Page 11
CHAPTER 11
Geo
He is drunk, like you were the other night.
There’s no way he meant that like.
.
.
that.
I let out a breath of my own as his words echo in my psyche.
Don’t break my heart again.
I never wanted to break anyone’s heart to begin with.
My parents’, my sister’s, and certainly not his.
I think about his offer to let me stay with him.
The only reason I didn’t say yes immediately was because.
.
.
well, he’s drunk.
I don’t want to commit to something if it’s not really what he wants, and people say stuff they don’t mean all the time when they drink.
Don’t break my heart again.
I try to sleep, but it’s impossible, because I can’t get him out of my head.
His bitter tone.
He was mad because I didn’t call him.
I wanted to, but the day just.
.
.
got away from me.
Hours in the studio, then Kevin booked us a last minute gig on Romano , and by the time I actually got home, all I wanted to do was shower and go the fuck to sleep.
I toss and turn, flustered because I feel more awake than ever.
If he’s up, I wonder if.
.
.
I shoot a text to my sister.
You up?
I watch as the bubbles appear instantly.
Yeah, why?
Everything okay?
I shake my head, tapping out my response quick.
Heard you and Zeb had quite a night.
There is a momentary pause before she responds.
Yeah, we hang out.
We always have.
I bite my lip as I contemplate asking what I want, but I feel like it’s intrusive.
It could be nothing.
I could be overthinking things.
I’m probably overthinking things.
But my sister has no filter when she drinks, so I know it’s the most honest answer I’m going to get.
Is he.
.
.
I can’t even bring myself to finish the sentence.
Why is it so hard to ask?
Why do I care?
I stare at the screen and she texts me back with a question mark.
Did he call you?
Yes.
I chew my lip, and the phone rings.
“Hey,” I say.
Her voice is raspy, but there is no mistaking the shock in her voice.
“He fucking called you? What did he say?”
No greeting, no transition.
Complete and utter shock.
I pull my knees up to my chest.
“He was mad I didn’t call him back,” I say quietly.
“You guys are talking again?” she asks.
“Sort of.”
Her laugh is sarcastic, but there is also a hint of shock in it as well.
“Oh, shit. No wonder he was downing those fucking martinis.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I snap.
Katy sighs.
“Not my place to tell you, Geo.”
What the fuck does that mean?
“He said you guys go out drinking when, and I quote ‘the men in our life fuck us over’.”
I don’t miss the bitterness in my voice.
The jealousy.
I wish it was me throwing back sour apple martinis with him, laughing with him.
But I made a choice to leave, so I know I shouldn’t be jealous that Katy gets to do what I can’t.
She groans dramatically.
“You haven’t changed a bit in the last ten years, have you, G? You still don’t know.”
Don’t know what?
“What are you talking about, of course I’ve changed,” I gripe.
Katy breathes out an exasperated sigh.
“The fact you’re calling me at one in the morning because Zeb got your briefs in a fucking twist asking me why, proves you haven’t.”
“He’s the one who hasn’t changed!” I argue.
“He’s the one who... who fucking called me ?—”
Katy’s voice softens.
“No, Geo. He’s changed. You haven’t.”
“How? How has he changed? Tell me Katy, because I don’t see it.”
There is silence before she huffs out an annoyed sigh.
“You really want to do this, now?” She growls, letting out a breath.
“Fine.”
My stomach flips as she answers me.
“For starters, he’s not some lovesick teenager anymore who’s scared of coming out. He’s hot, twenty-nine, single as a goddamn piece of cheese, despite my intentions of trying to find him a decent boyfriend, and?—”
“Boyfriend?” My voice cracks.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.” Katy curses.
“Fuck, fuck, he’s going to kill me.”
“So he’s...” I swallow harshly.
I can’t even say it.
Because I know the second I do, it’s going to change everything.
“Gay, Geo. Yeah.”
“Oh.” I let the words sink in.
Katy sighs again in exasperation.
“Don’t tell him I fucking told you, okay?” she pleads.
“Okay,” I reply as I stare at my mirror, its ghostly memories threatening to rise up with the truth of that one word.
Katy hangs up, and the line goes dead.
A flurry of guilt festers like a storm inside of me.
I should have been there for him, but I wasn’t.
Katy was.
He was my best friend, and I should have been there.
I should have known.
His words feel different, now, shimmering with a new context.
He’s playing music again, too, Katy said.
Maybe she’s right; maybe I haven’t changed.
I know I should go to sleep, but I can’t.
Instead, I pull up Google, and I type his name in.
A couple search results pop up for local newspapers and some social media, and a YouTube.
I click on the YouTube link and it brings me to his page.
The man in the videos is not a person I recognize in the slightest.
The Zeb I remember was tall and skinny like me, with dark hair and green eyes, and an ever-present golden tan.
He used to wear his dark hair across his eyes, like the other “scene” kids did; he was always sporting black eyeliner, ties, and black nail polish.
But the man on his YouTube looks nothing like that person.
Except for his eyes.
Long, thick black eyelashes that make the deep, rich green of his eyes stand out against his tan skin.
His hair is still long, but doesn’t hang in his eyes the same way it used to.
He’s bigger, too.
Like, thicker.
All around.
He’s shirtless in his video, his skin glistening under the light, thick dark hair decorates his chest, the guitar blocking his waist.
He looks relaxed and.
.
.
Sexy as hell.
I can tell by the definition in his arms, he probably works out, but nothing crazy, and I chew on my lip as my cock jumps.
Absentmindedly I grab myself, because I can not go down this road.
I fucking can’t.
The video plays automatically and I can’t tear my gaze away from the screen.
“Hey there, thanks for checking out my channel. If it’s your first time here, hi. I’m Zeb. I play a little bit of everything, but Katy—” My sister’s laugh can be heard in the background, telling him to “shut up.”
“Katy thinks my covers might interest you, so let’s see if she’s right.”
Suddenly, the voice on the phone fits the person I see.
I watch as he strums his guitar, the beginning chords of a familiar pop song filling the darkness around me.
Strangers , by Kenya Grace.
I recognize it because Jinger is obsessed with it and she’s always sending me songs to listen to.
His voice is still so fucking good.
Better.
I watch his thick fingers strum the chords, noticing the way his muscles flex in his arms, his wrist as he does so.
He glances up at the camera, smirking at me, and I know I’m in danger.
Oh, fuck.
His lips curve into a devilish smile as he sings about knowing someone so well, but then they fade into strangers.
It feels intimate.
Personal.
The way he sings, performs.
Looks at the camera.
My cock throbs and I feel a bloom of wetness against the pad of my thumb as he croons about getting in the car and leaning over to kiss someone.
No, not someone.
A guy.
Because Zeb is gay.
He kisses men.
The thought, the reality should make me feel betrayed, lied to, something.
But all I can think about as I watch him, listen to his perfect voice, is how fucking hard I am.
I’m so hard it hurts.
I close my eyes, swallowing hard as his voice fills the room, sliding my hand over my cock, building a steady rhythm as that breathy “uh huh” uttered out of his mouth drives me over the edge into oblivion.
It doesn’t take long for me to come.
Not at all.
I don’t even have to try this time, it just happens.
Naturally.
My head falls back against the headboard and I close my eyes, groaning in blissful relief.
“Thanks for listening,” he croons, his voice dark and sultry.
I open my eyes, and the guilt commences as I catch my breath, my cock pulsing still as cum drips down my shaft.
“Don’t be a stranger.” He winks and then it’s over.
I close my phone, reality dawning on me that I just came in my fucking pants like I was fourteen again.
Watching him.
The knot in my stomach returns, and I think maybe my sister’s wrong.
Maybe Zeb isn’t the only person who’s changed.