Page 46 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Then

“So what plays are you guys gonna use for the game?” Elliott asked as he and Quentin strolled into the bedroom.

I shut my textbook and removed my glasses, setting both on the nightstand. I’d never get any studying done now. We technically should’ve all been studying for second-semester exams, but Quentin had talked Elliott into running drills with him.

Quentin sighed theatrically, seeming really torn about whether to give Elliott the info he wanted.

“Game plans are all classified, confidential, and top-secret information. I could lose my spot on the team if anyone found out I shared such…” he searched for the words, “such classified , confidential, and top-secret information.”

I wanted to tell him they all meant the same thing, but Elliott’s wide eyes stopped me. Quentin’s lie made him even more interested in knowing.

“You know I won’t say anything. I’d never.”

“Okay, fine.” Quentin threw his hands in the air, falling dramatically onto the couch. “I’ll tell you.”

Elliott giggled, like legit giggled, as he tossed the football he held into Quentin’s waiting hands.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as Quentin dove into all the ways the Panthers were going to kick the Seagulls’ asses in the upcoming game.

Thank goodness for Elliott. I no longer had to pretend I cared about the intricate details.

Now I just got to enjoy supporting Quentin and cheering from the stands.

While Quentin walked Elliott through their schemes and strategies, I headed to the bathroom for a washcloth, wetting it with soap and warm water.

“That’s pretty intricate,” Elliott said as I knelt in front of him. “Do you think it’ll work?” He smiled at me as I cleaned the eye black off his cheeks. It irritated his skin whenever he left it on too long.

“We’ve been studying their game videos, so we have a pretty good handle on the way they think.

” Quentin unleashed his cocky grin. “But the Panthers are good at adapting on the fly. Either way, we’re kicking their asses and taking names.

” He winked at me. I chuckled but didn’t swoon like Elliott might have.

Elliott was good for Quentin’s ego—or dangerous, depending on how you looked at it.

“Thanks,” Elliott said after I’d finished. “Shower with us?”

It had been over a month since we’d taken our first trio-shower. I could’ve counted on one hand how many times we’d showered without Elliott since.

Quentin and I didn’t always have sex in there, but we didn’t keep our hands off each other either. My relationship with my stepbrother was second nature to Elliott now. He could study through it, sleep through it, and shower through it, too.

He hadn’t gotten off while watching us since that first shower, or at least not in front of us. Nowadays, he barely glanced our way, keeping himself busy while we had sex somewhere in his vicinity.

We’d never stopped to consider whether Elliott watching us turned him on. It never seemed like it. His gaze always felt exploratory, like he watched to work through whatever had been drilled into him as a kid. We didn’t even know what his sexual orientation was.

Yeah, he admitted to kissing a boy once, and he liked to watch us, but that didn’t mean he was gay. Quentin wanted to ask, but I’d made him swear he wouldn’t. Elliott would bring it up when he was ready.

Sometimes I wondered if Quentin and I were wrong for doing some of the things we did in front of him.

But we were physically ill when Elliott wasn’t around, so if he said he didn’t mind, that he wanted to stay, we chose to believe him.

If at any time he stopped being okay with it, we’d adjust or go to a different room, be more mindful of how he felt.

Until then, we trusted him when he said we could be ourselves. It made us care about him even more.

If it were up to us, we’d board up the doors, say screw getting an education, and never leave each other’s sides. We were that needy and dependent on each other. Quentin and I never imagined we’d meet someone who fit so perfectly in our bubble.

“Si, chica bonita,” I said, suddenly in the mood to mess with Quentin.

“Hey, that’s my name,” he exclaimed predictably.

“Oh, now you know Spanish?” I asked dryly.

“And that’s my name.” Elliott grinned.

“Yeah, but I gave it to you.” He caught the couch pillow Elliott flung at him before meeting us in the bathroom.

We showered and then decided to take studying seriously. Well, Elliott and I did. Quentin lay sprawled out on the sitting area rug, watching ESPN on his phone.

We’d moved the coffee table out of the way, and Elliott quietly quizzed himself using flashcards, his head resting on Quentin’s thigh.

I went back to reading from my textbook, sitting cross-legged on the other side of Quentin as he rubbed my back beneath my shirt.

I twirled a lock of Elliott’s hair around my finger as I flipped pages, memorizing the text.

About an hour had passed when, out of nowhere, Elliott asked, “What does sex feel like?”

“Whoa,”—Quentin removed his one earbud—“what the fuck is on those index cards?” He snatched one from Elliott, reading the front and back before tossing it aside and sitting up.

Elliott shrugged. “I’ve been wondering.”

“Since… when?” Quentin asked softly. He sounded like a parent who’d just found out their innocent kid wasn’t so innocent after all. Ironic, after all the things we’d done in front of Elliott. I was less na?ve. I sat there wondering what had taken him so long to ask.

Elliott exhaled, sitting up too. “For a while now.”

“For a while now?” Quentin asked as if wondering if he’d heard him correctly. He sounded about five minutes away from locking Elliott up in the highest tower he could find and throwing away the key.

“You want to know what sex between guys feels like?” I asked for clarity because we weren’t experts on anything else.

“Yes.” Elliott fidgeted with a loose thread on his dress.

Quentin gaped at me. If he was the parent who wanted to keep Elliott pure—our not-so-pure behavior around him considered—then I was the one who wanted him to have all the answers he needed to make whatever decision he wanted to make.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t as anxious about it as Quentin looked, it just meant I needed to hide it, because freaking out would get us nowhere.

“Wait a second…” Quentin glanced at me as though checking that it was okay before asking Elliott, “Are you gay?”

I would’ve gone with a gentler touch, maybe something like, Do you think you’re gay? But this was Quentin we were dealing with, after all.

“I… think so. Maybe.” Elliott frowned. “I looked up a few other options, but those don’t feel right. I know I like boys for sure.”

“What do you mean you know for sure?” Quentin asked, or more like demanded. “Is it because you kissed Gideon, or because you like some dude at school?”

“Quentin,” I snapped, warning him with a look to drop the territorial crap. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, sighing before deciding to be more helpful.

“You take geometry with Stacey McNasty, right?” he asked Elliott.

“Mc… Nasty?”

“Stacey Trevolone,” I said, shoving Quentin’s shoulder. “No slut-shaming.”

“I’d never shame a slut.” He placed a hand over his heart. I glared at him, silently promising to make him pay for that later. He turned back to Elliott. “She’s in your class, right?”

“Yeah. Miguel’s in that class too.”

“Yeah, but we know Miguel likes dick. The are-you-gay questionnaire is for you.”

Elliott turned beet red, and I pinched Quentin’s bare nipple in retribution.

“Your idea of paying me back is to turn me on?”

“Get to the point, Quentin,” I muttered.

“Right, where was I?”

“Stacey,” Elliott and I said in unison.

“Oh yeah. So, I’m sure you’ve seen her tits, right? Probably down to the nipples with as many buttons as she leaves undone.” He shivered as though the offending nips were right in front of him. “They really should implement a mandatory bra policy. Anyway, how does seeing them make you feel?”

“What do you mean?” Elliott asked.

“Do they make you feel all tingly and hard? Do you start imagining all the things you can do with them?”

“No?” It came out like a question. “What could I do with them?”

Quentin snorted. “Fuck if I know.”

“You’re not helping,” I said to him, but he was already on to his next theory.

“I guess you could be an ass man,” he said thoughtfully. “How about Judy McBooty?”

“Judith Douglas.” I chuckled when Elliott’s eyes bulged. “She’s in our homeroom. Booty shorts, sits next to you, always asks for a pen.”

“Oh! No. She doesn’t make me tingly or, er, hard either.”

“You, my friend, could be totally gay then.” Quentin nodded sharply.

“That’s not what that means, and he has other options to choose from. Or you don’t have to choose at all,” I said to Elliott.

He thought about it for a while. “No, I’m definitely gay. And I want you to tell me how it feels.”

I could feel Quentin’s unhappiness. I knew where it came from, and if I let myself think about what this conversation could lead to, I’d be unhappy too.

As if trying to stall the conversation or discourage Elliott from even wanting to have it, Quentin said, “This feels premature. You don’t even know if you’re a bottom or a top—”

“Bottom,” Elliott cut in, then cleared his throat. “I’d be a bottom.” He paused a heartbeat before whispering, “How does it feel?”

My stomach tensed, trying to squash my anxiety. “Well, it hurts the first time. And depending on who you’re with, it might not even work out the first time. Or even the second time.”

“Why not?”