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“I probably smelled like glue and that foam shit that you use to put flower arrangements in,” I grumbled, laying my arm over his waist.
“Yum.”
We were quiet for a bit. I’d always liked cuddling with Rumi, whether it was on the couch while we were watching a movie or during one of the many camping trips he took me on when I was cold as fuck and made him sleep next to me—but I had to admit that naked cuddling was about a thousand times better. I wasn’t sure how to even broach the subject of how things were going to be in the future. Luckily for me, he spoke first.
“Gotta admit,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “I was pretty fuckin’ freaked out today wonderin’ how this was gonna work.”
“Oh, yeah?” I murmured, closing my eyes.
“Yeah. Kept tellin’ myself I was just hungover, but my stomach was in fuckin’ knots.” He paused. “But this is good. Friends that fuck, yeah? Nothin’ wrong with that. Nothin’s gotta change or be weird or whatever.”
I’d been thinking the same thing. The exact same thing. Nothing had to change. But when the same words came out of Rumi’s mouth, all the air left me. It felt like the time I’d fallen out of the tree house at his parents’ place and got the wind knocked out of me. Like I’d been punched in the chest.
“Right,” I wheezed, grimacing at how strange I sounded. I needed to get it the fuck together before he asked what was wrong. “Friends that fuck.”
“We’re young, you know?” he said easily. “No need to make shit serious or anythin’ like that.”
“Of course not,” I replied.
We were nineteen. He was right. I hadn’t even saved up enough to start school yet. I had a million things I wanted to do before I started anything serious with anyone and with Rumi, it couldn’t be anything but serious if we were together.
“Still best friends,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
“Always.”
He fell asleep a little while later. I knew because he was making the little snuffling noise that he always made when he’d completely passed out. I crawled out of the bed and pulled the blankets over him, stopping to take in his tangled hair and the familiar contours of his face. If either of us were beautiful, it was Rumi. He’d gotten the best parts of both his parents, high cheekbones and defined jaw from his dad, full lips and bedroom eyes from his mom. It was a killer combination.
I got dressed quickly and turned the lights off as I made my way through the house since I knew he wouldn’t wake up again until morning. Rumi slept like the dead and always had. It was like the moment he decided it was time for bed, he just flipped a switch and he was asleep—not like us lesser mortals that ran through the million thoughts that had been waiting for a quiet moment to make their presence known.
As I drove home, I reminded myself that I’d never had any intention of being in a relationship with Rumi. Romantic relationships ended. They were messy. They came with drama and jealousy and feelings. I’d decided back when we were just kids that going down that road with Rumi was a terrible idea and that fact hadn’t changed just because he’d played my body like a fucking maestro. We were the same. We just knew a little more about each other than we’d known before.
I knew he liked it when I ran my tongue down the side of his dick and he knew that I liked when he bit my thighs. That didn’t mean that we couldn’t stay friends.
The lights were on when I parked next to my grandparents’ trailer and I checked the time again in surprise. Nobody ever stayed up this late, not even on the weekends. Usually if Bird was still up, he’d be in his bedroom reading, but the light in the family room and kitchen were definitely on.
Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I hurried inside, worried something was wrong.
“Nice of you to show up,” Pop barked as I quietly let myself in the front door.
Looking back, I wish I would’ve said something, asked what was wrong, sat down with him at the table and figured out what his deal was, spent a little time with him—but I was too stunned to do any of that. Pop had never used that tone with me before, not once. He’d been angry before, sure, and he’d been frustrated, but he’d always kept his cool. Plus, I’d been coming and going as I pleased since I was seventeen years old. I always let Nana know if I wasn’t going to be home all night, but it had never been a problem if I came home late.
I stood frozen just inside the door, watching as he leaned his forehead on his fist. After a moment, he raised it again and threw back the whiskey sitting on the kitchen table in front of him.
“I’m sorry, Pop,” I said quietly. “I didn’t realize that—”
“Go to bed,” he ordered, not looking at me.
I flipped the lock on the door and hurried into my room, clenching my teeth against the tears that threatened. It probably shouldn’t have been a big deal, and wouldn’t have been for anyone else, but we were different. When I’d moved in with Nana and Pop, he’d known the kind of life I’d had with my mom and he’d deliberately made changes to make sure I felt safe. There were no men yelling at Nana and Pop’s, because he didn’t allow it. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t speak sharply to me or Bird or Nana. He didn’t slam around the house when he was angry. He never left after an argument with Nana, even if he was pissed. It was like the two of them had set out rules for themselves to make sure we felt secure and they’d stuck to them.
“Pop’s in a mood,” Bird whispered, sticking his head out of his bedroom door. “Steer clear.”
“Do you know what’s going on?” I whispered back, glancing over my shoulder.
“No idea,” he muttered with a shrug. “After dinner, he said that he had a headache, but that was it. He’s just been sitting at the table for like four hours.”
“What the fuck?”
“Nana went to bed at midnight,” Bird said, looking down the hallway. “And he didn’t go with her.”
