“Deal,” he says, leaning back into the empty tub and rearranging himself so we fit sort of comfortably. He sits back against one end and brings his legs inside, bent at the knee. I sit back against the other end, so that we’re facing each other. The tub’s nozzle is right next to my neck and I have to tilt my head to the left to avoid it. He folds his arms behind his neck and closes his eyes, pretending like we’re in a real hot tub.

“Comfy?” I ask.

He nods with his eyes closed. “Remember when we used to take baths together? How did we ever fit?”

“You weren’t a hundred feet tall back then.”

“You’re still the same size,” he says, and then breaks into a grin. “Most places.”

“Shut up.” I push him with my bent knee.

“Hey, we should turn the water on. Pretend it’s ten years ago. Hot tub time machine.”

“What?” I ask, even though I’ve heard him.

“Let’s fill up the tub.”

“We’re in our clothes,” I say, knowing as I say it that I’ve started blushing.

“So? Live a little. I have to wash my hair anyway.”

“Yeah, you stink.”

“Cecilia dumped a beer on me.”

“You probably deserved it.”

“Yeah, I did,” he says. Then he unbends his leg and reaches a foot up to the faucet, using it to turn on the water. It shoots down onto my shoulder.

“Turn it off!” I shriek. “It’s cold!” I scramble to get out of the stream, but the more I move, the more I slip, water spraying everywhere.

“It’ll warm up in a sec,” he says, and I reach a hand under the faucet to splash him. But even as I do, I feel the stream of water turn deliciously warm. “See?” he says when I splash him again. He wipes the water off his face and runs a wet hand through his hair. I give up and lean back against the wall of the tub, finding myself enjoying the feel of the warm water as it streams down onto my neck and shoulders. Slowly the tub fills up around us, and my shorts grow heavy and uncomfortable.

Andrew’s gray T-shirt gets darker as it dampens, sticking to him like a second skin. I look down at my own T-shirt, hoping it won’t stick to me in the same way, and I pull at the bottom hem, lifting it away from the shape of my body so he can’t see.

“Fuck it,” Andrew says, and he reaches down and pulls his shirt off, throwing it onto the tile floor, where it lands with a wet smack. “Much better.”