“Rick,” I say, my tone a warning.
He doesn’t heed it. He doesn’t take a minute to weigh all the pros and cons like he normally would, and I blame Roger fucking Milton for making him bold.
I knew tonight was going to have lasting consequences, but this exact moment never managed to make it into those thoughts.
“I love you,” he says, his confession escaping on a ragged breath.
My heart pounds harder, and I know I have a choice to make. I can shut him down completely, tell him he’ll never have a chance, that what he’s wanting is something I’ll never be able to give him, but I don’t make a point to hurt the people I care for when it can be avoided.
I choose the alternative route, giving him a chance to rethink what he’s trying to convey.
“I love you too, man. We’re best friends.”
He nods, his teeth digging into his lower lip as his eyes drop to my own mouth.
Please don’t do this.
I don’t manage the words out loud before his lips brush mine.
I grip his shirt, a second away from pulling him back and telling him he’s crossing a line, but then a shuddering breath escapes his lips, the warmth of it heating my own mouth.
His tongue, the very same one that he used to stick out and mock me with when we were children, slips against mine. I tell myself that he’s scared and hurting, that this is what he thinks he needs right now. Things will be back to normal in the morning when we wake up. We can survive a lapse in judgment, especially after what we went through tonight.
It isn’t until I sense Rick shifting his weight so he can straddle my hips that I realize my tongue is moving against his. I grab his hand, shifting away when he reaches for the front of my athletic shorts.
“Don’t,” I say, trying my best not to say it in a way that will make him feel ashamed.
In truth, if he touched me, I’d have to explain the erection straining against the fabric. Since I don’t understand my body’s response myself, I have no hope of making him understand.
Rick moves away from me, lying on his stomach and facing away from me.
“Can we just forget that happened?” he asks, his words filled with a pain I can still hear even though his face is buried in the pillow.
“Sure, man. It’s been a really weird night.”
He doesn’t say another word, and as much as I had hoped before falling into a fitful sleep, things aren’t back to normal the next day.
“I’d honestly love that, but I’m heading home.”
I look over at Rick, realizing I’ve been so lost in my head, reliving that night for the millionth time, that I missed leaving campus and the drive across town.
I have no idea who he’s talking to or why he’s holding his phone to his ear rather than speaking to the person on the other line through the car’s Bluetooth, but the annoyance I felt for him earlier begins to grow.
I wait, not so patiently as he talks, his voice taking on a flirty edge I recognize from when he was dating Seth in high school.
Instead of sticking around and making plans for a hookup upon his return to campus at the end of the summer, I climb out of the car and walk into The Brew & Chew.
The thing about Lindell, Texas, is that it’s more old-school Andy Griffith than modern metropolitan. Despite the college cranking out professional athletes like they’re building the perfect specimens in the basement of the sports complex, the town is very simple and quaint.
There are no drive-thrus in town. The people here would rather you skip Lindell altogether rather than provide many of the conveniences found in other towns and cities.
Instead of major franchises like McDonalds or Hobby Lobby, Lindell has The Brew & Chew and Imagine-Knit. All the businesses are small-town owned and work together to thrive rather than seeing themselves as competition with the other.
It’s a wholesome and friendly town, and if it weren’t for the periodic sirens on the lone cop car, I’d be able to convince myself the place was perfect.
When I first arrived at Lindell University, I wasn’t as appreciative. Growing up in New Mexico, we had just about every convenience you could think of, and coming here meant letting go of a lot of that. It was annoying that I had to get out of my car for a cup of coffee. There’s no DoorDash. The only things that get delivered in this town are prescriptions to shut-ins and those too sick to leave their homes.
“Nice to see you again,” Ruth, the owner of the diner, greets as I step up to the counter. “The usual?”
“Please,” I tell her, some of the irritation I feel draining away at the sight of her smiling face. “I also need another burger basket. All the way.”