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It all happened so fast that it wasn’t clear to me how I came to straddle him during the scuffle. I pinned him down to get my phone, but he extended his arm further up the bed even though I could see the action caused him physical pain.
“My, my, Ciaran, you are most passionate about your privacy. Let’s see,” Matthias started. “Kinzy loves your jacket. Raj sent a million thumbs-up emojis. Is that common for him?”
I did my best to ignore which parts of our bodies were touching. Ignore everything, Ciaran, I told myself. Ignore that we were two boys wriggling on a bed. Matthias’s body was not even remotely perfect. Nope, not at all. Fleetingly, I realized that if he bucked or shifted in a certain way, I’d feel even more of him.
Matthias appeared…unaffected.
“He’s excitable,” I said, describing Raj.
Why the hell was I entertaining this conversation?
Matthias’s face transformed when he smiled and I momentarily got lost in his dazzling brown eyes. Still straddling him, I reached up again, he twisted away, and I attempted to follow.
The definitive sound of ripping fabric caused both of us to go very, very still.
Lifting my right arm, together we inspected the underside of the crimson jacket, where the armpit part of the sleeve had torn away from the fabric.
I groaned.
“Somewhere in Palm Beach, Tom Ford has burst into tears without knowing why,” Matthias chuckled. In my distracted state, he shoved me aside, rolled off the bed, and propped himself against the doorway of his walk-in closet. “Someone named Rowen sent a link to a YouTube video. Hmm. I recognize the inside of that jet.”
I sat on the edge of Matthias’s bed, head in my hands. “Just get this over with.”
He clicked through a few more times. He made a strangled noise and I looked up. With a frown, he asked, “Who’s Drew?”
“No one,” I said, trying to breathe as evenly as possible. Standing, I held out my hand, closing the distance between us, but he slapped it away. “Someone from school.”
Matthias saw something in my face. “Well, this just got interesting. I dare you to tell me the truth, Ciaran. If you do, I’ll give it back.”
“Told you, I don’t do dares.”
“Then I guess you won’t get your phone back. I mean, don’t you want to see what he wrote back to your last text?”
My heart thudded. I’d texted that I missed him and asked if we could video chat this weekend.
If Drew texted back, then…then what?
I weighed my options. I wanted my phone. I wanted to see what he wrote. I needed to see what he wrote.
Was it so bad to disclose who Drew was? It wasn’t like Matthias knew anyone from back home.
“Drew is…a guy I’m interested in,” I admitted, my voice hollow yet defensive. Let him judge. I didn’t give a shit.
Matthias studied me a long moment, his expression mostly unreadable. This was the moment he’d say something like, oh, you’re gay, or so you like dudes, or some other clichéd statement.
Instead he said, “I assess you’re telling me the truth.”
He handed my phone back. Snatching it, I growled, flipped him the bird, and retreated into my own room.
I wasn’t about to share anything—my excitement, my fear—with Matthias.
Slamming my door, I locked it. Holding my breath, I opened Drew’s text.
It said, We’ll chat soon. In the meantime, I hope Malibu is treating you well.
That was it. That was the totality of Drew’s bland reply.
No, I miss you, or I can’t wait to talk again, or Send me a few snaps of the beach.
