Chapter 15 #2
My eyes lift and I look at him. Whatever demon came over him in my room is nowhere to be found, and Cam’s eating his muffin from the bottom up. “Why do you do that?”
“Saving the top for last. It’s the tastiest part.”
“It’s all muffin. How is it different?”
“Uh, it is different. The top is the star of the show. It’s the finale.” This boy is going to break my heart any minute. I can see it. He’s just trying to stall and find the easiest way to do it. “Do you want me to find an apartment?”
The question snaps my attention back. Why would he ask that?
“No. I don’t want you to go.” And that’s the truth.
I’m sure we can figure this out. In the last couple of months Cam has made this apartment his as well.
He helps me clean. I just . . . I just get so tired sometimes.
I’m not a dirty person, I’m just messy, and sometimes I’m too tired to care.
Okay, most times I’m too tired. It takes a lot of energy to be me, and things get messy as a result.
It’s been nice having him help me with rent and all the other things I’m bad at.
I’m lucky my landlord literally doesn’t care what happens in here as long as I don’t damage his property.
“My father’s house is closer—”
“No!” What the hell is he thinking? “Absolutely fucking not. You can live here forever. If this is all making you uncomfortable, I’ll move out and let you live here.
” I don’t even understand why he keeps in touch with that hateful prick.
I know he’s been to rehab, and he went to therapy and is trying, but I can’t forgive him.
What Cam went through as a child was devastating and traumatic, and you know what .
. . it was for me too. I was so young, and seeing the person I loved most run to me time and time again in different stages of pain shaped me in ways that changed me.
How many nights did Cam escape his house and climb in my window only to cry against me for hours?
How many times did my mother have to tell his father that Cam wasn’t there to prevent him from taking Cam home for the night?
He broke his arm in high school, and he was finally arrested on abuse charges.
It didn’t happen overnight, though, and my parents had been begging the police to do something for so long.
During his prison sentence his father went to therapy, got help for his addictions, and has tried to makeup for the childhood he spent traumatizing his son.
I don’t care. He’s still a dick. He will always be evil to me, and I can’t convince my brain that he’s anything but.
He’s manipulative and only seems to reach out when he needs money.
I hate that Cam still visits him. I hate it more that I know he feels guilty for some reason.
It’s not for me to understand, but I hate it.
My parents were very strict, but I always knew they loved me. I don’t see them as much now, since they moved to California when my sister had my nephew, but when I go there a couple of times a year to visit he comes with me. They love Cam as if he were their own.
“I’m just saying that if this gets too much, I can leave. If it makes it easier.”
Easier. No, Cam. What would be easier is not being in love with you. That’s my problem, though. Not his. “I want you here, Cam.” I pick at my muffin. “We need to talk about this, though.”
Cam is silent and curiosity wins. I look up at him. His eyes shine in the light of the kitchen. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like shit.”
“Why?”
Scrubbing his face, he won’t meet my eyes.
“I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this lately.
When I walked in yesterday . . .” He groans.
“I couldn’t stop myself from watching. I don’t know.
And then this morning . . . Bo, you’re driving me crazy and I don’t even know what it means.
” He blows out a breath. “I’m scared. Honestly. Terrified.”
“Do you regret it?”
His fingers tap on the island as he looks down at his muffin. “No,” he finally admits. “I don’t understand what’s going on with me.”
“What do you mean?”
His head sinks into his hands. I don’t like that this seems to be tearing him apart.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
Which hurts. It really shouldn’t be this hard. “I’m just confused.”
Mistake.
It’s a mistake.
“Talk to me. It’s just me.” Yeah, okay, I am part of the problem, but I’m his friend first.
“My head is a mess.”
“Is it me?”
“No. Not you.” He reaches out to grab my hand.
“It’s not you; it’s me.” I slip my fingers out of his grip. “Classic.”
“No, Bo. It’s not like that. I’m confused. When I hooked up with that guy, it didn’t feel right. Then last night, seeing you there, I don’t know . . . You looked so hot, that thong was hot. You looked beautiful and . . . shit, I don’t know what came over me.”
“Me. I did. I came all over both of us.”
His lips split into a smile before he laughs. “You certainly did.” He presses his forehead to the counter. “So hot,” he whines. “I just don’t get what the difference was between that and hooking up with that other guy.”
“Well, that guy was insanely hot, so if it’s not him, it definitely shouldn’t be me.”
Cam’s head lifts, and his eyes narrow. “Not as beautiful as you, Bo. Not even close.” He rubs his chest. “With him it didn’t feel right. I’m sorry, I’m just going in circles. I think um, I think I’m going to go down to the gym for a bit, okay? I just want to work out for a while. Clear my head.”
He needs time and space. From me. “Okay.”
“I’ll be back later, okay? I just need some space.”
“Pants!” Noah stands, slamming his cards down and bouncing on his toes.
“Noah, come on,” Jamie whines.
“Come on, baby. Show off that slutty thigh tattoo.”
Jamie blinks at him. “Never in Maddox’s wildest dreams would he have thought that one day someone would call his tattoo slutty.” Noah pats Jamie’s leg. When I came over earlier Noah had wanted us all to play strip poker.
“You should have run, Bo,” Mark whispers.
Jamie gets up and slips his pants off, showing off his red briefs and the err, slutty tattoo in question.
It’s a black and gray Japanese dragon running from what looks like his hip all the way down to his knee.
Noah rests his elbow on the table and his head on his hand watching Jamie.
His eyes flick to the bulge in his briefs. “Mmm, hello.”
“Don’t talk to it.”
“Why do we do this?” Hunter gathers the cards and deals them out.
I am one thousand percent sure this is not how you play strip poker, but who am I to judge?
Pushing our chips—handmade ones that are just colored pieces of paper Jamie scribbled on before we sat down—to the center of the table, we all make our bets.
Mark folds instantly. We lay our cards down.
I look around the room, then hear Hunter groan. “I hate this.”
“You know you don’t have to get naked, right?” Mark says to his boyfriend. “This lunatic doesn’t have power over us.”
Hunter gets up, shaking his head, and pulls down his boxers . . . and my god. “Noah, stop looking at it!” Jamie snaps.
“It looked at me first!” Noah shivers. “That thing has it’s own gravity.”
“He’s not that much bigger than me,” Jamie grumbles.
Mark snorts. “Sure thing.”
Hunter scrubs his face with his hands, then his beard, then he looks at Jamie. “Why didn’t we ever try? I’m sure we would have had a very nice quiet life together. You’re okay-looking enough. With some time and a lot of alcohol I think we could have been very happy.”
“We should have at least made an effort,” Jamie agrees. “We would’ve been great.”
“Hey! Don’t leave me out. This is not my fault!” Mark says.
“He’s your best friend, who you insisted on having stay with us,” Hunter says.
“I wanted to keep these two apart, but I was the asshole. Your fault.”
“Technically it’s Jamie’s fault. He asked him to move in. Like the second he saw him. No hesitation. He was gone for him.”
Noah slides into Jamie’s lap, circling his arms around his neck. “And don’t you forget it. Boop.” He taps his nose, then lays his head back against his collarbone. Jamie’s eyes roll but he circles his arms around Noah.
I’m wearing a T-shirt and my uh, jock. Real unfortunate timing to remember I’d changed into it.
Noah gave me compliments on it, and I have to admit, I feel good wearing it.
Mark is surprisingly still completely clothed, except for his shirt.
Noah is in his boy shorts, Jamie is in his boxers, and Hunter, well .
. . he’s naked and staring longingly at his boxers on the floor.
“How are things with Cam going?” Jamie asks.
I look around the room, wondering how much they even know. “Uh, I mean, not much is happening.”
“What’s going on?” Mark asks. “If you want to share.”
“I haven’t told them a thing,” Noah says. “Just what they know from that night at the bar.”
“Oh, uh . . .”
It’s strange, really. I’ve had friends here and there, in the shadow of Cam, but none of those friendships lasted past grade school, high school, or even college.
Cam is the only friend besides Noah currently in my life—though I guess there’s Mark and Hunter, even Jamie too.
I feel accepted here. I don’t feel embarrassed.
“The night I met Noah, I uh, was looking for a hookup. Something to take my mind off shit.” Nerves rattle my lungs.
“I uh . . .” My breathing grows tight, and that spike of anxiety I get creeps up my sternum.
“I—” Reaching down to the floor, I grab my inhaler.
I take one puff, then two, and wait for my body to settle. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay?” Hunter asks.
Noah gets up, swiping his crop top off the floor and slipping it on. I laugh at the words on it—A gay’s intuition is never wrong. “I’m okay.” Taking a minute, I force a smile. “We hooked up this morning. Well, last night kind of, and then this morning for sure. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“You owe me a blow job,” Mark whispers to Hunter.
“What?” I look at them.