Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Something hurt.
And Damon would be fucked if he had the slightest clue what.
He stopped cold, frozen in place; he didn’t know what to do, what to say. Rian jerked with a guilty flush, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, and looked away with a shaky breathless sound, letting out a trembling laugh as he sniffled and rubbed at his nose.
“Smells good,” he said weakly. “So...we meant to talk about Chris?”
“Yeah,” Damon said absently, frowning.
He was so, so goddamned confused.
But if Rian wanted to change the subject, Damon was damned well fine with that.
He’d never felt more uncomfortable in his own space than he did in the awkward moments when he crossed the room—just four strides for him—and settled Rian’s plate on the coffee table. Rian avoided his eyes. And Damon was good with avoiding right back, as he retreated to settle down on the floor with his back against the side of his bed and one arm draped over his upraised knee.
Long minutes passed in which there was nothing but the scrape of forks against the blue ceramic of the plates. Damon could barely taste the stir-fry; he knew it was fine, knew he’d made it a thousand times before, but his mouth tasted like ash and he kept wondering about the taste of glass-clear sugar candy.
“It’s good,” Rian said into the silence. “Really good.”
“Well...now you know how to make it, if you ever want to try cooking for yourself.”
Rian let out a choked, humorless laugh around his mouthful, then swallowed audibly. “I’d probably set my suite on fire, and Walden would murder me.”
“He hasn’t killed Dr. Liu yet. Though it’s pretty obvious he wants to.”
That got a more genuine laugh. “...it took the construction crews the entire summer recess to repair the rooms Liu destroyed last semester.”
Damon lifted his head from his half-empty plate. “You stayed for summer recess?”
“I...” Rian faltered, then shrugged, the drape of his shawl swirling restlessly against his arms. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t...really afford to do things on a teacher’s salary.”
“You could go anywhere for less than the cost of a nice restaurant. Last summer I just threw a few things in a backpack and hit the first Greyhound out of town.”
“Where’d you end up?”
“Rhode Island,” Damon said. “Camped out fireside on a beach for a few nights. Dug oysters out of the sand with my bare hands and buried them in the coals to cook overnight.”
“That sounds nice,” Rian said with a small, wistful smile. “Maybe I should try that.”
Come camping with me, Damon started to say.
And then stopped himself cold.
Twenty-four hours, and this man already had his brain scrambled worse than a fucking omelet.
“So Chris,” he said firmly. “I was thinking maybe we talk to some of the kids around him. Try not to be obvious, but see if they drop anything useful. First options are his roommate Luke, and this kid Clark he’s friendly with. Maybe this kid Jimmy. Seems like the rug rat idolizes him.”
“That’s the thing,” Rian said—jumping in quickly, as if he was just as eager as Damon to move on to a safer subject. “Chris is friendly with so many people, but can you name someone he’s really close to? Someone he’d confide in?”
“Huh. No, not really, but I don’t exactly keep that close an eye on who’s friends with whom.”
“Close quarters.” Rian toyed his fork between his fingers with a wry smile. “Sometimes it’s hard not to notice.”
“True. But no one really jumps out at me.” He frowned. “What are you thinking?’
“That maybe we missed the most obvious explanation.” Rian shrugged, his wry smile turning a touch sweet. “Maybe our young Christopher is just...in love.”
Damon blinked.
Then let out an incredulous laugh. “So you think that’s what this is about? He’s sneaking off campus to meet someone?”
“Maybe,” Rian replied archly, cocking his head with a merry little smile. “He does seem quite popular with the fairer, fiercer, and every other sex. You never did any such thing as a boy? Sneaking off to steal kisses with pretty girls behind the gymnasium?”
“Pretty boys,” Damon corrected. “And I didn’t sneak. I did it right in plain sight. Micah Randley, junior year, Homecoming Dance. Kissed him right in front of the chaperones and everything.”
“In front of—oh my.” Eyes glittering, Rian covered his mouth with his fingertips, but that didn’t hide his lilting laughter, the curl of his lips. “So bold, Mr. Louis.”
“Not ashamed of who I am.” Damon shrugged, scooping up one of the last bites of his stir-fry. “I’ve known I was gay since the first time Justin Timberlake hit a high note and I got a—”
He strangled off, catching himself before he could finish got a hard-on.
The hell was he doing, blurting that out in front of Rian Falwell?
A Rian Falwell who was currently blushing as if he’d known exactly what Damon was going to say; the color stood out so starkly on him, highlighting just how pale he was—pale enough that his veins made black spidering lines on the undersides of his wrists; pale enough that the capillaries in his eyelids gave them a permanent reddish blush that faded like eyeshadow into the rings of smoky liner he always seemed to wear. For a moment a curious, questioning look lingered on Damon, enigmatic beneath the delicate fan of tendrils framing Rian’s eyes—before Rian looked away, reaching up to push his hair back in a cascading fall amidst the faint music of the bangles on his wrists.