Chapter Nine #3
He falters in the doorway, eyes widening as he catches sight of me at the table.
“Oh no! You were sick, Evie?” Camile sits across from me, face pinched with concern as she begins loading plates with eggs, bacon, potatoes, and fresh fruit.
I eye Skylar as he sits next to me, slow and cautious. “Ah, yes. But I’m much better now, thank you.”
“Son, you look exhausted. Did you go partying last night?” Phillip asks Skylar, sliding him a glass of water.
“Yeah, I got in late,” he replies casually.
I flinch. Got in late? What does that mean? Is he alluding to Jacob? Did he stay over at his house?
“Well, make sure you’re being safe,” Camile lectures.
Skylar flushes. “Mom!”
“What?! I meant drinking and driving, Skylar! Sweet Jesus.” She fans her face.
But Phillip just laughs, saying, “Wow, Sky. You found yourself a girlfriend?”
Oh. So his parents don’t know. Am I the only one? And why is he blushing like this? Did he actually fuck that guy?
“Yeah, Skylar,” I prompt, shooting him a glare disguised as a perfectly pleasant smile. “Why are you blushing so hard?”
Skylar doesn’t bother hiding his glare, not in current company. “No. I do not have a girlfriend, and I think you know that.”
Camile clears her throat. “So, have you boys been studying for midterms? It’s never too early!”
Skylar dives into a description of his two-week study plan, how he intends to map everything out and focus most of his attention on mathematics—a smart move on his part.
All the while, I can’t get the image of him and Jacob out of my head. Does Jacob praise him? Is he lying there, spread out and moaning, telling that giant just how he wants it?
Fuck.
Fuck them, and fuck this.
“Everett?” Phillip calls to me, and my eyes snap up from my plate to meet his. “I don’t think that fork did anything to you, did it?”
Shit. I have a death grip around the handle of my utensil as if I have a personal vendetta against it.
I set it down on the table gently, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, sir.”
“Boys,” Camile interjects. “Are you two okay? Did you fight? It’s not good to fight. We can mediate, you know.”
“Mom,” Skylar warns.
“I’m just saying! You’ve been friends for so long now. I know you love each other—”
“Mom!”
Camile abruptly stops speaking, her eyes falling back down to her half-empty plate.
“Skylar Edmond Parish. Be careful how you speak to your mother.” Phillip’s voice is stern, but not angry.
Ash would have bitch slapped me.
Skylar is quiet for a moment before he murmurs, “I’m sorry, Momma. Thank you for your help, but everything’s okay.”
Camile relents, smiling as she returns to eating.
But everything is not okay. I want to cry and scream and maybe punch Skylar in his perfect face.
“Everett, praise me,” he had said. Moaned. Cried.
I have to get him out of my head. These memories, his voice, his taste—the feeling of him pressed against me. It’s the only way to survive this.
And with this thought in mind, I avoid any and all conflict or confrontation for the rest of the morning, which just means I barely speak to Skylar.
Then, once it’s no longer considered rude to do so, I flee.
My voice comes out rushed but calm as I say, “Well, I have things to do, but thank you so much for breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Parish.”
Camile pulls me into another hug. “Of course, sweet boy. Come by whenever you want.”
“You’re leaving?” Skylar asks me; his first direct question of the day.
I nod, not bothering to look in his direction.
Phillip shakes my hand. “Have a good day, son.”
I wave, offering them a tight smile before slipping out the front door.
I’m opening my driver’s side door as Skylar comes running out of the house.
“Everett,” he calls. And as I ignore him and get in the car, he jams his hand inside to keep me from closing it. “What the fuck?”
“What do you want, Skylar?” I snap.
His brow furrows, the soft lines of his face pulling tight. “Where are you going?”
“Home?” I look at him in confusion.
What does he mean by where? I don’t live here, and I certainly don’t live with him. Doesn’t he have a boyfriend to get back to?
“Why? Come over.”
I scoff. “I can’t. I’m sick, remember?”
Skylar rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? You ran out of Seabird like there was a shooting about to happen, and then I didn’t hear from you this morning. I was trying to cover for you. Why are you so angry?”
I stare at him, images of Jacob’s hands all over him playing behind my eyes. And then, even worse still, my own imagination feeds me images of what most likely happened after I left. What could have happened once they were alone.
“I’m not.” It’s a straight-up lie, and we both know it.
“I’m so fucking tired of this bullshit, Everett. We haven’t fought this much in, well, forever. Just get your ass to my apartment; I’ll see you in thirty.” He does not wait for a response, spinning on his heel and heading to his Honda.
And if I didn’t find his bratty attitude so fucking hot, I’d say fuck it and go home anyway.
But I do, so I pull out of the Parish driveway and hit the freeway.