Page 98 of Bruised

I gawk at him. “You’re not?”

“I dropped out.”

“What? But I thought…”

Mason stays silent, and when I look up at him for support, he has a smug smile on his lips, as if he knows something I don’t.

Oliver shrugs. “Just didn’t feel like the right thing to do anymore.”

“Told you,” Mason says, smirking.

“How’s your therapy?” Oliver asks.

Mason stiffens. “Good.”

Apparently, his parole officer pulled some strings and got a therapist to help him with his anger issues, and now he’s got an appointment once a week.

“Any angry outbursts lately?” Oliver asks casually, as if he doesn’t care, but he glares at Mason so intently that it’s obvious he does care.

Mason flashes a grin. “Oh, you heard me spanking him the other night?” He pulls me close and strokes my sore backside. I squirm away from him, flushing.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “No, and I didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, you asked.”

They bicker for a while, until Mason excuses himself for a piss. I shift closer to Oliver, a concerned crease between my brows.

“What are you going to do if you’re not going to college?” I ask.

“Mom has connections at this restaurant downtown.”

“Yeah?”

“She used to date the manager,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “and they’ve kept in touch. He said I could work there for a while until I figure things out.”

“So… you’ll live here and commute?”

He gives a half-shrug. “I saw a listing for a shared apartment. Seems alright.“

“Really—roommates? Might be fun.”

“Yeah. Let’s just hope they don’t fuck in the shower every morning.” He gives me a pointed look, and I cringe.

“Sorry. Didn’t know you heard.”

“I hear more than you think.” He straightens up, tapping his knuckles on the kitchen island. “Either way, I can’t stay here.”

I fidget with my collar, feeling a little guilty. “Mason and I will move out soon. We start working at my dad’s place next week.”

“I thought you didn’t want to work for your dad.”

I shrug. “Now that you’re staying in town, things aren’t so bad.”

“Now that you’re getting railed by my brother, you mean?”

I laugh and push at his chest. “Shut up.” I grow sheepish. “Thanks for… you know. Not freaking out about it.”

Oliver sighs. “You’re my best friend, Lane. That doesn’t change just because you have terrible taste in men.”