Page 63 of Try Me
Chet
Istartled awake and stared dazedly down at the papers in front of me, rubbing at the crick in my neck from falling asleep at my desk with my head angled on top of my arms.
Someone knocked on my door again, and my history book slid off the desk with a thump as I stood. “It’s open.” Outside it was dark; I’d slept the whole damn afternoon.
I frowned reflexively at Mark as he cracked the door, peeked in, then pushed it wider. “Who let you in?” I thought everyone was gone. I wiped whatever drool might be on my face while flipping on the task lamp.
“Adam.” Mark gave me an odd look and hesitated in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder before he finally came all the way in and shut the door behind him. “Am I not supposed to be here or something?”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’ve been blowing up your phone. You didn’t answer any of my texts or my calls.”
“We checking up on each other now? Is that how it is?” I tried for teasing, but it came out prickly.
I reached for my phone, flipped it off silent, and opened my messages. Mark was still staring at me with the same expression.
“The fuck is your problem, Pynch?”Pynch. Goddamn him and the way he said it all wide-eyed. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“So you saw Cam, too?”
“Yeah.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and came a couple of steps closer. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”
“All right, let’s talk.” I pushed my desk chair back into place and swiped a T-shirt from the floor. My room was a wreck. Shit, I guess it matched my head. Crossing to the window, I shoved it open, suddenly in need of air that didn’t smell like him.
“Jesus, are you on something? What’s wrong with you?”
The cautious scrutiny in his gaze annoyed me. “Is that always gonna be your go-to? Always gonna be what you think of me?”
A flicker of irritation passed through Mark’s expression, and satisfaction smoldered in me even as I felt guilty for what I was doing. Lashing out, being defensive. It was tried-and-true armor for the quiet fear that seeped through me.
“You’re trying to start a fight with me. I’m not gonna let you this time, though.”
I deflated just like that. Just because his eyes softened at the corners and he looked at me in way that was understanding and tender and a little hurt all at once.
“Cam told you he was into you,” I guessed.
“Among other things. I feel like an asshole. Guilty and like an asshole because I couldn’t just tell him to forget about the past and that we were cool. He seemed lonely.”
“That’s not your fault.”
Mark perched on the edge of my desk and fiddled with the back of the chair, pushing it back and forth, back and forth. “Yeah, I know that logically.” He shrugged. “Still feel like an asshole.”
“He’s someone you could be with, you know,” I said. “If you both wanted to.” Hours before, Cam had sat in the chair Mark was messing with, eyes jumping all over my room like he was seeing ghosts. He’d been nervous and ashamed and apologetic, talking about how confused he’d been about his sexuality, how he’d wanted Mark. And me. Others. I was supposed to be sympathetic. I tried. But I could tell he knew I was just going through the motions. All I kept thinking about was Mark, how he’d react, wondering if Cam being back would somehow make him angry at me all over again.
Mark licked his lips. Under his keen blue-eyed gaze, I stiffened. Each step he took toward me cinched my shoulders tighter.
“You’re a motherfucking idiot, Chet Pynchon.”
“I am?”
He nodded, tips of his flip-flops bumping my bare toes. My heart galloped wildly in my chest.
“Don’t make me feel bad for coming over here. Don’t make me feel bad for…” He blew out a gusty breath and shook his head. “I know you.” He raised a hand, fingers moving lightly, briefly over my bare chest, then dropping away. The T-shirt I’d thrown over my shoulder went with it, landing next to my feet. “Cam was right. He knew. He knew how I felt about you. He could see it even back then. Even when I couldn’t. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.” Mark lifted his chin, gaze meeting mine and eyes blazing so intently I couldn’t tell if it was anger or desire, despite how he’d just touched me. It seemed like both. “Aboutyou.” He turned away and paced in front of the window, agitation in the brisk movements. “You know why I wouldn’t let you touch me when you were in my room that night? Because I was afraid if you did, I wouldn’t be able to stop. That I wouldn’twantto stop. That I’d keep wanting it. That I’d keep wanting you. And I was right to be afraid. Because I do.” Mark stopped and braced against the windowsill, fingers gripping the edge so tightly the color fled his knuckles. “And I have no goddamn clue how to turn it off, or if I even can. Cam? Everyone else? They seem like mediocre distractions now. Ask me how much that fucking scares me.”
Cicada chirps filled the air when he fell silent, the words he’d spoken heavy around me, clinging like the humidity filtering through in the open window behind him.
Everything was waiting.