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“Well, I’m fine,” he says, pushing up on one of his elbows. He looks around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time, his eyes resting for a second on the football pillow over in my armchair.
Then he shifts his legs toward the bed’s side and scoots so he’s sitting there, my blankets pooled around his waist, his bare back rippling as he leans on his arm.
“I’m gonna…go or whatever.” He stands, tugging the sheet off my bed and wrapping it around his hips. “So uh…thanks.” He glances over his shoulder, pressing his lips together as he moves toward my bedroom door.
“Bathroom route’s faster,” I say.
“Mm.”
I can’t help walking to the doorway, watching as he walks to his room. “Do you feel okay?”
“Like I got my dick sucked by some ‘straight’ guy,” he says.
I can’t help a low hoot. I guess he remembered.
Four
Josh
The first thing I realize after getting to my room is that I don't have my phone. I drape his top sheet over my baseboard and grab a pillow to cover my junk before checking the bathroom. But it's not in there. Ezra has it. It's got a passcode, so I guess I don't care. I'm not going to get it just yet.
He was right: I really don't remember last night. When I said something about getting sucked off by a straight guy, I was just bullshitting. What I do remember, in fucking detail, is me running through the bathroom like Super Queero. Climbing on his bed and reaching down to grab his shoulders.
Ezra...
When I was sleeping off the seizure, I think I was aware that he was with me. And I was happy. I was partially conscious, and I have these fragments of memory where I was happy to be in his bed. I remember his hands on me. Maybe my face? Pretty sure he played with my hair. And then this morning—
A quick glance at my clock reveals it's actually 1 p.m. Fuck.
But anyway, when I woke up, he had his arm over me.
Why?
Why why why why why would he do that?
It doesn't matter. I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my forehead. I should call my mom in just a second, see what she wants me to do. I don't think I need to go in unless I have another seizure. And I won't. I can't.
Tears fill my eyes again. I swallow to keep them from falling. I'm not gonna cry about this shit yet. It was just a onetime thing. No way it happens again.
You can't drive now.
That's why they make Uber Eats.
I stretch out on my bed and pull the duvet over me. It's the same brand as his, but it smells different. The last thought I have before my eyelids drop shut is You're so stupid.
"Dee-geeeyyyyyyyy..."
I hear it a few times before I realize—Ezra. I pry my eyelids open, and he’s right there, standing over my bed.
"Fuck, I fell asleep again?" My throat is sore just like my tongue is. Did my voice break? I can barely hear my own words.
"Say it again, Snow White." I feel the mattress indent as he sits down by me. "I'm listening. Just speak up a little louder..."
My mind spins. "Snow White?"
Ezra's chuckle fills my whole head. "Shit, I meant to say Sleeping Beauty."
I crack an eye open, finding that he's lying on his side now, facing me.
"I woke you up because there's a fish fry..." He wiggles his dark brows and sticks his tongue out, peering at me with his cheek propped in his palm.
I give him an exaggerated frown. "What?"
"Yeah, your boy Brennan, at his uncle's place. Supposed to be a fish fry, they say."
"Oh, yeah." I remember this now. Brennan's Uncle Gus has a big hunting cabin on some land that runs along a county road outside town. Gus moved up to Tennessee last year, and Bren is taking care of the place. He started telling people the other day that he was frying some fish out there this weekend.
"I wasn't sure if you would want to go. So...I got you this." He leans away and reappears in my frame of vision with a cherry Icee.
"Marcel got it, but I ordered it," he corrects, handing the cup to me.
I push up on my elbows, then sit fully up.
"Thought your tongue might be sore,” he says. “You stuck it so far down my throat, I accidentally bit it." He says this perfectly deadpan, which makes my eyes widen even though I know it's bullshit.
He grins, pointing his fingers at me in a gun shape. "Gotcha."
This might be the most animated I've ever seen Ezra. His eyes are alight, almost sparkling with good humor, and his mouth is curled into a lazy grin. I’m reminded he has nice, white teeth.
"Do you want to go?" He seems intense. Scrutinizing.
