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His voice is deeper than what I’d expect from someone so pretty. He’s not feminine exactly, just kind of androgynous in a rock star/model sort of way. He doesn’t seem fazed in the least. I realize I’ve been staring at him with my shirt off, so I extract it from where Rex shoved it between the couch cushions and pull it on. It’s inside out, but I refuse to acknowledge that. I can only hope that my expression right now is the unimpressed one I give the lead singers of bands who assume I know who they are, the rich guys who slum at the bars in my neighborhood, sure they can pick up anyone, and the students who think they’re getting one over on me.
My brain has kicked into survival mode and all that matters right now is making it out of this house without either Rex or this guy realizing that they’ve had any effect on me whatsoever. Show nothing. Reveal nothing.
“Hi, Marilyn,” the man says, looking right past me. Marilyn trots over to him and lets herself be pet. He bends down and rubs her belly. So, if he knows Marilyn, he’s been around pretty recently—at least since this summer when Rex rescued us.
“Don’t be a dick, Will,” Rex says. “This is Daniel.” Rex holds an arm out to me, but his eyes are anxious.
I intentionally pause before walking slowly over to them.
“Hey,” I say, nodding and holding out a hand to Will. Will’s grip is strong and his calloused hands don’t quite match his pretty face.
“This is my friend, Will,” Rex says, his emphasis on friend a little too deliberate. “Will,” Rex says pointedly, “I didn’t know you were coming to town.”
Will seems to forget I’m there the second he lets go of my hand. He studies Rex’s face and gives him a long once-over.
“Did you have a migraine?” he asks, and my heart starts beating in my ears. This guy knows Rex. There’s no way they’re just friends, or even fuck buddies.
“I’m fine,” Rex says, waving him away. He puts his hand on the back of my neck. “Daniel took good care of me.”
The warmth from Rex’s hand and his words helps a little, but he’s laying it on pretty thick. The last thing I want to do is leave Rex alone with Will, but my instincts are screaming at me to get out of here. I can’t stick around, not even to see what’s going on. I’ve got to get away before I do something I can’t live down, like cry or give this Will guy the satisfaction of seeing that he’s gotten to me. I awkwardly pat Rex on the hip and duck out from under his hand, pulling my shoes on.
“Daniel, don’t go,” Rex says.
“Oh, no, well, I have to teach in the morning, and it’s getting late, so. I’m gonna head home.”
“No, worries, Dan,” Will says cheerily, “I can take it from here.”
I stand quickly. This guy’s stupid perfect face—I want to smash it with my fist. Rather than take a step back like most guys do when I’m in fighting mode, though, Will just smirks at me lazily and yawns. Rex puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me around, no doubt sensing bad energy between us.
But he’s not looking at me like he’s pissed that I want to punch his friend in the face. He’s looking at me with satisfaction. Like I finally did something right. Like maybe he likes the idea that I’m jealous. Oh shit, I’m so fucking jealous.
“Later,” I toss over my shoulder at perfect, stupid Will’s face. Then I fist Rex’s T-shirt in my hand and drag him down toward me, kissing him hard and deep. When I let him go, he sways, looking a little stunned. I smile at him and walk past Will out the front door.
AT LEAST I didn’t have the nightmare last night. Because I didn’t sleep at all.
My heart was pounding with adrenaline the whole drive home, but within about a minute my satisfaction at having laid claim to Rex in front of whoever the hell this Will guy is faded to stomach-clenching anxiety and I cursed myself for choosing a dramatic exit over sticking around and finding out what the story was. Those kinds of exits always seem so satisfying when I read them in books, but I guess with an omniscient narrator no one really needs to stick around for the down and dirty parts.
Finally, around six in the morning, I drag myself out of bed and stand in a hot shower, deciding to get some coffee and walk around for a bit in the hopes of shaking off the stressful weekend and everything to do with Rex and Will before having to act like a grown-up all day. I shake out my gray button-down and pull on gray corduroys and my wingtips. I really need to go shopping. I only have about ten articles of professional clothing and I’ve been swapping them around, but pretty soon someone’s going to notice that I always wear the same thing. I pull on my only sweater, a thin red V-neck that Ginger gave me, in a Hail Mary play that the color might make me feel more awake, hoping it doesn’t look ridiculous. Ginger said it looked great with my hair, but I think it might just make me look like I’m early for Christmas.
