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“Well, you are.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “That’s beside the point, Dad.” I opened them back up and stared hard at him, silently begging him to listen to me for once. To let me make decisions about what was best for me. To know my own goddamned mind.

“You complaining all the time is going to make things really fucking difficult for me. I need you to stop, okay?”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said this many words to him in a row, and maybe he was just as surprised as I was, because instead of interrupting, he simply glared at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I’m twenty-three years old, Dad. I need to live my own life. Just … let me do that. Please.”

When he finally did speak, his voice was eerily calm in a way that was infinitely worse than any yelling could ever be.

“And who was it that gave you that life? Hmm?”

I shook my head, my hand landing on the door handle. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t know why I bother even trying.”

I didn’t slam the door or cause a scene despite desperately wanting to rage at him. I put my shoulders back, held my head high, and fucking strolled into the lobby, never once looking back.

I knew he watched me the entire time, likely calculating his next move, because there would be one. There always was. I may have won this particular battle, but I’d just inadvertently started a new kind of war, and I was so fucking tired of fighting.

In my room, I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, the weight of the whole night pressing heavily on me. I looked down, surprised to find my phone in my hand. I didn’t remember even fishing it out of my pocket.

Mikey would still be up, watching TV or chatting with his sister. One message, and I could be in his room. He’d put something mindless and stupid on the TV, and it’d feel so good just being near him.

Which was exactly why I couldn’t go down there.

Not tonight. Not feeling so completely hollowed out. Not with my dad’s warnings about being smart still ringing in my ears.

If I saw Mikey feeling the way I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade. I’d let something show. I’d say his name the wrong way, or look at him too long. Or worse—I’d touch him, and I wouldn’t want to stop touching him, and he’d see exactly how much I wanted him to touch me back.

ELEVEN

CALLY

Mikey came through the lobby doors, his attention focused on the phone in his hand. He wore a Marauders shirt he’d hacked the arms off of so that it was fully open down both sides, showing off his sick obliques, athletic shorts resting low on his hips. A damp curl rested against his forehead.

My fingers twitched in my pocket, wanting desperately to touch it.

To touch him.

I let myself admire him for a few more seconds before pushing that desire down deep into the box I put things in I didn’t want to examine. Then I rocked to my feet and I moved toward him, the soles of my boots squeaking on the tile floor.

He looked up, smirking when he saw me. “You been waiting for me, Cal?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, feeling only marginally guilty for the trap I was about to spring. “I’m heading out to go look at an apartment. You wanna come?”

“For a second opinion or something?” he asked, sliding his phone into the pocket of his shorts.

“Actually.” I cleared my throat, trying to remember the words I’d practiced in my bathroom mirror when I’d first come up with this plan.“It’s a two bedroom. I was thinking it might work for both of us. If you’re interested in having a roommate, I mean. The team likes it when rookies pair up.”

“Fuck yes!” he exclaimed without a moment of hesitation, launching himself toward me and wrapping an arm around my neck. He hauled me sideways into his sweat-soaked chest, his skin hot and moist against my cheek.

Briefly, I pictured myself licking his exposed nipple, then shoved away from him with a noise of disgust I didn’t actually mean. “Eww. Gross.”

He stumbled, then righted himself with a laugh. “You looking to head out now?”

“You need a shower first.” I straightened the collar of my sweater where his mauling had rucked it up around my neck. “You reek.”

He lifted his arm, sniffing at his pit. “Fuck. Yeah. Sorry about the headlock.”