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"No it wasn't." I stare out at the road as my throat aches like tears are coming.
"That’s fine, because I won't do it again."
"Too afraid to be with someone like me, dick face?” I’m pretty damn sure Mr. You Can’t See Me Cry is freaked out by me now—after what happened last night. Maybe he thinks it was his fault. “Your mouth's not good enough to break me.” It’s a murmur.
"I think we both know it's good enough for anything you want it to be." I glance up at the moment he swallows. His eyes widen as they move over me. When he speaks again, his voice sounds choked. "Do you think it was me?" he asks softly.
I know what he’s asking, but I don’t want to talk about my fucking epilepsy—I don’t want to let him off the hook—so I dodge the question. "Sure fucking hope it was you. Every night I went in your room, it sure as shit looked like you."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then say it." I'm just fucking with him. Fucking with him like he fucks with me.
"Do you think what I did...caused the..."
"Seizure?" I snap.
"Yeah." He says it quiet. His profile is bathed in silver moonlight. I can see his teeth bite on his lower lip.
"Would it matter if it had? Would you feel bad or something?" I can't do what he does. I can't really fuck with him. So I say, "You didn't. No. Your lips are pretty fucking sweet but not that sweet, angel."
His hand, propped against the wheel at two o’clock, re-grips it. His left one comes up to his face, smooths his hair back.
"All of that was a...lapse,” he says quietly. “No one can find out that it happened."
"Fuckin’ shame. Was gonna put it on the jumbo screen at halftime at the first football game next week."
"I’m not kidding, Mills. You can't tell."
I laugh despite the way my heart is pounding. Hurt and...shame. That I got twisted up by someone like him. "I won't tell, man. Don't worry, I’m not a fucking dick. Your little secret's safe with me."
"It's not my secret,” he says.
"Oh, that’s right. Because you're not gay. It was just a lapse. You just love…to toy with me.” I quirk a brow.
"Next time, bang on the wall."
It takes me a minute to realize what he means. He doesn’t think I should come into his room again. I shut my eyes and feel the rhythm of the Jeep's wheels on the cracked, potholed road. He says nothing for the remaining minutes it takes to reach Brennan’s uncle’s land. When we reach the white, hand-painted sign nailed to a tree, and I say, “This is it. Take the right.”
Ezra drives slowly down the dusty, red-dirt road, its tire lines gleaming faintly pearly in the moonlight. About a fourth of a mile later, there’s another sign—this one a cardboard pizza box nailed to a tree and marked with glow-in-the-dark paint.
PARK THERE. An arrow points ahead, and slightly right.
“There’s a clearing there—just go past this tree with the big limb that hangs down…”
Ezra doesn’t speak at all as he parks on a row with three trucks and an SUV.
As soon as I step out into the muggy air, I point myself away from him. I can’t drive myself, but I can sure as shit avoid his fucking ass. And catch a different ride home.
Six
Ezra
It’s not hard to keep an eye on DG. He’s tall, dark, and handsome in the pale pink Polo. Guys in Fairplay wear a ton of pink shit. Pink and white plaid—very preppy shit here. Though no one else has on pink tonight, so as I stand near the kegs, holding a Solo cup I filled with beer and then replaced with water, it’s easy to watch DG move about the living room and kitchen.
The first time I look, he’s talking to his friend Jenna. Then he’s with Marcel and a guy I don’t know, standing near the fireplace. I’m playing pool with Brennan and a couple other guys. Then Marcel comes to play. DG sits beside an older-looking dude and fucks around on his phone.
He won’t go near his two best friends because they’re here at the pool table with me. As I aim for the solid six ball, I see someone walk up to him. I sink the shot and glance up. It’s Arnie. What the fuck? He’s handing DG a red Solo cup.
I wait a minute and tell Brennan, “I need a smoke. When Josh is finished talking, get him to cover for me?”
“Yeah, man.”
Brennan hasn’t noticed that DG and I aren’t bro buds. Marcel has, so he shoots me a look. I arch a brow at him and head out the cabin’s front door. Greene, one of the running backs, is overseeing the fish situation. He’s standing on the front porch in front of something that looks a little like a grill, but I guess it’s some sort of fryer.
