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“I saw those fucking tattoos and all I could think was that he’d marked you. The three of us were supposed to be … working on something together, but neither of you would’ve ever thought to give me a goddamn tattoo. Neither of you really gave a shit about me except as a conduit for the feelings you weren’t going to talk about.”
He was head over heels for you, and everyone knew but you, and maybe him. No, I think he knew.
Eddie had whispered into his hair once, half-asleep, fuck you for being so good. He’d laughed and let it tie him into a giddy knot for days. That same week he’d watched Eddie punch a frat kid at a kegger, heard him snarling who are you calling a faggot, saw him leave with a girl whose name he didn’t know. Andrew had found his own companion for the night, pomegranate lip gloss his sole memory of the experience.
Sam said, “I’m waiting for you to flip out, but I’d rather you didn’t.” “Haven’t yet, think we’re in the clear,” Andrew mumbled, partially joking. “Good,” he said, packing the word with expectation and vulnerability, far from on-brand for his provocative kingship.
The door croaked open; a comedic stillness swept through the room. Sam dropped the glass he was washing into the water with a plop. “Oh Jesus, Mary, and goddamn Joseph,” Riley said. “You’re not even Catholic,” Sam replied.
“Sam hasn’t been, like, serious with anyone before. Just so you’re aware. I’m not labeling the thing you’re doing with him, but he spends more time with you than he does with me and it doesn’t feel casual to, I assume, let him give you your first dick,” Riley said. He ran a nervous hand through his fringe, rain-frizzed hair sticking up in all directions. Andrew felt his face go red as fire, mouth open but no words coming out. Riley continued, “He’s spent so much time on me he didn’t bother with his own shit, until now. He deserves a good thing to happen to him, Andrew. I do like you, but I
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After he hit fourth gear, Sam’s hand slipped briefly from the shifter to wrap around Andrew’s thigh, squeezing once before retreating again. The shape of his palm lay branded there.
“I got your text last night,” Andrew said as the road continued to unspool ahead. Sam hummed, noncommittal. “He’s dead, Sam.” “I know that. He’s not gone, though. Look at us right this minute. Half the conversations we have, he’s in them. I was going to fuck you wearing his ring on your wedding finger.” The hot flash that washed over him held discomfort and hunger in equal measure.
