He clears his throat again and then continues to read. “That all?” I ask, not sure this conversation is really over.
“My ex will be there as well.”
I shift on the couch and grip my beer a little tighter.
“And that’s an issue because?”
“We’ve made plans to grab dinner together one night.”
“That so?” I say, and Whit sets his Kindle down roughly.
“Stop saying that. It’s aggravating. If you must know, we’d made plans to meet up before this…thing with us happened. I didn’t want to cancel.”
“Didn’t ask you to,” I say, taking a swig of my beer. “Like you said. It’s casual between us.”
I hate that fucking word. Makes me growly and irrationally angry.
Whit stares at me, trying to read me, but I just ignore his gaze and guzzle my beer. I glance down at my shirt, stained and wrinkled.
Real prize here. Bet his ex looks a lot like Magnus. Cute, pampered, petite.
“I’m going to the gym,” I say, and Whit sighs.
“You were just there.”
“So what,” I say.
I need to go rage row or something to get my mind off of whatever’s happening between Whit and me. Apparently, it’s casual enough for him to go on a date with his ex.
When I return from the gym an hour later, I see Whit’s right where I left him. Unbothered by my little tantrum.
Fuck him.
His eyes meet mine, and he asks, “Feel better?”
“Peachy,” I reply. “Going to go shower.”
I disappear through the door and strip out of my clothes. When I step underneath the hot stream of water, I run my hands over my face and through my hair, resting my forehead on the cool tile. I’ll get over it soon. I’m just feeling a little insecure. This whole year has been a whirlwind, and I've been knocked sideways so often that I’m confused about which way is up.
Washing quickly, I throw on a pair of sweats and lie face up on my bed, my earphones in my ears.
My eyes are closed when I feel Whit move against me. His scent envelopes the space around me, and I squash the urge to pull him into me. I’m still pissed.
His fingers gingerly pull my earphones out, and he places them on the end table. Then his thumbs brush against my cheeks, his face hovering over mine. I can smell the mint on his breath.
Then his mouth is on mine, licking into me, his hands moving into my damp hair.
I try not to kiss back, but I’m helpless to stay away from him. I open my mouth and let him in, but I don’t touch him. I’m feeling too clingy already.
“You’re upset,” he says when he breaks away from me.
When I don’t answer, he kisses me again, his body pressed against mine. And despite everything warring within me, I still thicken just from having him nearby. It’s pathetic, really. This casual thing we’re doing. I’m all in, and he’s…
“Are you using me, man?” I ask.
He freezes on top of me. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you using me? Is this an experiment to you? Fuck around with a guy who’s not your type. See how long you can keep it up? Make a straight guy gay or some shit? Am I a game to you?"