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Sebastian has no clue. What will life be like thirty seconds from now? In twenty minutes? A week? Where’s his life going and how long does he have to decide?

Arousal beats out analytical thinking. Sebastian just wants to kiss Emir again.

Being a wicked mind reader, Emir angles his head up, then leans forward. The kiss is imperfect, noses bumping, teeth clicking, but it works.

“Let’s just,” Sebastian pauses to kiss words away from Emir’s lips, “see what happens.”

Sebastian’s weightless; his head isin the clouds. He doesn’t know if that’s how fooling around with another guy is supposed to be, but it’s a good start.

He’s staring at the ceiling from Emir’s bed. They’re breathless and rank. The fuzziness in his head keeps him squinting at shadow puppets created by the darkening sky. Should he leave? This was a one-time thing, right?

Emir drapes an arm around Sebastian’s naked torso, pulling him closer. Sebastian doesn’t resist. He’ll admit it: He’s desperate for the attention.

“Hey.”

He turns, raising an eyebrow at Emir. Sebastian’s waiting for this sappy moment to end, because he’s two seconds from burying his face into the side of Emir’s neck. Emir’s crinkly eyes are all Sebastian needs.

This is a scene out of a horribly clichéd romance movie, starring a guy who’s hotter than Sebastian. He tells Emir as much, then shivers when Emir cracks up. “It’s notthatfunny,” Sebastian says, but it actually is.

Outside, rain falls in a steadydrip-drop-plopon the roof. It makes their silence eerie. Their breathing is still heavy. Sebastian should say something. “Should I go?” he asks while Emir’s finger drags figure-eights along the nape of his neck. It’s not his brightest moment. His brain is still frozen on what just happened, so he flounders.

Emir’s silence is an indication of his own confusion.

Sebastian pulls the sheets away and starts to move until Emir says, “Wait.” Emir’s mouth is open with nothing coming out, but his eyes say every little word he’s too stubborn to utter.

“Okay.”

Emir’s chest makes for a pretty flat pillow, but Sebastian rests his head on it. He’s enjoying the murmur of Emir’s heartbeat. It’s mellow, like that bit in “Bohemian Rhapsody” when everything goes from awesome guitar solo to melancholy Freddie Mercury ending. Emir’s fingers moving over his scalp help, too. Sebastian’s head is clear of all the gunk clogging it up.

“Maybe we should—”

“Shut up.”

Emir’s tone is betrayed by a stray smile. It confirms one thing for Sebastian: If Emir isn’t going to kick him out, Sebastian doesn’t plan to say a damn thing about it.

The rest, well, he doesn’t care right now.

17

“It’s late.”

Sebastian startles; his heart nearly high-fives his tonsils when he spins around. Willie is parked on his bed, staring at him through groggy eyes.

“Um.”

Willie yawns. He’s sitting with one foot under him. His pale fingers pick at invisible lint on his sweatpants. His lips are tugged into a thin line. “You missed dinner,” he says, absently combing his shaggy hair.

The gurgle from Sebastian’s stomach confirms his hunger. “Yeah.” Sebastian’s rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. Should he explain himself? Will it matter that he was with Emir? “I was—”

“Shah, right?” Willie’s dark eyebrows push wrinkles into his forehead.

Sebastian sags in the entryway. The storm has let up, leaving behind a cloudless black sky and a heady breeze. Everything smells like pine. Sebastian was already experiencing sensory overload from the scents of Emir’s cabin; earthy from mud, sour from sweat, honeyed from Emir’s boyish musk.

“Sorry.”

Willie slants his head.

“What? I mean,” Sebastian pauses, staring at his dirty cleats. “Should I be?”