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“There’s nothing to handle,” he says in a hard tone. “Don’t fucking do that.”
I frown. “Do what?”
“You know what.”
I look around my room at a loss. “I just…I care about you. I worry.”
Again, he says something too low for me to make out, before saying, “Well, don’t.”
“Jeremy—”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
I flinch.
Wow. Okay then.
“Ow,” I murmur.
Jeremy says nothing.
I find my way over to my bed and sit down. Tension grips my muscles, holding me rigid. I white-knuckle my knee with my free hand, blinking down at the ground.
“I thought we were friends,” I whisper, a weird buzzing filling my ears.
There’s a pause, like he’s hesitating, and fuck if it doesn’t hurt. “We are.”
Brow wrinkling, I shake my head. “Then why…”
“Because friends don’t get all pissy and growly when they find out the other’s having sex.”
I go utterly still.
Pissy?
Growly?
My heart pounds, hands growing clammy.
There’s a heavy, weighted moment, then— “Just ’cause she’s not here, doesn’t mean you have the right to go all crazy over-protective sibling on me. Okay?”
My hand slackens, and I snap back to life just in time to catch my phone and keep it from falling.
Shaking my head, I say, “That’s not?—”
“You’re not like this with Way. Only me.”
“I-I—” Try as I might to argue, I can’t. He’s not wrong. I’ve never once given a shit who Waylon’s hooking up with. Sure, I hope he’s using a condom and not being a dumbass…but it’s different. He’s?—
He’s hooking up with girls.
“I’m not that weak, scared little kid anymore, in need of a big, tough hero, fighting his battles.”
Sniffing, I murmur, “I know.”
Except…I don’t think I did.
Not until this moment.
