Page 8 of The Intimacy of Control

“He’s used to you now, Jack.” Callum laughed. “He doesn’t care about you nearly as much as anyone else.”

I shook my head, bending down to give Fishy the Fishbowl puppy the pets he desperately wanted. He was wiggling and shaking, begging for attention.

When I did, though, Callum gasped. “Is that a fucking hickey, Jack?”

I froze. Completely froze. My body, my mouth, and my mind all froze as my face started to turn bright red. Had the collar of Forrest’s shirt moved? I didn’t even realize I’d had visible hickeys on my neck. “Uh, no?” Stupid fucking answer, but what else was I going to do?

Tobi pointed at me. “I’m an alcoholic. I know a liar when I see one. You’re lyin’.”

“And what if I am, huh? Geez, guys.” I leaned back up on the chair, pulling the shirt collar with me. “You don’t have to be weird.”

“Who is it? Who are you seeing?” Callum was in full detective mode, it seemed.

“No one and none of your business. It was a one-time thing. It won’t be happening again.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not an alcoholic, but you are my friend, and I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a liar.”

I groaned. “Oh, my god. Leave it alone. It’s nothing. It was nobody. Can I go eat your Oreos?”

Tobi scrunched his eyebrows at me. “How did you know we have Oreos?”

“Because Callum always has them. Duh. Are they double stuffed this time?”

Callum shook his head. “Yes, but you can’t have any.” I rolled my eyes when he said that. “You always eat them all, and I just bought them. I’m saving them for when I work in the shed.”

Tobi and I both jerked our heads toward him, Tobi shaking his immediately. “You eat in the shed when you’re doin’ woodwork?”

He looked between us. “Uh, yeah?”

“Dude!”

“Babe!”

Tobi and I had yelled at the same time, making Callum put his hands up in defense. “Sorry. I’m already breathing it all in; what’s the harm in eating it, too?”

Tobi frowned. “You should be wearing a mask when you do that stuff. Are you sayin’ you don’t?”

“I’m guessing I’m going to have to now.”

“You got that right. And no more eatin’ in there. Jesus Christ.”

I couldn’t help but laugh to myself about how they were bickering. I’d watched them go through hell to find each other again, and seeing the proof of how far they’d come truly warmed my heart. I was so fucking proud of them. So fucking happy for them.

Sometimes, I wondered if I could have that, too. Happiness. Love. I’d gone this long without someone special in my life, that I truly didn’t know if I deserved it. There was too much attached to me. Too much baggage and weight. It'd be unfair to lend it to anyone else.

With lending the baggage came losing control. So, even though I could see how much lighter my friends looked in love, I knew it’d never be in the cards for me. And for now, I was okay with that. At least I could cling to control and admire the bruises I got from the few nights I relinquished it.

chapter four

Books had a very specific smell. Older books smelled the best, but I definitely didn’t mind the scent of newer ones. I loved being surrounded by it almost every day, sticking myself in an entire building dedicated to it.

Pride and Pages was small enough that I still struggled to keep up with social media trends, hoping one of my videos would pop off, but known enough that I could keep my head above water with expenses. I’d always been ambitious, and it’d definitely paid off. I was just glad I didn’t go with my original idea to become a librarian—the Dewey Decimal System would’ve done me in.

I rolled the cart in front of the shelf, looking up at all the empty spaces. Should I have put these in alphabetical order on the cart before I wheeled them out? Probably. Did I? No, because why would I ever be organized and efficient?

This was why I usually let Andros restock. He had a whole system down pat, and I never bothered to learn it. I preferred to let chaos and natural consequences take over, despite how much frustration it usually gave me.

This shelf was pretty bare—a total of fifteen empty spots waiting to be filled. I smiled as I picked up a book, eyeing the author’s name. Thankfully, I’d read almost all of his work, meaning I knew exactly where to shelve it. No need to compare the eleven others on the cart and hope I didn’t have to rearrange everything when I realized there were two J names waiting when I’d started putting L names up.