Page 62 of Puck You Both

Obviously, I’ll do both. But later. If tonight goes right, there'll be time for both.

"It was fine where it was," I say from the bed.

"Mm."

"It was also fine where it was before that."

He steps back, checks the angle one more time, and I hug my knees and zip it, because the truth is, watching Patrick be nervous is an experience in of itself.

He doesn't get nervous. Ever. And now look at him.

Fussing.

Some of it's for me. The rest is for Wall.

God, I hope he comes. He has to come. What if he—

Two knocks.

My whole body jolts. Patrick goes still for half a breath, then immediately recovers. He rolls his shoulders and crosses to the door, and I kneel up on the mattress because sitting is suddenly not an option, and the door swings open, and—

Wall.

He fills the whole frame. And he doesn't move. One second. Two. He stands on the wrong side of the threshold looking in at us, one hand still on the doorframe. My heart is going so hard I can hear it, because he could still turn around. He could still—

"Wallace," Patrick says, low, and steps back to make room.

Wall steps in, and I start breathing again. His eyes do one slow pass. First, he finds me, kneeling on the bed like an idiot.

Oh hi, hello, bonjour.

Then he finds the chair.

I watch him understand it in real time. His ears flood red while the rest of his face pretends nothing is happening, and I have to bite my own knee. The big scary Wolf just got shy about furniture, and if I laugh right now I will ruin the best night of my life before it starts.

Patrick turns the deadbolt, and the click goes down my spine. The room gets quiet in a new way after that sound. Smaller. Warmer.

Patrick doesn’t let it linger, and cuts to the chase. "Rules."

Rules. There are rules? Now that I think about it, there should be rules, something that would never occur to me on its own. That’s why he’s the organizer.

They stand in the space between the bed and the chair, facing each other like they’re cowboys doing a standoff, unlocking a new kink within me.

Patrick continues. "You watch. Nobody touches you tonight." He pauses, seemingly to gauge Wall’s reaction. When Wall gives him none, he adds, "And if anybody says stop, about anything, everything stops. No questions."

The last rule comes out slower than the first two, aimed straight at Wall, and my throat goes thick, because that’s not a rule. That’s promise wearing a rule's clothes. You’re safe here. Wall's chest rises once, deep, and holds.

"Agreed," he says. One word, rough, and it sounds like it cost him something on the way out.

I adore him. This is a disaster. I adore this disaster.

The two of them keep looking at each other, and the air in the room gets almost too thick to breathe in, and nobody has touched anybody yet.

Somebody has to do something before I combust.

And, as usual, that somebody is me.

I raise my hand like we’re in school.