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Easier said than done.
“Sorry about that.”
I cut him a look, and he rolls his eyes. Reaching for his textbook, he opens to the lesson I’m currently struggling with. And for the next however many minutes, we work on my assignment together, Jeremy talking me through the parts I don’t get.
“How are you an artist and good at math?” I ask at one point. “Pretty sure that violates some, like, law of the universe.”
He shrugs. “Lots of study time. Don’t exactly have much of a social life.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Yeah, but you have a life, Mason. One outside this house.” He arches me a look. “You have a girlfriend. A best friend. A?—”
“You’re my best friend.”
He tips his head, conceding that. “Okay, so you have two.”
“And I’m yours.”
He stills, utterly and completely.
“And you have Waylon and Izzy too,” I quickly add, my voice coming out rougher than it did a moment ago.
His gaze flits between mine, flickering with some emotion I can’t place. One that has the hairs prickling on the back of my neck, and heat skittering up my spine.
He gives me a small smile, nods, and says, “I know.”
My throat swells, making my swallow go down with an audible gulp.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and it suddenly barrels over me how close we are. Sitting knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, on the edge of the bed…
Our faces are only inches away, now that we’re no longer bowed over the books in our laps.
Jeremy clears his throat and looks away, burying a yawn in his arm. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, the edge of my notebook digging into my palm.
He pushes up to a stand, and my gaze follows, my brow knitting. I feel…itchy. Restless. My fingers tap against my knee, which has started to bounce. A weird sort of….tension blankets the room, making the silence feel heavier—louder in a way.
My heart thumps, and I open my mouth, not even sure what the hell I want to say—just that I know I need to say something?—
When footsteps clobber up the stairs, and the winded, red face of my girlfriend pokes her head in.
“Hi,” she chirps cheerily, racing over to me, and tackling me onto the bed.
“Hi,” I say faintly, catching her around the back.
“Please don’t,” Jeremy says flatly. I don’t think she hears him, but I do, and suddenly I feel…not so good, though I’m not sure why.
Caught off-guard by the thoughts swirling in my head, I all but throw Izzy off me in my haste to stand up. Shake off some of this lingering tension.
Fortunately, she doesn’t seem too upset by my weird behavior. Laughing, she rolls on to her side, and plucks the textbook Jeremy must’ve cast aside.
More footsteps sound from the hall, and then Waylon appears, running his hands through his inky black hair.
I dart a fleeting look across the room, to where Jeremy stands against his desk, arms crossed. Our gazes find each other, locking, and for a moment, time just stops. The room around us fades.
My throat thickens.
