The Understatement of the Year (The Ivy Years, #3)

by Sarina Bowen

a glance was enough to make me understand just how hard this was going to be. Because you never really get over your first love, right?

It had felt a little like keeping company with a ghost.

“Sorry, Bella, but I’m not that kind of gay friend. I wouldn’t know a pinot blanc if it bit me in the ass.”

She said she didn’t take me for the homophobic type. But that was dead wrong. I was the most homophobic person alive. Because “homophobic” means “afraid of homosexuals.” And I was pants-shitting terrified of myself.

What’s one more bruise on a battered heart?

It was only after we hung up that I realized I’d let Bob from the press office assign me homework. Over Christmas break. Shoot me.

“Should I be worried how you’re doing at that school for geniuses?”

This kiss was all about heartache. It was deep and sweet and sad.

The fact that Graham and I always ended badly was fucking written in the stars somewhere.

“G, that’s pretty pervy for a straight guy.”

(My interest in drinking had plummeted now that my interest in sex had done the opposite.)

If ever there was a holy shit moment for me, it would be that one. Because you can’t bend over in the shower for your gay boyfriend and pretend that your life hasn’t totally changed course.

“Damn. I don’t suppose you’d let me watch? That would be pretty hot.”

I crossed the street alone. Because that’s how I did everything.

All clear. As if I was a criminal.

“Rock, meet hard place.” “We are already acquainted.”

Oh, the joys of concussion. Everything made me either mad or turned me into a total pussy.

I was just so conditioned to hold on to my secret, I couldn’t even conceive of a day when I didn’t care who knew.

When it shut behind me, I heard her voice. “I just love that boy.” “He’s taken,” Graham replied.

It struck me how badly I wanted my share of that affection. I’d been missing out, and all because of fear.

Right then, a little light went on inside my thick head. I already knew that my refusal to come out had hurt Rikker. But until that moment, I don’t think I ever understood that it had hurt me, too. Because the cost of avoiding unfriendly eyes wasn’t nearly as great as the cost of forgoing even one of Rikker’s hugs.

“We’ve been here all day, just wishing there was someone we could shore up,” she said. “You’re elected.”

“Your mother thinks…” he sighed. “That is debatable,” I argued.

“Ahem.” I pulled away from Graham to look up into the face of the pimply young man in the Wendy’s window. “Sorry,” I said automatically. “You could let me join in,” the guy said. “Or order your food. One or the other.”

~snort~