspard Lachapelle woke at six, as he did every morning, and for the first time in four years he did not get up.

Nash Brannagh was asleep on his stomach with one arm flung across Gaspard's chest, one leg hooked over his.

The whole of his weight on him like a sandbag.

He snored.

It was a small, ridiculous, whistling snore, and it came out through a broken nose.

Gaspard lay very still and looked at the ceiling.

He had known Nash would end up in this bed.

He had planned for it.

He had not planned for how it would feel when it was not a plan.

There was a mark on Nash's shoulder where Gaspard's teeth had been, and it had gone purple at the edges.

There was a mark on Gaspard's ribs from Nash's thumb.

There was a red-gold hair on the pillow and a freckle on his collarbone he had apparently memorized, because he found his eyes on it again.

He told himself to calm down, in French, and it did nothing.

He eased out from under the arm.

In the kitchen the sun was only just coming up over the river, and the glass wall turned the snow pink.

He cracked six eggs.

He did not make breakfast.

He had food delivered, or ate cold things standing, or drank black coffee in the car.

He was making eggs, in his own loft, for a man who snored and stole the covers.

He was humming.

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