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Tracing over the flock of birds circling his wrist, I press my fingers deeper into his skin. Like I could meld us together if I tried hard enough. Tonight, I’ll stop being such a coward and give him the necklace. He deserves something nice.
“Mom still hates them,” Milo says, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
“The tattoos?”
“Yeah. She says I look like a gang member.”
“You couldn’t hurt a fly if you wanted to.”
He laughs. “Thanks, man.”
I trail over the sleeve, stroking the delicate ink. “Why’d you stop getting them?”
“They kept me grounded when all I wanted to do was run away. I guess I don’t need that anymore. This one”—he points to the birds—“reminds me that I’m free to be myself. Nobody can take that away.”
A familiar guilt blankets me. “I tried to do that.”
“No, you didn’t.” He squeezes me tightly. “Kids are shitty sometimes. It doesn’t matter, because you came around. You’ve already apologized, baby. Don’t worry about it.”
“Still. I’m sorry anyway.”
Milo kisses my cheek, and when he speaks again his tone is lighter. “We should do this more often.”
“Sleeping at motels?”
“Taking vacations together. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”
Twisting around, I open my mouth to tease him when I catch the expression on his face. There’s a distant look in his eye.
The feeling from before, the doubt churning in my stomach, returns with full force. I clear my throat and pull away, trying to slip out of his hold.
“Where are you going?”
I shrug, licking my lips. It’s like what he said by the pool. Sex is easy. What we’ve been doing for the past few days is easy. Too easy.
It’s crazy how we’ve upended years of platonic intimacy, how natural it feels to kiss him. Just touching him sends me spiraling. But I’ve indulged in these feelings for too long. This can’t last.
Panicking, I tug my limbs from his, stumbling to my feet. Milo follows my lead, stepping closer and invading my space until I tilt my head up to look at him. He reaches for me carefully, tracing a hand from my elbow to my wrist. The touch lingers, warmer than the brightest sun rays.
“We’re still friends, right?” Tell me this won’t change anything.
Milo looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “Of course we’re still friends, Cal, where’s this coming from?”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “Enough sitting around, it’s spring break. Let’s go swimming.”
The look on his face sends me back five years, reminds me of cheap alcohol and the faint smell of weed. A wet tongue licking into my mouth, short brown hair between my fingers.
I’ve been here before. I know how the story goes, and it isn’t pretty.
Milo is silent for a moment before he shrugs, releasing my hand. Instantly, I miss the warmth of him.
“Swimming it is,” he says, flashing a breezy smile. “But if a fish touches my dick, I’m drowning you.”
My answering laugh is weak. Fake. It leaves a residue, and I can’t help but feel like I’m teetering on the precipice of something terrible.
5
Despite the peace of being sun-warmed and smelling like lake water, the easy stillness of the afternoon disappears like a fine mist. It leaves an unfamiliar tension in its place, pervasive and cloying.
