Page 14

Chapter Thirteen

LIE

Waiting for my parents to turn their bedroom light off is reminding me how incredibly impatient I am.

My bedroom light is off, the door cracked, so I can see the light under their bedroom door.

It’s past ten and still on. Frustrating.

They aren’t night owls, so why the hell are they still awake?

I can probably count on one hand how often they’re up past ten on my fingers and my toes.

My bedroom window faces Laiken’s house, but it’s the living room. The light is off. I’m hoping he’s not asleep by the time my parents finally turn their damn light off.

I haven’t been brave enough to let myself in since I was a kid.

I still remember the day I stopped letting myself in.

I’m not sure what was different about that particular day but as I slid the slider door open an inch, I was overcome with the sense that I was intruding.

My body flushed with embarrassment. Self-consciousness. Like I was being rude.

I was uninvited and letting myself in. I was crossing a line. That’s the first time I knocked, which felt weird too. But where was the compromise?

Right now, that’s rather unfortunate because letting myself in means I could climb into Laiken’s bed, and I know from experience that being in his bed is a good time. The memory makes me smile. It makes my dick happy, too.

That’s the last time we got dirty, though. The last time orgasms were involved. There’s been plenty of flirting. Lots of accidental, faux-innocent touches at work. Many, many hours of kissing in the trees between our houses. Tons of conversations. Just no orgasms.

I miss the orgasms, but they’re not missing , either. Nothing feels missing from our time together.

However, I need to convince this man that we need more time together. I’m obsessed with having his attention completely on me. Like the day we painted the rooms in his house—hours of talking and laughing when I had his sole focus.

To be honest, I thought a day when we were left alone would have led to a lot of orgasm breaks. Not water breaks or food breaks. Orgasm breaks.

That didn’t happen. There were heated moments. There were kisses. There were touches. But the compulsion to take it to dicks out—even when I was talking about dicks—wasn’t there.

I’m trying not to read too much into it. Our comfort around each other isn’t something new. Spending time together isn’t new. Laiken has always been my family. He’s always been one of my very favorite people in the entire world. It’s normal.

What’s not normal is the way my stomach is always flipping with butterflies. How my chest gets tight and my heart races. The way my cheeks flush.

Maybe the most notable change is the interest my dick has taken in him. That might be the least concerning change in reality. You know, hormones. Puberty. Sexual maturity. Everyone knows that Laiken Hazelwood is fucking hot. I’m not blind.

I glance out my bedroom door and sigh a breath of relief. My parents’ light is finally off. How long ago did it turn off, though?

Fuck it.

I slip from my bed and step into my flip-flops. My door is blessedly silent. Not that a creek would be concerning. It’s not unreasonable to go to the bathroom.

In case my parents hear me leave my bedroom, even with as quiet as I’m being, I shut the bathroom door with a quiet click, then continue down the hall to the front door.

The kitchen slider is too close to their bedroom window, and they almost always have the window open at night to let in the breeze.

Slipping out the front door is something I’ve mastered since I was twelve.

Cash and I used to sneak out just for fun.

Not for parties. Not to get into trouble.

We’d sleep under the stars and wake up before sunrise to sneak back into our beds.

We’d talk for hours and wander the streets of Bane and Keone Reef, looking for secret places that could be just ours.

Once out in the moonlight, I dart across the lawns separating our houses and slip into the alcove where Laiken’s front door is. He has an abnormally loud doorbell, so I knock. His bedroom is close to the front door.

If he’s asleep, he may not hear me. I’ll text him if that’s the case. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. He opens the door and looks at me with a brow raised.

I grin. “Get your shoes on. Hurry up.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Come on, old man. Humor me.”

Laiken sighs. I step onto the threshold and watch as he slips his feet into sandals and grabs his resident bracelet. Then he’s facing me.

I back outside again with Laiken following. I don’t move more than a couple feet from his door, forcing him to step into my space so I can wrap my arms around him, press my body to his, and kiss him.

The way he sighs into my mouth makes my heart flutter with excitement. I love how he tastes. I love that he immediately takes over my mouth. The way his arms secure around my lower back and a hand always snakes down to my ass, gripping it tightly.

“What are we doing?” he asks against my lips.

“We’re going to lie on the beach,” I tell him.

“Yeah? Any special reason?”

“Because I’ve been employed for an entire six weeks at the same job. That deserves a celebration.”

Laiken chuckles. He kisses me again, and I step back.

He falls into step beside me. We walk away from my house, so we don’t have to pass any windows. My parents’ room doesn’t face the front of the house, but the bathroom does. I’d rather not risk being seen.

We’ll walk down the parallel street and toward the docks.

In the night, with no one but the stars as witnesses, Laiken’s hand slips into mine. I bow my head, hiding my smile. We don’t talk as we make our way to the ferry or for the ferry ride. He lets me pull him from the ferry onto Ceto.

Ceto is known as the party island. There are always several parties to choose from. It’s near eleven, so the island is still thumping with music.

The island is also one of the most beautiful, with white beaches, and, because of its location within the island chain, the waters are calm.

It’s unlikely that we’re going to run into anyone we know on the beaches of Ceto.

It’s one of the least-visited places that residents of the islands travel to since it’s party central.

I lead him, hand-in-hand, to a quiet place on the beach with no one else around. He follows me to sit and then joins me when I lie back. Our hands remain locked. I scoot close, so our arms are pressed together.

We stare at the stars. A clear sky. I can see the line of the milky way through the sky.

“When I was in Texas, all I could see was light pollution,” I say. “It rarely got dark enough to see the sky clearly. I’m told there are brighter cities, too. I can’t imagine living every day and not being able to see the stars.”

“You’ve always loved the sky,” Laiken says.

“I remember the first time you actually noticed the stars and the moon. It was probably around this time of year, and we were in the yard around the fire. You’d been running around, and I’m not sure what made you look up, but you were completely mesmerized.

Over the years, we’ve caught you staring at the stars so many times since then. ”

“It hasn’t stopped,” I say, smiling. “I used to wonder what kinds of worlds were out there and thought that when I got older, I’d travel to one of them.

I was mortified when I realized that not only didn’t the human race travel to other worlds in the galaxies, but also that there were supposedly no other worlds with living beings out there. I’m still a little miffed about it.”

“I think it’s rather na?ve to think we’re the only living beings in the entire universe,” Laiken says.

“There are billions of stars and planets, but scientists really want us to believe that only one has life on it? I think that’s truly putting the human race on a pedestal we simply don’t belong on. ”

“I also think that they’re being stupid, thinking that all living things need exactly what we need to form life.

I appreciate that they at least tag on ‘ life as we know it ’ but even on Earth, there are creatures that don’t need the same things humans do to thrive, so it’s really kind of stupid to believe that a planet needs exactly the same conditions as on Earth to support life. ”

“Maybe your calling is space,” Laiken suggests.

“That would require me to leave Kala for a career, and I’ve left Kala already. I’m not doing that again. I’m not cut out for a world that puts so much attention on who I’m sleeping with instead of minding their own fucking business and living their own lives.”

Laiken snorts. “Did you know your father is the one who found Kala and suggested we move here?”

I turn my head to look at his profile. “Really?”

“Mm,” he agrees. “He was the one and only person I told that I’m pansexual.

We lived in the South of the U.S.—so I had a lot of the same experiences you had with homophobia.

We went to college in the northwest, which gave us a taste of life without hatred.

It allowed me to explore myself. Nason found a job on Kala and suggested we go there, somewhere I’d be allowed to be whoever I am without outside input making me feel like I need to hide. ”

“That’s… really nice.”

“It was. He brought us here for me. So I could live with the same peace and acceptance he and Miranda did, regardless of the partner I chose to be with.”

“I didn’t know that.” I turn my attention to the sky again. “It’s really great having a best friend like that.”

“It is. It took me a few months to truly understand what he did for me. I looked around to see every kind of couple, throuple, relationship, lifestyle, and just thought, wow. This is what utopia looks like. ”

“I thought the exact opposite in college,” I say, laughing. “Wow. This is what a shithole world looks like.”

Laiken laughs. “It’s funny. I didn’t realize how awful some places were until moving here.

There’s the general adage that ‘ you don’t know how good you have it until you lose it, ’ but the opposite can be said too.

You don’t know how truly shitty a place is until you experience an actual good place. ”

“I don’t ever want to go back,” I say quietly.

“I don’t want to leave Kala, but I know I can’t live in my childhood bedroom for the rest of my life.

I know my parents wouldn’t kick me out, but they deserve to live just for themselves now, you know?

Their baby is grown. They should be able to think in terms of ‘ me and my spouse ,’ not ‘ me and my spouse and my adult son .’”

“I think Nason would love for you to stay home forever.”

I snort. “Actually, he probably would.”

Laiken chuckles. “You’ll find your calling, Lie. Give it time. This is going to become annoying to hear, but you’re still young. You have plenty of time to explore what’s out there until you find what makes you happy.”

“You’re right. That’s annoying,” I deadpan. I can see his smile in my peripheral vision.

“I have a degree and a minor that I don’t use,” Laiken says. “Even if you know what you want to do right now, that might change under any number of circumstances.”

“That’s fair.” I sigh. “I guess I feel like I just need to find something , you know? I don’t hate bartending, but the only reason I look forward to going to work is because I get to spend the shift with you.

What happens when you’re done training me and my shifts no longer need to coincide with yours? ”

“Fortunately, I make the schedule,” Laiken says, a smile in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that. I have no intention of letting you work without me.”

“You’re just afraid I’m going to receive an offer from some stranger that I can’t resist, aren’t you?” I tease.

His hand tightens around mine. “Yes. I am.”

“Your honesty is cute.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Your possessiveness when you’re glaring at people who slide me their room numbers is fucking hot.”

Laiken chuckles. “I’m really glad you think so.”

I grin and stare at the stars for a while.

“I didn’t mean anything by commenting on your age, you know,” Laiken says.

“I know. It’s always annoying to me when someone begins a sentence with ‘ you’re young ,’ as if my age means I’m not certain of my likes and dislikes. Like they forgot what it was like to be twenty and hear those words. Age is not always accompanied by wisdom.”

Laiken laughs at me. “How cynical of you.”

“No. Just frustrated with adults who are so convinced that I’m going to change my mind about something fundamental to me, as if it’s my taste buds.

Those do evolve over time. There’s science that says as much.

My hatred for someone snapping their fingers at me and expecting respect in response? Yeah, fuck all the way off.”

He’s laughing still. I like the sound. Deep. Masculine. I’ve heard that sound for years, but it feels different now. He’s never laughed at me, but for some reason, the undertone of his laughter with me feels… more intimate? Is that the word I’m looking for?

“I wasn’t being condescending. I’m actually referring to my experience when I was your age.

I thought I knew what I wanted to do until I did something else and realized that I was wrong.

This is what I love to do. This is where I’m happy.

It takes a variety of experiences in your life to find that thing sometimes, and you’re not eighty.

You have time to experience exactly what you don’t want to do, which will narrow down what you do want to do. ”

“What if I never find something that I’m passionate about?” I ask. My tone is quiet, voicing a fear I haven’t shared out loud until now.

“You know what your jobs up to this point have in common?” Laiken asks.

I shake my head.

“Customer service. I think you can rule that off your dream job list.”

“Huh. Yeah, okay.”

“So maybe your next step is exploring careers that have nothing to do with dealing with the public at all.”

My chest feels tight for a second, and I close my eyes to take a few deep breaths.

This is the first time I’ve had a conversation about my future, and it feels like someone is truly listening to me and making suggestions based on what I’ve expressed.

My mother doesn’t actually care what I do as long as I’m working.

My dad is much better, but he’s always asking if I’ve thought about school or work since coming home from my disastrous college failure.

I think it’s made me feel… maybe even more like a failure. I didn’t leave college because I flunked. I know that. But dropping out is still dropping out.

Laiken doesn’t sound like everyone else, though. He’s the first person who’s made a suggestion that feels hopeful.

My heart beats a little harder.