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“While we wait for the food that’s going to take at least half an hour more to arrive thanks to your need to fill the fridge?” I pointed out. “Yeah, we are.”

Jaime scowled. At this rate, he was going to get forehead lines way before his time.

“Well, now I don’t regret all the times I told Marga and Jen to break up with you.”

I narrowed my eyes. Anger poked its head out, but it didn’t last long. It was a weird thing. A year ago—hell, before then—I could let anger fuel me, cling to my bones until everything was surrounded by it. I didn’tacton the feeling, the red blurring the edges no matter what, but it was always there. It was something I took pride in keeping reined in twenty-four-seven. I acted in spite of it, of the pressure building and the sense of unfairness clinging to every word.

“Do you fuck her?”

All this time, Jaime hadn’t run a hand through his hair once. It was a stupid thing to notice, to obsess over, but that wasn’t stopping me.

“Sometimes.” He sat back—finally—while pulling a knee to his chest. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Does Cece fuck you?”

I didn’t miss how he said he mostly topped, even though topping was all I’d ever seen him do. I walked a dangerous line, I was aware, but the need to know burned brighter than the fear of what could come out of it. That fear wasn’t overpowered often, so I was taking advantage regardless of what my nervous system had to say about it.

“Not as often.” Jaime shook his head. “But I didn’t come here to talk about how I fuck.”

There was something final about his tone there. His eye twitched, and I straightened right up. “All right.”

I didn’t hate that he killed the topic. I hated the surprise that flickered through his eyes when I acquiesced. I hated the way he regarded me as if he wondered if I had some terminal disease he should inquire about.

“Good.”

“Good,” I repeated out of nothing else to say. “So how are the rest of your classes going?”

THREE

jaime

Talking with Tony was weird, and that was when I wasn’t actively thinking of how Sergio would react if he found out I was here. Or Cece, for that matter. Cece would definitely find out, and harsh words would be exchanged.

But once Tony wasn’t pushing about what I did or didn’t do with my roommate, he was nicer than I thought. He only made a few faces when I accused half the journalism department of being transphobic assholes. He also asked if I already had an idea of what my thesis was going to be about and didn’t discourage me or shrug it off when I said I wanted to write about pinkwashing and homonationalism.

I was shocked when the intercom buzzed. An hour had passed already, with only a smidge of discomfort at the beginning there?

I squirmed while Tony stood up. The casual clothes he’d put on after his shower weren’t like anything I’d seen on him.

Fuck. I knew, okay… I knew I couldn’t be simping like this. I shouldn’t feel excited about telling him more about my thesis or anything else. I should be bolting with my new book and locking myself in my room to start working on the stupid email.

I heard the door open and Tony talk to the delivery driver, but I didn’t pay attention. I should check my phone and see if Cece had texted.

But if someone had texted, it would most likely be Sergio. I didn’t know how he’d react if I said where I was, and I didn’t want to lie to him, so…

Coward’s way out, it was.

“Did you order the entire menu?”

Huh?

Shit.

“No?” I frowned.

Okay, the plastic bag he carried looked overstuffed. If it was black instead of white, it could totally be used by a Santa impersonator. But I hadn’t been that unreasonable. He could take it as reparations for the thing with Sergio, anyway. The guy was never going to ask him for anything, so I was taking on that duty—one big takeout order at a time.

No, it didn’t make me feel better. Whatever.