Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“On it.”
Time flew as the line of customers seemed endless, probably because it was a warmer spring day. At the end of my shift, I loaded two pints of custards in a bag to take home: Morgan’s favorite—chocolate-chip cookie dough with sprinkles—and mine—chocolate marshmallow.
My cell rang as I was rounding the corner to our apartment.
“Hi, Mom.” I juggled my phone while I readjusted my backpack. My mom was the best, and I always enjoyed hearing from her.
“How’s my favorite son?” she asked in a chipper voice.
I chuckled. “I’m your only son, so…”
“No, I have another son named Morgan,” she said, and if Morgan had been with me, he would’ve totally blushed.
“That’s true. As a matter of fact, I’m almost home from work, and I’m bringing your other son his favorite custard flavor.”
“Tell him hi from me. Still planning on coming home for dinner tomorrow?”
My childhood home was only about a twenty-minute drive away, so I was able to visit often. Morgan and I had lived a few blocks apart our whole lives, and our parents were friendly with each other as well.
“Yep, I’ll be there.”
Once I got inside and spotted Morgan on the couch with his laptop, I sighed, feeling at peace. He looked up at me and grinned.
“Is that a Melt bag I spy?”
“Sure is.” I slipped out of my shoes and set my backpack beside them. “Let me get changed, and then we can pig out.”
We ate ice cream, watched our show in bed, and it almost felt like nothing had changed between us. But when the time came to cut the lights, I sat up to head to my room, figuring I should give him space.
“Don’t you dare,” Morgan said, already in a sleep fog. “That would make it weird.”
Relief flooded my stomach as I got resituated under the sheets and fell asleep beside my best friend.
6
Morgan
I was in my algorithm class, thinking about the text I’d gotten from Jasmine that morning asking if I wanted to meet her and her friends at Neon tonight. Neon was a gay club I’d only been to once since my twenty-first birthday in the fall. Elliot had turned legal the month before me, but he’d waited so we could go together. It was my first time in any sort of bar, and it was overwhelming, to say the least, while also completely liberating and fun. I couldn’t really dance because the braces were restricting, but I could swing my hips and upper body to the music, even if I did feel self-conscious in the throng of bodies moving sensually against each other.
Since then, we’d only gone to straight bars around campus, so maybe it would be fun to go to a gay club again. To be out and among friends.
I’d planned to ask Elliot, but I was hesitant, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.
Since the night of the hookup incident a couple of weeks ago, everything had felt mostly normal, but occasionally, I’d catch Elliot staring at me in a strange way like he was trying to work something out. Or maybe he was seeing me in a whole new light. And I’d have to admit, I was having the same trouble. Whenever Elliot slept in my bed, I was getting boners on the regular, probably because having him so close—and warm and snuggly—was messing with my head a bit. Which didn’t make much sense because we’d always done that. So I probably needed to jerk off a lot more or something. Likely I’d have the same reaction sleeping next to any guy at this point.
When I got home, Elliot was at the kitchen table in front of his laptop, working on an upcoming assignment, a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
I removed my sneakers and leg braces at the door, then headed into the kitchen. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” Elliot said distractedly. “Ordered pizza and finishing up my calculus assignment.”
“Sounds good. I’m starving.” I grabbed a glass, filled it with water and crushed ice, and absently started crunching on it.
“You’re gonna ruin your teeth.”
“Maybe you should go into dentistry instead,” I quipped, and he stuck out his tongue.
When the doorbell rang, I padded to the door to greet the pizza guy, then carefully set the box on the counter, proud that I hadn’t even stumbled. In fact, my legs were less sore lately, probably because I’d been keeping up with my exercises.
Elliot shut his laptop and grabbed plates, and after we sat across from each other, we scarfed down the pizza with little conversation. I reached for some napkins, then tossed him one. We were nothing if not slobs. At least when it came to eating. We were evenly matched with other things too, like keeping the apartment clutter-free. Though he left his dirty socks lying around, which drove me crazy, and he teased me about never closing containers properly. But at least he always split the chores and shopping with me, which was probably why it was so easy between us. Our fights were more about Elliot being too protective and me being too stubborn. Go figure.