“Well—I—you have to be my emergency contact,” Jake says. Caleb narrows his eyes. “Your emergency contact?” “Yeah, you know, like if I get hit by a bus or injured on the ice,” Jake says with a wave of his hand. “You have to pick up the phone and take that call.” Caleb rolls his eyes. “So that’s it for you then? The difference between me and Mars is that I get to fuck you and I have to claim your remains when you get steamrolled by a bus?” “Can we please stop talking about Jake dying in a tragic bus accident?” I say.
