For a moment, we just stood there, eyes locked on one another while I held that stupid tube of eyeliner in my hand. There was a fuzzy memory in the back of my brain, one of him being in this room two weeks ago when I was drunk and half-asleep midway through Holden’s preseason game. I couldn’t remember what was said, but my body viscerally reacted to the memory, like it would always remember even if my brain never did. Shaking it off, I cleared my throat and pointed toward his closet. “Of course, go ahead.”
