49. Seth
Seth
I groan, placing an arm over my head. Do we really have to be awake every day? Can’t some days just be for sleep? I’m in no position to wake up and act like all human today.
My hangover’s trying to kill me dead, and then I groan again when I remember the phone call with Kaden last night.
Fuck!
The fucking phone sex with Kaden, where I told him I wanted him to fuck me against a wall. One hundred percent true, of course, but he didn’t need to know how much of a slut I am for him.
Yesterday, my parents celebrated their twenty-sixth wedding anniversary, and we raided their wine collection. Drank only the good, expensive ones and got way too drunk. Me at least. I was wasted.
My parents went to bed before midnight, and I spent an hour or two slow-dancing to Harpo and ABBA in my old room, hugging a bottle of Chateau Lafite, before Kaden called.
You know you’re in deep shit when the sound of their voice turns you on.
That’s another thing that makes me lose my mind.
Alcohol makes me horny and all inhibition leaves the building like there’s a fire wreaking havoc.
Literally anything could’ve slipped out of my mouth.
Which is why drunk me has no business calling—or answering phone calls from anyone, let alone the guy I’ve been crushing on since forever, and are now having mind-blowing sex with.
I’ve been hiding in my old room for the better part of the day. Only went downstairs to plunder the pantry and the fridge.
I’m in my bed, watching The Greatest Showman, blanket pulled up to under my chin when Mom enters.
“Seth,” she says, stopping in the doorway, a watering can in hand. “You’re still here? I thought you said you were going back to San Diego today?”
“I was. But then I changed my mind.”
“Why?” She walks over to pull the curtains aside and I hiss and put a hand up to cover myself from the daylight. Only it doesn’t come.
“It’s nine p.m., Seth,” she says, watering the plant on the windows sill. “Have you been in here all day?”
Apparently, yes. “Maybe,” I say, pulling the blanket even higher, covering my chin.
“Why? Are you hiding?” She plucks some dead leaves from the plant, and it’s such a mom-thing to do I almost laugh.
“Why would I be hiding?”
She turns around, facing me. “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “But we only see you when there’s talk of wine and food, and last night, you couldn’t stop talking about how badly you wanted to get back to San Diego—”
“You know why I don’t come here,” I say, shooting her a pointed look. “You know why I’d rather be in San Diego. Or anywhere else on the planet than Santa Ana.”
She just looks at me. Something flashes in her eyes, there and gone again before I can decipher it. We never talk about this, and I’m not sure who’s more reluctant.
She takes a breath, turning around and picks up a hoodie off the floor. She folds it before putting it on my desk. “So, why are you still here?”
I sigh.
“Why are you hiding?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” I deadpan.
“Why? What have you done?”
What have I done? I’ve started a fucking fuck fest with my best friend, who I’m also clearly obsessed with.
I’ve let said obsession fuck me, even though, I told myself I wouldn’t.
And last night, I told him I wanted him to fuck me again, right after I confessed that I had been jerking off to the thought of his dick.
And I was probably two seconds away from professing my undying love for him.
Er-fucking-go: idiot.
I puff up my cheeks and blow the air out slowly. “I plead the fifth.”
“Then how am I supposed to help you?” she asks, one hand on her hip.
“I never asked for your help, as far as I know. You wanted to know why I’m hiding, and that’s why. ‘Cause I’m an idiot.”
“Well, then go be an idiot in San Diego, and stop hiding in here. It smells like sad boy and semen.”
I cringe, scrunching my nose. “Why are you so disgusting?”
“It’s not my semen, darling.”
Alright. That’s it. That’s my cue. I’m out of here.