Page 71

“Cal?”

He lifted his head to show off red-rimmed, glassy eyes.

“Hey,” he croaked.

My stomach fell straight through the floor. I crossed the room and dropped into a crouch between his legs, putting us face to face.

“What …” I started, then stopped, because I had about six different questions I wanted to ask, but none of them felt like the right one.

What’s going on? What did I do? Is this my fault? Why were you crying? Are you mad at me? How can I make this better?

I swallowed, pushing them all down. “You okay?”

He nodded, not looking even remotely convincing, blew out a breath, then fell onto the mattress with a groan, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

I snorted out a laugh. This fucking guy.

“A little,” I agreed, climbing onto the bed and stretching out on my back alongside him, my fingers laced over my stomach. I rolled my head to look at him. “Wanna tell me why?”

He slid his hands away from his face, and turned to meet my gaze. “Not really, but I probably should.”

I nodded. “Yup.”

Cally pushed himself up to a sitting position and scooted back against the stack of pillows. He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them, and stared straight ahead.

I didn’t know why eye contact got to be too much for him sometimes, but I’d started noticing pretty early on that sometimes Cally’s eyes would slide away from mine, and he’d talk beyond me instead of to me. I’d figured out that if I pushed, he’d shut down. But if I let him do his thing, he’d get where he needed to go. I just had to be patient, so that’s what I did now.

“So. Funny story,” he said, letting out a huff that was probably meant to be a laugh but missed the mark entirely. Then he carded his hand through his hair and rubbed his head a few times before dropping it back down to rest on his thigh. “You know I haven’t had a lot of close friends in my life, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

One night, I’d been telling him about some of my friends from back home. He’d had this sort of … wistful look on his face. Thinking he maybe missed his friends back in Boston, I’d asked about them. That was when he admitted he didn’t really have any, that he’d always kind of been the odd man out. First, because of who his dad was, but mostly because he had a hard time opening up to people. There was also the fact that he could be a blunt asshole at times, something a lot of people couldn’t really see past. He’d actually thanked me for being able to. I’d wanted to hug him so fucking badly after that.

“There was one guy back at Stockbourne—a new transfer student,” Cally began. “We lived in the same dorm and had a few classes together. We only ever really hung out in his room, and only when his friends from the swim team weren’t around.”

I was instantly suspicious of the guy.

“I knew it was shitty that he didn’t want anyone to know we were friends,” Cally continued. “But that didn’t stop me from having a massive, pathetic crush on him anyway.” He blew out a breath. “I thought I’d done a good job hiding it until one night he asked me if I liked him like that. I still have no idea why I didn’t tell him to fuck off or deny it. Maybe it was shock.”

I held my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn’t know how bad this was going to be, only that it wasn’t going to be great.

Cally brought his hand to his mouth and chewed at his thumb. “I told him I did like him like that, and then sat there like a dumbass, waiting for him to punch me or something. I dunno. But then he told me to prove it—to take out his dick and suck it.”

And there was the shoe, dropping like a goddamn bomb.

“Did you?” I whispered, already knowing the answer.

Cally let out a flat huff and turned to look down at me with a sad, little smile.“I’ve never been very good at denying hot, straight boys who want to use me to get off.”

His words took a moment to register, but when they did, I pushed myself up to a seated position and shoved at his shoulder. “Fuck you. I’m nothing like that asshole,” I said, my voice rough with anger. “And I’m not straight.”

He shrugged. “You were a week ago.”

“Or maybe you’re just the fucking sleeper cell agent who activated me.”

I went to shove him again, but he grabbed my hand, his grip tight. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Mikey.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert on sexuality now?”