Page 45 of Catcher's Lock

“Jesus, Quill.” I round on him. “How many times have we been here before. This?” I wave my hand between us. “This isn’t real. I’m not playing games with you anymore.”

Unexpectedly, he grins. “You called me Quill.”

For fuck’s sake. I roll my eyes and climb the final flight of stairs, ignoring his quiet chuckles at my back.

All I want to do is lie down and pass out, but the room is small and reeks of stale cigarettes, and the sight of the two double beds is dredging up my own deep-sea demons.

“I’m going out,” I tell him, tossing my duffel on the nearestbed. “All I’ve eaten today is gas station candy and pasta. I need some real food.”

“I’ve got something you can eat.”

“Jesus, Farrel. What are you, twelve? Or high?”

“Unfortunately, no. We should hit up a dispensary.” He bounces off the bed, annoyingly energetic for someone who was almost passed out twenty minutes ago.

We make it half a block before he gets distracted by two guys in a dark doorway.

“Are you kidding me?” I grab his elbow and drag him away. “Everything’s laced with fentanyl these days. We’ve had three ODs in Fort Bragg since January. Suck it up until tomorrow, and we’ll get you some weed. You get stupid on me one more time, and I’m leaving you here to rot.”

“Yes, Daddy.” He shrugs in surrender, then snags my hand when I scowl and turn to walk away. “You’re right. I’m an idiot. I’ll quit the shit, I promise.”

“Sure.” I pull my hand free.

“Let’s go to a gay bar,” he says, taking in the surrounding scene.

“Why?” Exasperation leaks from my tone. “What could you possibly get out of that, other than a new way to fuck with me?You’re not gay, Gem. The only dick you’ve ever been interested in is your own.”

“Maybe I’m breaking bi.” He sounds almost wistful, begging me to smile at the reference like an inside joke.

I know I’m being an asshole—gatekeeping his identity in some twisted form of bi-erasure born of jealousy and self-preservation. But I’ve been here so many times before, only to have the rug pulled out from under me. I don’t have it in me to start believing him now.

“I tried once, in college,” he says. “Getting with another guy.”

“Tried?” A hot wave of jealousy swamps me before I shove it down. “Let me guess, you didn’t like it.”

“Not with him.”

“You didn’t like it withmeeither. Or have you forgotten that part?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything. Everything is different with you. It always was.”

“Fuck off with that shit. I’m not gonna roll over like some starved puppy just because you’re bored and lonely and feel like messing with me again. I told you; I’m over your whole fucked-up little game. I’m overyou.”

Something haunted bleeds into his eyes.

“Are you still a virgin, Rocket?” he whispers.

Un-fucking-believable.

“No.” I whirl and stalk away before he can read the lie. “You wanna play gay chicken? C’mon.”

“Where are we going?”

“A club.”

“You hate clubs.” Like he didn’t suggest the same thing two minutes ago.

“You don’t know me anymore.”Another lie.