Page 10

CHAPTER 10

Zeb

“God, why is he such a dick?” Katy says as she sucks down another sip of her sour apple martini.

I didn’t hesitate to pick her up for drinks after she texted me her current “situation-ship” called it quits.

I raise my eyebrow.

“He’s a guy. We’re dicks. It’s kind of in our DNA.” I shrug and take a swig of my beer.

“You’re not a dick,” she says candidly, and I crack a smile.

“Sure I am. Ask my exes,” I reply with a sarcastic laugh.

She rolls her eyes.

“That’s because your exes were boys , Zeb. You need a man. ”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“I need a man, too. One that isn’t afraid to fucking commit to a serious relationship.” She frowns.

I wrap my arm around her and she leans her head on my shoulder.

“What’s worse than being single and thirty?” she whines.

I crack a smile as I gaze down at her.

“Being a forty-year old virgin?”

She smirks, rolling her eyes as she takes another drink.

“Shut up,” she teases me.

I let out a giggle.

“Sometimes I wish I would’ve waited.” She sighs.

“Really?” I ask.

She nods.

“I don’t know how the fuck he does it. I thought I was going to die if I didn’t sleep with Camden junior year. I was so fucking horny.”

“I remember,” I quip.

“Oh, like you were any better?” She pushes me.

I give her the side eye.

“Don’t act all innocent over there, I know all your secrets, remember.”

She puts her hand on her hip, staring me down.

I scoff, draining the last of my beer.

“You calling me a manwhore, Katy Graves?”

She shrugs, giggling.

“Maybe a little.” She flashes her dark eyes at me.

It’s my turn to push her.

“And you say guys are dicks.”

“I just wish I could find a guy who gets me, you know. Like you get me.”

I pull her martini away.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that...” She giggles.

“What the fuck do they put in these things?” I say.

I take a sip, letting the sour apple taste settle on my tongue.

It’s sweet.

Too fucking sweet, and I stick my tongue out, making gagging noises.

“Not enough alcohol, that’s for sure,” she replies as she flags down the bartender.

“Katy...” I plead.

“It’s late, we should go.”

“You know the drill, Z. Break ups are a three drink minimum.”

I sigh as she orders us both another drink.

Thank goodness we took an Uber.

“Besides, I’m on the prowl,” she says confidently.

I sigh in defeat.

“For you or me?”

Katy’s been trying to play matchmaker for years, and while there have been guys she’s introduced me to who I have liked, nothing ever really works out.

For either of us.

It kinda sucks.

“Tonight I’m looking for you.” She flashes me with a cocky grin.

I groan.

“Katy...”

“It’s been, like, a year, Zeb. You need to get laid. I heard if you don’t, your dick will literally fall off.” She sticks her tongue out at me and I take another sip of her martini.

“Not true.” I shake my head.

“And didn’t you just tell me you wished you waited longer?”

She scoffs at me with disdain.

“I’m just saying, you need to get back out there,” she says, turning her head to scan the room.

I know better than to argue with her when she’s like this.

It’s pointless, so I just let her go.

I’m sure she’ll forget about it tomorrow.

“What about him?” She points to a guy over at the pool table.

Tall, blonde, tan.

Decked in flannel.

“Nope.” I shake my head.

“Come on! He’s cute!”

I raise an eyebrow.

Yeah, he is.

I take another sip of her martini and then she grabs it from me.

“Hey!” I whine.

“What’s wrong with cute?” she presses.

“I don’t want cute, Katy.” I sigh.

She drains the last of the neon liquid, her eyes a little glassy.

Silence falls between us as she narrows her gaze at me.

“I don’t want safe, or cute, or sweet. I want what’s bad for me.” The words fall out of my mouth without warning, and I feel my face flush.

Fuck, what is in this martini?

“I know.” She sighs, and we both look at one another knowing the truth.

I bite my lip, breaking her gaze.

The bartender slides us both two fresh martinis.

“He’s coming home in a month, you know.” She flashes her gaze up at me as she pulls the cherry from her drink, holding it out to me.

I take it, popping it in my mouth, stem and all.

It takes me barely ten seconds to tie the stem in a knot.

I pull it out, glancing over at the cookie cutter man in the corner, his hand running up and down his stick.

He catches me looking and I turn see Katy staring at me.

“I know.” I swallow hard as I take a long pull of my martini.

“You know.”

The words are not a question.

They are a judgment.

I pull my cherry out of my drink, sucking on the fruit to keep my damn tongue busy.

I nod.

“Keeping tabs on my brother, Z?” She smirks.

“More like your brother drunk called me the other night.”

Shit.

I shouldn’t have told her that.

Katy giggles, shaking her head.

“I bet that was something to hear.” She sips her drink.

I pull out the cherry stem, setting it on the napkin.

The knot stares at me as a thicker knot forms in my stomach.

I miss you.

His voice was slow, slurred, and deep, and I can’t get it out of my head, those three little drunk words.

I think about our conversations lately, and the knot in my stomach gets tighter.

“Yeah, it was... something.” I nod, draining my drink.

Neither of us speaks of Geo again, and after we’ve both killed our martinis we catch an Uber.

Our houses aren’t all that far from one another.

I watch the night sky out the car window, the lights of the city passing me by as Katy rests her head on my shoulder.

“He doesn’t want to come home.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“What?” I ask, my head feeling a bit hazy.

“I think he has some demons to confront,” she says softly.

I purse my lips.

I’m sure he does.

The Uber stops in front of my house, and Katy scoots over, letting me out of the car.

The hot air kisses my skin, and I barely register Katy telling me goodbye.

I lock the door as soon as I’m inside, wasting no time getting undressed.

It’s always hot here, no matter what time of year it is.

I run a hand through my hair as I head for my bedroom.

I lie back on my bed, glancing at my clock.

Twelve thirty.

I queue up my phone to doomscroll, but I end up right back in my call log.

No missed calls.

He didn’t call like he said he would.

I huff out a frustrated sigh, because I should have known not to get my hopes up.

I’d deluded myself into thinking nothing had changed between us, because just hearing him made me feel like everything was okay again.

But it’s not.

Things are different.

We’re different.

I’m different.

I’m not the same person I was ten years ago.

I hit the number without thinking, fueled by nothing other than sour apple martinis and emotions I can’t process.

“Zeb?” Geo’s voice is thick with sleep, and that only pisses me off more.

“You didn’t call,” I snap.

I hear some moving around and Geo grunts, the sound deep, dark, and delicious.

Fucking asshole.

“You stood me up,” I say, grinding my teeth.

“I just... had a lot of stuff going on,” he replies, his voice smooth and tired.

I hate how his voice makes that knot in my stomach lesson.

“I’m sorry, Z,” he says softly.

“Are you okay? You sound?—”

“Ssss... tits the fucking martinis.”

Geo clears his throat.

“Martinis? Like, plural?”

“Blame your fucking sister and her three drink minimum. It was her idea,” I grunt.

“Oh. So you and my sister make a point of regularly getting shitfaced together, is that it?” he teases.

“Only when the men in our life fuck us over.”

I realize the moment I say the words, I fucked up.

Because Geo doesn’t know I’m gay, and I’m pretty sure his sister hasn’t told him, because when I asked her years ago, after I came out, if she did, she told me “it’s not my place to tell him, Z.”

There is a heavy silence before he speaks.

“What kind of martinis?” he asks, glazing over my words.

I let out a deep breath.

“Sour apple with the little fucking cherries.”

Geo chuckles, and the sound is dark, smooth like silk.

“I love cherries,” he says, his voice light.

“They’re my favorite fruit.”

“Okay, maraschino cherries are not a fruit, Geo. They take, like, seven years to digest,” I rattle off, and he laughs.

“Still my favorite, though.”

“I know...” I snap.

“Where do you think I picked up the taste for them?”

I run my hand over my face, knowing I should hang up.

I’m too drunk, and too loose-lipped.

But I can’t fucking hang up.

The sound of his breath, steady and slow, is like a warm hug.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror, across the room.

In the amber light, I can see my reflection.

My thick arms and legs, and their definition.

My tan skin glistens in the low light, the dark hair covering my chest and torso standing out in contrast.

My dark hair all messed up, sticking out in tufts, and the beginning of a five o’clock shadow is already starting to form on my face, despite the fact I shaved this morning.

Yet, I feel like the same tall, skinny goth nineteen-year-old I once was.

How is it that someone can change so much in ten years?

“Do you really want to see me, Geo?” I ask, and even I can hear the petulance of youth lost in my voice.

Silence blooms in its wake.

“Yes,” he replies, his tone rich and deep.

It threatens to pull me under.

“Do you not want to see me ?” he asks quietly.

“Of course, I do,” I whisper.

“Okay,” he says softly.

For a moment, all I can hear is his heavy breathing, and then he speaks.

“Go to sleep, Z,” he says as I sink down into my covers.

“Geo?” I say, my hazy alcohol-ridden brain taking over.

“Yeah?”

“You can stay with me,” I suggest.

Silence beckons us again, once more the only sound his deep breathing.

“When you come home, I mean. If you don’t want to stay with your parents.” I clear my throat.

“I mean, my house is like ten minutes away from theirs.”

“You have a house?” he asks.

Geo’s voice is full of sadness.

Guilt.

“Yeah. Bought it a couple of years ago.”

“Good to know,” he says softly.

“Go to sleep, Z.”

I curl up in my comforter, clutching the phone to my ear, and it’s like all of a sudden the exhaustion is too much to fight.

“Okay,” I say, letting out a tired breath.

I don’t hang up.

“Geo...” Sleep beckons me, but I feel like I need to say what I need to say, because I know when the alcohol wears off, I’ll never be able to.

“Yeah?” His deep, sexy voice makes my entire body heat like a fire and I have to fight the urge to groan like a starved man lusting after the tiniest pieces of him that feel like they are meant for me.

Even if I know they aren’t.

“Don’t break my heart again, okay?”

“Zeb...” His voice shakes.

“I?—”

“Good night, G.”

I hang up, and give myself to my beckoning slumber, dreaming of sweet maraschino cherries, deep sexy voices, and tattoos and ripped jeans, and I sleep like a damn baby.