Petty. Yes.
Was I goading him? Definitely.
Did I feel guilty? Not one bit.
I wanted all that anger and disbelief he’d emitted last night to be turned on me today when I kissed him in our storage closet.
And yes, I was now thinking of it as our storage closet.
Our little closet experiments were a powder keg on the verge of explosion. I was playing with fire here, and I couldn’t help but try to strike the match.
He riled me the fuck up.
I scribbled out a quick answer to the first question once it was clear Connor was going to be a no-show, and got ready to pass the paper in.
A commotion at the back of the room pulled my attention away from my paper and to the obviously flustered man who’d rushed in through the doors. Everyone’s head turned to watch Connor wrestle with his bag and coat as he made his way toward his seat. Several people had to stand to give him room to scoot through.
His face was flaming red by the time he sat down, and he was short of breath, like he’d run here.
He dumped his stuff beside his chair and started pulling out his textbook, notebook, notecards, highlighters, and pens. He always arranged everything just so, but today his hands were shaking.
Dr. Greer started lecturing again, so most people stopped watching Connor, who was obviously embarrassed about being late. Luckily, Dr. Greer wasn’t the type of teacher to be a dick about it. As Connor was straightening his highlighters into a perfect row, he froze. His gaze flicked up to my face, then down to the paper.
“I missed the partner participation questions?” he whispered, voice completely devoid of emotion.
“Yeah.”
“Pass it in, then. They’re waiting on you.” He nodded to the woman on my right who was, in fact, waiting.
I handed her the paper. “Dr. Greer would probably let you make it up. You’re only ten minutes late.”
“Shh.”
That asshole shushed me.
I tried to burn him to pieces with my eyes, but he was just as pissed. His jaw was tight and clenched, his eyes narrowed into slits.
I stared at him. He stared straight ahead.
Well, that wasn’t going to stand. I stretched and accidentally-on-purpose nudged his row of yellow highlighters out of whack with my elbow.
Petty again? You betcha.
He sucked in a breath through his nose and his body trembled almost imperceptibly. I felt that tremor in my freaking toes. He straightened the highlighters, his movements stiff, before putting his forearm on the table between us, like a blockade.
I didn’t take a single note through all of class. My whole body was alight with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see what he did to me today, couldn’t wait to see him try to hold tight to all his anger and control and desire when we were finally alone.
At the end of class, we walked down the stairs together, not a word between us, but when we got to the landing of the fourth floor, he kept right on going.
“Hey!” I yelped. “Where are you—”
I choked on my words as he turned back toward me. His face was a mask of rage. No, wait. That was hurt. He was hurt, and I’d never felt sicker of myself than I did at that moment. I’d been trying to rile him up last night, but today, after he was late, I’d gone too far. All I’d done was be a dick.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Why do you care?”
I cared way more than he’d ever know, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Are you all right?” I dropped my voice, and pulled him out of the way of the students filing down the stairs.
“Why do you care, Travis?” he said again, his voice venomous.
Maybe we could go on like this forever, or at least until my next class, asking questions that neither of us wanted to answer.
“I’m sorry for messing up your highlighters,” I said, then cringed.
What was this? Middle school?
“Oh, that was on purpose, was it?” he growled. He stepped forward, closing in on me until my back was against the wall. If we hadn’t been in a stairwell full of people, it would have made me hot. “I turned my alarm off this morning and fell back asleep. Don’t remember doing it, but that’s the only thing that makes sense. Do you know how many times that’s happened to me in my entire life? I’m never late. My whole day has been screwed up from the moment I woke up, and you evidently get off on pushing me. I don’t care about the highlighters, Travis. I care that you treated me like I was a stranger last night.”
I’d never heard him string that many sentences together. His words were so precise, like he was cutting them out of his mouth with a scalpel, one quick syllable at a time. I was real tempted to kiss his chin.
He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder, and my gaze strayed to those hands. They were still trembling, and suddenly, I was sick of this game. I was sick of hating him. I was sick of us not being able to have a normal conversation. He’d had a shitty day, and I was making it worse. If only he’d come to the storage closet with me, I’d make it all better.
As I opened my mouth to say that, he ripped his hands through his hair and spit out, “I have to go.”
“Wait. I . . . um . . .” The storage closet was obviously a non-starter today, but I couldn’t imagine ending on this note. “I’m really sorry. I was an asshole this morning and a bigger asshole last night.”
“Yes.”
I tried not to smile at his quick agreement to my assholery. “So my best friend’s boyfriend is forcing us to have a party tonight,” I blurted. It was a party for me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. My law school acceptance was just an excuse to have people over. “You want to come?”
His beautiful mouth tightened into a deeper frown. God, what I’d give to see his smile.
“Are you going to pretend you don’t see me or don’t know who I am?”
I touched his chest with one finger, right between his pecs. He sucked in another one of those breaths through his nose, and held it, frozen like he wasn’t sure if I was going to be sweet or a bitch.
I wasn’t sure myself.
“Again. I’m sorry. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” I couldn’t admit that I’d been a brat because I’d hoped he’d take it out on me while kissing. That was not info he needed right now. “I will be nice, I promise. But no funny business.”
“What is ‘funny business’?”
“You know. What happens in the fourth-floor storage closet stays in the fourth-floor storage closet.”
“Fine.”
“And you can bring a friend. Or boyfriend. Whatever. There will be a lot of people there.” I was sure he didn’t have a boyfriend but needed to put a bit of distance between us, to assert some control here.
“What about a girlfriend? Or an enby significant other?” His eyes flashed, like he was going to smile, but of course, he didn’t. I wanted to smack myself for forgetting that he was bi.
“Sure. Bring the whole fam.”
“Okay.”
Okay. Fucking hated that word. I slid my finger down his chest until it rested at the crest where his ribs split apart like wings. He reached out and captured my wrist, shackling it with his long fingers.
I loved when he did that. Loved to imagine him gripping other parts of me that hard.
“See you later,” I said. “I’ll email you the address.”
He nodded, squeezed my wrist for a heavy second, and then jogged down the stairs, leaving me breathless. I needed a chaise lounge to swoon upon. Damn.
I took the stairs slowly, dragging my ass out of the building and across campus to Thomas Hall. Tonight was going to be a disaster.
One thing was for sure—I was not fucking Connor Blume. That was a Past Me action.
Future Me needed to make tracks and graduate with an intact heart. Connor was not conducive to my wellbeing. He was a heartbreak in the making, especially if I was willing to give up my carefully cultivated dislike of h
im because of some shaky hands and lost hazel eyes.
Chapter Six
TRAVIS
My parents called me at seven that evening, right as Paulie started to make noise about pre-gaming before the party. I didn’t know what he was going on about. He hardly drank anything but La Croix or chocolate milk.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetheart. Your dad’s here too.”
“Do you guys want to video chat?” I asked. That was normally what we did when they were both on the line.
“Sure thing.”
We clicked over onto a video call, and their faces slowly came into focus. They were sitting at the island in their huge, pristine kitchen. I didn’t miss my family home in Katy, Texas with its over-the-top finishes and enormous rooms that no one ever used, but seeing my parents all cuddled up over a shared glass of wine sent a cascade of homesickness through me.
“Congratulations!” they both said at the same time. I’d texted them both this morning about my acceptance letter, but hadn’t been able to catch them before work.
“I am so proud of you, Travis,” Mom said, tears in her voice.
I laughed. “Don’t cry. Then Dad will cry, and I’ll cry, and it’ll be a shitshow.”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Deal. Stoicism initiated.”
“What are you up to tonight? Going to celebrate?” Dad asked, his deep voice rumbling through the speaker on my phone.
“Yeah, Paulie and Joel are throwing me a party, but the fun won’t start for hours. What about you guys?”
“Jesse has some friends over,” Mom said. “They’re up in the game room watching God-knows-what. We’re settling down for a nice romantic evening. We’ll watch the news and rage-cry. Then I’ll probably fall asleep on the couch after this half glass of wine.” My mom joked, but she’d be asleep before the hour was up. Her job was intense and competitive and she was the absolute best at it. There was a reason she was one of the top divorce attorneys in the Houston area. She was terrifyingly competent.
“Do you have to work this weekend, Dad?” He was an ER nurse.
“Nope. I’ll be able to catch up on sleep and sports.”
We chatted for a bit longer before I realized I hadn’t introduced them to my new pet.
“Oh! I need to show you my cockroach.”
“Your what?” Mom said, shocked.
I held up Troilus’s clear box. He was chilling on the side, so they got a great view of his belly.
My mom was making all kinds of choked, disgusted noises, and Dad was laughing. God, I missed them. Missed my annoying little brother too. He was a junior in high school and very into this skater chick who lived down the road. I’d been into a skater boy once, so maybe it was a Bradford right of passage. Though, I hadn’t been on a skateboard since I’d tumbled off one and lost my track scholarship.
Once my parents had calmed down and weren’t giggling over their own hilarity, we came to the part of the conversation I dreaded.
“You need any money?” Mom asked. “I haven’t checked your account, but we can put some in there if you need it.” They were adamantly against me working during the school year, even though literally every other student I knew had a job. I tried to make up for it by living in a super cheap house, spending as little cash as possible, and getting rocking internships in the summer.
“I’m fine. I love you both.”
Both of them chimed in with their own I love you before signing off to glut themselves on CNN.
I was incredibly lucky. My parents worked their asses off, so my brother and I would never feel the crush of too little. I’d always be thankful for that.
But I also wanted a chance to step out on my own, to repay their hard work, their talent, their generosity and love by making something of myself. By doing something they could be proud of me for. That was the goal. That was why law school and my internship with SAFE Asylum beckoned.
Last May, after meeting Kissa, it’d hit me that the real world was barreling toward me fast, and I had the opportunity to make a difference as well as make my parents proud.
The world needed to get out of my way, because I had a goal. I was going to make some change happen.
By the time ten o’clock rolled around, our shitty two-bedroom, one-bathroom house was packed with our friends. One of Paulie’s grand plans this year had been to crack Joel out of his shell by “having company over.” Joel was closed off and emotionally inept. He was my favorite person in the big, wide world, but the dude had some issues.
There’d been a change in him since he’d met Paulie. He didn’t hide within himself as much, and he actually seemed happy most of the time. I wasn’t sure the parties at our house helped him, but they didn’t bother him either. He wasn’t uncomfortable in social situations—he just didn’t click with people easily.
That made me think of Connor, who was a no-show so far. I suspected Connor was uncomfortable in some social situations, and I was suddenly nervous about him coming into my crowded house. What if it was too much for him?
I found Joel in the kitchen, sitting up on the counter with Paulie standing between his legs and surrounded by Paulie’s accounting friends. Paulie was drinking a La Croix, probably his tenth one of the day. Seeing Paulie and Joel cuddled up and so happy together sent a bolt of joy through me. The two of them gave me hope in humankind, truly.
I filled a small clear plastic cup with beer from the keg and took a sip.
“I’m telling you, they work. You stick the candle in your ear, light it on fire, and it, like, sucks all the earwax out of your head,” Paulie’s best friend, Angie, shouted, describing ear candles. Again. She talked about them every time she got drunk, which I loved about her.
A tall blonde skipped into the kitchen. I recognized her, but couldn’t place how I knew her. She called over her shoulder, “Connor, the beer’s in here.”
She waved at all of us and started to help herself to beer from the keg. My back clenched up when Connor made it around the corner and into the kitchen. His steps stuttered a bit when he spotted me, but he gave no other sign anything was amiss.
Paulie, however, about brought the kitchen down with his gasp. That drama queen. He grabbed my arm, but I shook him off before Connor turned back around and saw him.
“Hey, man, Connor,” I said before he could escape the kitchen. I wasn’t going to ignore him tonight, not when I’d promised I wouldn’t.
He raised his chin and greeted me with one of those half-bro-hugs that some people pulled off so seamlessly. Hopefully ours appeared seamless because he smelled really fucking good, and I held on too long.
He introduced me to his friend, Desi. She worked at the Spectrum Center with Alex, who I couldn’t seem to warm to despite the fact that he was a totally nice guy. Alex and I had butted heads when he was dating Paulie the year before, after Paulie and Joel had lost their damn minds and broken up.
Desi immediately asked about the art on the walls in the living room. “Did someone you know paint them?” she asked me. Connor was standing rigidly by the oven.
I tried to ignore his overwhelming presence, but he made me feel short of breath. “No. I found them at the Goodwill. They’re from some random person’s paint-and-wine classes. You know, the type where an instructor teaches you how to paint an easy picture while you drink and pretend to be Picasso?”
She nodded. “The paint and sip industry, yeah. The Spectrum Center is holding a paint-and-wine event with the art department over spring break. So did you like the paintings? Is that why you bought them?” she asked.
Of course I didn’t like the paintings, but that was exactly why I liked the paintings. They were kind of horrible, and I loved that. I’d bought four for ten bucks—a cow, a Christmas tree, cowboy boots, and wine glasses—all with the name “Brittany” in childish handwriting at the bottom.
“I love imagining a Brittany somewhere painting them, deciding they didn’t fit her decorating aesthetic, and donating them to Goodwill. I wa
nted to show them a bit of love.”
“That’s weird, but cute,” Desi said. I shrugged and grinned at her.
My gaze strayed over to Connor. What did he think of me, of my home?
The conversation dropped off after that, and I wasn’t sure how to fill it without flirting with Connor.
I refused to flirt with Connor.
Paulie, who’d been practically vibrating out of his skin through this whole exchange, jumped in, playing the host since Joel and I sucked at that shit. “There are a couple of people smoking hookah on the back porch, if you want to join them, and help yourself to as much beer as you want. And here’s some celebratory cupcakes. There’s also pop and La Croix in the fridge. We might get out the regular Nintendo later, if you stick around, but only if it dies down.”
Desi got really excited about the NES, and she and Paulie were off like a shot, joking and discussing the best games. She was beautiful—tall, blonde, effortlessly cool. A sharp tug of jealousy rippled through me. I’d assumed she was friends with Connor, but maybe they were together.
He was bi, and he had asked if he could bring a girlfriend. At the time, I’d thought he was fighting back against my unintentional bi-erasure, which I’d appreciated, but maybe he was being literal.
He was a literal type of guy.
No, he wouldn’t be making out with me on the regular if he had a girlfriend. Of that, I was sure.
I was still jealous though. They seemed like good friends, and how dumb was that? I had a lot of friends—most of them were around me at that very moment. I shouldn’t feel jealous that I couldn’t count Connor among them.
Connor and I stared at each other while the noise of the party ebbed and flowed around us. The space between us in the kitchen was suffocating. Tight with tension, the air thick as butter. Probably no one picked up on it but me. And him.
A few people filed out of the now overcrowded room. Connor unclenched his hands and stretched his fingers several times. I was tempted to reach out, to touch him, but that was a bad idea.
He didn’t break eye contact with me as he took a sip of his beer, and heat washed down my neck and into my chest. Fuck.
Clean Break Page 6