Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
PRESTON
Madison does a double take when I walk down the center aisle of the chartered plane that will take us to Boston for Thanksgiving weekend. Sawyer’s right behind me and Madison narrows her eyes, her gaze flitting from me to him and back to me again.
“Ho. Ly. Shit.” Madison drops her phone in her lap. “You two had sex!”
She’s sitting by the window in a large recliner-sized seat upholstered in soft, cream-colored leather.
It’s in a group of four—two seats facing forward, two facing backward, separated by a wide table bolted to the floor.
A group of two is across the aisle and a couch sits in the rear of the cabin.
I take the other window seat, opposite Madison, leaving Sawyer with the seat next to mine.
"Jesus, Mads!” Sawyer shoots a pointed look toward the back of the plane where the flight attendant is working in the galley.
Madison claps her hands excitedly. “I’m right, aren’t I? You guys finally had sex!”
“Keep your voice down!”
“Why? The crew won’t care,” Madison says at full volume. “This is something to celebrate! Actually—” She turns to yell at the flight attendant. “Excuse me! Do we have any bubbly on board?”
The flight attendant takes a few steps in our direction. “Yes, we do. Shall I bring three glasses?”
“Yes, please! Thanks!” Madison sits down with a smirk.
“Seriously?” Sawyer’s slumps into his seat, sliding down low so he can hide his face behind his hand while his elbow is planted on the armrest.
“Yes! Come on!” Madison kicks at Sawyer’s leg. “Preston’s lost his v-card for the second time. This is momentous.”
“I’ve lost my what?” I’m pretty absentminded, but I don’t think I’ve lost anything recently, especially not a v-card since I have no idea what that is.
“Oh god.” Sawyer’s voice is muffled as he slaps his hand over his face. “How do you even know?”
“Please,” Madison scoffs. “I smelled the sex on you the second you stepped on board.”
She could? I lift the collar of my sweater and sniff. We both took showers this morning. We shouldn’t smell like sex at all.
“Not literally, silly!” Madison exclaims. “I mean, you’re practically glowing! You both have that smug, satisfied look that only comes from good sex. It was good, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t answer that,” Sawyer interjects before I can say that, yes, it was indeed good.
The flight attendant brings three glasses of champagne on a tray and as he hands each to Madison, she passes them to me and Sawyer.
“Fine. I don’t want the details anyway. Here. Take this.”
“We’ll be pushing away in a moment, so please have your seatbelts fastened for takeoff.” The flight attendant directs us before disappearing toward the back of the plane again.
“Cheers!” Madison holds up her glass. “To really great sex!”
I clink mine against hers and take a sip, the carbonated wine tickling my nose as I swallow.
“Kill me now,” Sawyer says, but he clinks his glass and takes a sip too.
“What’s with the attitude, dude?” Madison asks with a laugh. “Haven’t you wanted to bang Preston for forever?”
“Mads!” Sawyer hisses at her.
Wait, what? He’s wanted to have sex with me for a long time? That can’t be right. Wouldn’t he have told me?
“What do you mean?” I ask, glancing from Madison to Sawyer.
He looks like he wants to drop through the floor of the plane, even though we’ve started barreling down the runway. Madison’s eyes widen, her lips press together like she’s accidentally let slip something she was supposed to keep secret.
“What do you mean?” I ask again, more forcefully this time.
Madison and Sawyer have both known me for a long time and they’re my bestest friends.
They each have their own way of looking out for me, of taking care of me.
And I’m really grateful to them for everything they do.
But sometimes… sometimes I wish they weren’t quite so protective.
I’m not made of glass. I won’t break with the slightest contact.
“Nothing,” Sawyer finally says. “It’s nothing.”
It’s not nothing. I can tell from the way Sawyer shifts uncomfortably in his seat and how Madison’s gaze darts back and forth between us. There’s something, and it has to do with me and Sawyer having sex, but they won’t tell me because they don’t want to hurt me.
It’s only been a couple days since I went to Mars to find him, and then he took me home and we had sex. Maybe Sawyer didn’t actually want to have sex with me? Maybe he did it only to appease me? He seemed so enthusiastic, though. Is it possible to fake something like that?
I thought Sawyer wanted sex—he had sex with Fitz after all—but perhaps I’m wrong? A sickening feeling grows in my stomach at the thought that I forced myself onto Sawyer, and I gulp down my champagne.
Madison lets out a laugh that sounds a little strained. “It’s nothing. Ignore me. I’m always running my mouth. You know me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
When I glance at Sawyer, he’s staring daggers at Madison who diligently pretends not to notice.
I hate it when this happens. Neither of them says a word but somehow manages to communicate with pointed looks and subtle body movements.
It’s like they know a secret language I’ve never learned.
Maybe I’m paranoid or sensitive, but I’m certain it’s about me.
They’ve got good intentions, they’re trying to protect me, but then I end up being left out.
I turn toward the window and sulk while watching the clouds float past. This isn’t a great way to start the weekend, but I suppose I should set my expectations appropriately before we touch down in Boston.
Time with my parents is always strained, and these weekends usually feel more like obstacle courses than vacations.
Silence descends upon the plane as I stew and neither Madison nor Sawyer try to fill it.
Sawyer pulls out his laptop to do some schoolwork and Madison types madly on her phone.
I dig through my bag for my tablet, opening up the analysis I’ve been working on this week.
I stare at the screen, but the letters and numbers blur together as my mind wanders.
I’m not the son my parents wanted. I’m too antisocial and nerdy, too wrapped up in my research and uninterested in the things that are important to them. They want a bright, charming, savvy son who will one day take over the company business. It doesn’t matter that that’s not who I am.
The flight attendant comes by with snacks and drinks a couple times, and then we’re landing in Boston. Sawyer’s the first out of his seat and off the plane. Madison catches my arm before I can follow him.
“Hey, Pres,” she says, voice lowered. “You know I was just teasing earlier, right? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“That’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. Madison would never intentionally hurt me, and I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either. Ironic that I didn’t understand enough of the subtext to be bothered by it.
After we climb into the big SUV that will take us to my parents’ house, Madison clears her throat. “So, um, how do you guys want to play this?”
Sawyer stares at Madison. “Play what?”
“This.” Madison waves a finger between us. “Are you together now?”
Sawyer stiffens next to me, but I don’t understand why. Sawyer and I have always been together. We’re best friends. We’ve lived together since we were in high school.
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re literally glowing. People are going to have questions,” Madison continues.
“What do you mean? What kinds of questions?” I ask.
Madison’s voice is gentle as she speaks.
“You guys have always been way too touchy-feely and co-dependent for a normal set of best friends. But this?” She looks pointedly to where my thigh is pressed flushed against Sawyer’s, where my hand is snugly ensconced in his.
“That’s a lot, even for you. People are going to notice that something’s changed.
And they’ll want to know what happened.”
The question brings me up short. Why should anyone care about me and Sawyer? Why is it any of their business?
Sawyer fidgets. “I don’t know. We—I haven’t thought that far ahead. This is… a pretty recent development.”
Madison winces like she’s about to give us bad news. “Then you might want to…” She waves at our clasped hands again. “Not do stuff like that.”
I take in the way my hand fits inside Sawyer’s, the roughness of his palms, the callouses at the base of his fingers, the slight color variation between his skin and mine. I like holding Sawyer’s hand. I like being pressed up next to him. I like cuddling and being held by him.
Sawyer clears his throat. “You’re right. Maybe we should tone it down for the weekend.” He squeezes my fingers quickly before letting go, then shifts so there’s an inch of space between us.
If Sawyer thinks it’s the best thing to do, then I trust him. Except now my side is cold and I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hand. I tuck it under my thigh to keep myself from reaching for him again.
Madison regards me for a moment before asking, “Are you okay with that, Pres?”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I am. I have no reason not to be okay, but I don’t like the unsettled, unmoored feeling I get when I’m not physically touching Sawyer.
“It’s just a few days,” Sawyer says, though he sounds unconvinced. “It’ll be fine.”
Mom greets us at the front door when we arrive at the house.
It’s already fully decked out for Thanksgiving with red, orange, and yellow leafed wreaths and garlands decorating every surface.
On the table in the middle of the foyer sits a giant cornucopia surrounded by pumpkins, apples, grapes, and corn.
Sunflower arrangements as tall as Sawyer line the walls.
The scent of pumpkin spice fills the air.
“Madison!” She holds out both arms to give Madison an elbow-clasping hug and air kisses on both cheeks.
“Hey, Mrs. Boyer. How are you?”
“Oh, you know, busy, busy. There’s so much to do for Thanksgiving.”
“Let me know if you need help.”
“You’re a darling, Madison.” Then Mom turns to me and does the elbow-clasping and air kissing thing, but only on one side. “Preston, how is the research going?”
“Uh, fine.” I don’t bother to explain how it’s really going. Not only would she not understand, but I don’t think she actually cares. Asking after my research is just the polite thing to do.
“That’s wonderful. And Sawyer!” Mom gives him a slow once-over. “My, my, I swear you get more muscular every time I see you!” She squeezes his arm like she’s testing the firmness of his bicep.
Sawyer chuckles good-naturedly. “Thanks, Mrs. Boyer.”
“Come in, come in!” Mom spins around and leads the way through the foyer and into one of the sitting rooms. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Boyer and I. We’re accustomed to a set dinner hour, so we’ve already eaten. But I’ve had Chef make up a few things for you to nibble on.”
She twirls around with a flourish, gesturing to a sideboard that holds enough food for an entire party of guests. There are more varieties of meat and cheese, crackers and fruit than I can count. Mini pumpkins and gourds sit among decorative branches and more colored leaves.
“I’ll pour drinks for everyone. We have a new pumpkin brandy that’s absolutely yummy. You all have to try some.”
Sawyer hands me a plate and I dutifully hold it while he piles food on it. When it’s full, he guides me over to a couch by the fireplace.
“Ahem.” Madison purposefully clears her throat when she joins us. Before I can figure out what she’s trying to communicate, Sawyer shifts away from me.
I’m about to close the gap between us when I realize what’s happening. I sat down too close to him, and we’re supposed to be inconspicuous. I bite my lip as I fight the urge to touch him. It’s a physical itch, like an irritant that can only be soothed with physical contact.
I know I agreed to—what did Sawyer call it?—tone things down, but this can’t be what he meant, can it? We always sit like this, close enough to touch, even before we started having sex.
Mom brings over glasses of dark amber liquor, handing them out before settling herself into an armchair. She doesn’t immediately launch into conversation like she usually does. Instead, she watches us—me and Sawyer—for a long, silent moment before taking a drink.
There’s something in her eyes that makes me squirm. Mom is always so perfectly put together, with a practiced smile on her lips and a measured laugh at the ready. It’s not often she lets the veneer drop, but when she does, there’s something unmistakably sharp and discerning in her demeanor.
I hate it when she looks at me like that. Like she’s trying to cut open my skull and rummage around inside my brain. Like she’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with my neural pathways.
I don’t know why I’m the way I am. I don’t know why I can’t be the person she and Dad want me to be. I slump into myself, as if I can escape her scrutiny if I make myself smaller.
Sawyer’s knee bumps into mine—then stays there.
He’s shifted forward on the couch, legs spread wide as he rests his elbows on his knees.
It looks like a casual position, convenient for munching on his plate of food.
But the light and consistent pressure tells me it’s not.
It’s deliberate. My lungs relax enough to draw in a full breath.
Sawyer’s got me. Even when it appears he doesn’t, he still does.
“Mrs. Boyer,” he says, breaking the silence. “The decorations this year are really cool. You’ve gone all out.”
There’s a slight lag in Mom’s reaction, but when she turns her attention to Sawyer, her signature smile is firmly in place again.
“Yes, Mrs. Boyer.” Madison chimes in. “I love the wreaths on the doors! Where did you get those?”
Mom laughs politely in response. “There’s this wonderful little flower shop…”
As the small talk flows effortlessly around me, I scoot a little closer to Sawyer.