Page 19 of Those Eyes, That Mouth

I took it and looked at the collar. Yep. Her lipstick stain was still there. "No, it’s not," I said. "It’s fucking velvet. And it's vintage."

He let out a long, hard breath through his nose. "I'll buy you another one."

"No you won't. It's one of a kind and you wouldn't even know where to shop for a piece like this.”

His jaw tightened. He lowered his voice, his words turning cold. "I didn't let her do anything. It's not like I wanted her to." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked. "And why do you even care? You've spent the past two months talking nonstop about all the cool townie guys you want to be with." He made cool sound like a dirty word. "It's not like I'm one of them."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

The silence was a roar.

He’d been listening to me talk about those guys and comparing himself to them. Like he’d been hoping he was in the running all along.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but my throat felt like it had closed up.

He shook his head and whispered, "I can't keep doing this.”

Every part of me went numb. Like someone had thrown a switch. "Well, you won't have to. I'm already packing." I gestured at the open trunk and stacks of clothes. "I'm gonna request a room change."

He looked at the trunk like he was seeing it for the first time. Like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what it was even doing here. The anger seemed to have dropped right out of him. "Wait—" His voice was barely there. "That's not what I meant. I—I can’t keep doing it.” His eyes were liquid and pinned to mine. "I’m always... I’m always thinking about you. I can’t turn it off. I spent the whole night wishing the girls would disappear so it could just be us.”

He stopped, as if the sound of his own voice surprised him. He swallowed hard, his whole body going stiff like he was bracing for an impact. When he spoke again, the words went flat. "I know I’m not your type. I’m not one of those guys. But I thought if I was your best friend, then maybe someday…”

He gave a small, embarrassed shrug that hurt me to see. His mouth quirked up on one side, an attempt to show me he was fine with us just being friends, but there was a pleading in his eyes. “Or at least I'd get to hang out with you."

I couldn’t breathe.

Everything I'd said for the last two months. All that bullshit about artists and musicians and my "type." I'd been talking about it constantly, thinking I was being open. Like I was showing him what was possible. Like it was safe to be himself around me. Whether he was straight or gay.

But I'd really just been holding it between us like a wall.

I'd been telling him he wasn't enough.

I’d been such a fucking idiot.

"No." The word came out rough. "Nathan, no."

I had to stop and force myself to breathe.

“I’m sorry.” It came out as a whisper.

I stepped closer. Not touching him yet.

"I spent two whole months trying not to fall for you because falling for your straight roommate is pathetic, and I promised myself I'd never be that guy."

All the stuff I'd been obsessing over—it was all just noise.

"I thought you were straight.” It was the only defense I had left. It sounded small and useless now.

"Well, I'm not." He swallowed. His jaw was so tight I could see the muscle working. Then something shifted in his face—half smile, half surrender. He knew he’d crossed a line.

We stared at each other.

I felt myself starting to smile. "No shit," I said.

I closed the distance between us. My heart was hammering all the way up into my throat.

"Why don't you kiss me, then."