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“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”
Whatever, fine. Henry is annoyingly attractive. That’s always been a thing, objectively. It’s fine.
You are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life.
Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.
But he thinks about Henry, and, oh. He thinks about Henry, and something twists in his chest, like a stretch he’s been avoiding for too long. He thinks about Henry’s voice low in his ear over the phone at three in the morning, and suddenly he has a name for what ignites in the pit of his stomach. Henry’s hands on him, his thumbs braced against his temples back in the garden, Henry’s hands other places, Henry’s mouth, what he might do with it if Alex let him. Henry’s broad shoulders and long legs and narrow waist, the place his jaw meets his neck and the place his neck meets his shoulder and
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In an instant of sudden, vivid clarity, he can’t believe he ever thought he was straight.
Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?
couldn’t let a fucking predator be the most powerful man in the country if it was within my power to stop it.”
I find this ironic due to the fact tht there IS a sexul predator in the most powerful position in America.
