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Why must he always throw her in my face?
“I love that girl like she’s my own, you know that,” I say firmly, glancing away. “I’ll always be her uncle. Anytime she needs me or wants to call, I’ll be there. But you and I… it’s over, Matty.”
He shudders, face growing pale as he reaches for me once again. As I bat his arms away, the front door opens wide, mid-day sun streaming into the room.
“Seriously?! On my frying pan?!”
Salem’s screech has Matty jumping away, scrambling to pull up his pants. It isn’t until I see Taylor staring wide-eyed over her shoulder that I hurriedly slide off the counter to do the same.
“What the fuck?!” He shouts. “I knew it!”
Scoffing at the excitement in his voice, I button my pants as Salem marches across the room with a growl. She reaches under the sink, pulling out a can of disinfectant before spraying it at the space my ass just vacated.
“There’s fucking jizz on the counter! What the hell is wrong with you two? Ever heard of a bed?!”
For fuck’s sake.
I turn toward my room, avoiding Matty’s gaze entirely, when Taylor punches me on the shoulder, wiggling his pierced brow.
“It’s nice, right?! Team dick for the win.” He raises his hand like he’s expecting a high-five, but I glare at him until he lowers his arm with a smirk. “So what, are you two boyfriends now?”
Matty says nothing, his cheeks inflamed as he picks up his bag from beside the door. Eyes on the floor. His silence speaks louder than words ever could.
“Matty was just leaving,” I snap, tearing my gaze from my ex-best friend. “Will you take him to the airport?”
Salem glowers at me from where she’s furiously scrubbing the counter. “Fine. But I expect this place fucking spotless when I get back.”
Yeah, okay. Like the coffee table isn’t currently littered with all of her shit.
Matty tries to grab my attention, but I focus on cleaning instead if only to avoid looking at him. When it becomes clear that I have no intention of saying goodbye, the two leave without a word.
The door clicks shut, echoing off the empty walls like a gunshot, and I blink down at my soapy hands, fighting back tears. Someone clearing their throat reminds me that I’m not alone, and I flick my gaze over to Taylor, who’s squinting at me with his arms crossed over a T-shirt that has a large raccoon on it with the title Trash King.
“So, how long has this been going on between you two?”
Rolling my eyes at the pout on his lips, I continue to scrub the evidence of my greatest weakness off the countertop. “A while.”
“What’s a while?”
Fuck, he’s nosy. Instead of answering the question, I blurt out something easier to discuss. Something that doesn’t make me feel the gaping wound in my chest where my heart used to sit. “My aunt died last night.”
Taylor’s expression softens as he runs a hand through his dark, messy strands. “Shit, man. You good? Want to talk about it?”
Am I? “Yeah, I’m good. And no, I don’t want to talk.”
Talking was never our strong suit. Taylor and I built our friendship on vices. When his father died—may he rot—the night had ended with Tay beating up his stepdad because I’d gotten him drunk. More shit I feel guilty about.
Drinking is no longer an option for either of us, and it feels like we’ve been struggling to find the rhythm in our friendship without liquor as a crutch.
His gaze drops to the healing scar just beneath my thumb, and I tug my sleeve down to hide it. “You still seeing Dr. Hart?”
“Yep.”
“Cool, cool…” He trails off, popping his lips awkwardly. “But like, what’s a while with you and Matty, because—"
“Nope.”
Huffing, he throws me an annoyed glance before snatching up the bottle of oil perched on the counter. “Please do not tell me you guys used this as lube? It’s better than nothing, but like…" When I don’t respond, he chokes out a cough of disbelief. “Dude, do I need to educate you on anal? Should I call up Huck for a demonstration?”
