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Except when he leans in to go for the wash, his bare arm brushes against mine, and the hairs on his arm and the scent of earth and Jason sends a shudder through me, and now I’m hard as a rock again, and I snap at him: “You need to leave.”
He must hear the intensity in my voice, because he blinks and takes a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, you never mean to,” I snarl, my anger fully unfurled now. “Three weeks. That’s how long you’ve been here. I’m going to the city. When I come back, I expect you to be packed.”
I storm off to my room before he can stay anything else, shutting the door hard behind me.
Fuck Jason.
Fuck Jason and his washboard abs. Fuck Jason and his puppy-dog eyes.
Fuck Jason.
No—fuck me. I need to get laid. Now.
I’m way too pent up. That’s the answer.
It’s been—what. Weeks? Months? Since I got laid last?
Time is an illusion at the hospital, and I lose track of it.
I change, put on a spritz of cologne, and leave the house. I don’t even look at Jason as I exit.
New York, here I come.
5
Jason
One second, everything’s fine, the next…
I’m putting my foot in my mouth. Again.
I don’t know how I manage to make good situations bad. But I do. Every time.
Donovan isn’t wrong—I’ve overstayed my welcome. I know that. I’ve done everything I can to be as quiet as a mouse; I clean up after myself, I stay away from his fridge, and god forbid, I don’t dare touch his record player.
But still. I’m in the way.
I sit down hard on the edge of the bed and try to ignore the pinch in my chest.
Despite myself, I’ve gotten used to living with Donovan. I like hanging out with the guy. I like his house. He might be cynical, but honestly, I thought we were doing pretty well as roommates. We keep to ourselves for the most part, but at nights, he’ll usually come out and veg out in front of the TV. He’s introduced me to a lot of good sci-fi shows that way. I can’t really sit still for movies, but for 30 minutes at a time, sure, I can make it happen.
He’s a good guy. The kind of guy who has always known who he is. Who hasn’t changed—not really—in all the years I’ve known him.
I admire that about him. I admire him.
But now I’m being kicked out, and I’m running out of options.
I can go back to sleeping at the bunks at Lighthouse Medical, or…
Or I can man up.
I sit at the edge of my bed, holding my cellphone in my hands, and finally call my father.
I dial and put my phone to my ear. It only rings a couple times.
“Yes?” He sounds bright and awake. Leonard King never sleeps. I imagine him in his office at my parents’ house, washed in the blue glow of his computer screen.
