“And?”
“And—he already arranges his schedule around a pet, and it seemed easier to ask him to deal with one more than ask you to rearrange all your plans.”
“I would have.”
His smile is grim. “I know. But I wouldn’t.” He snaps his fingers to get the dog’s attention. “Come on, buddy.”
“Wait—where are you going?”
“Just my room,” he says.
“Hold on asecond,” I say, louder than is called for. “Can we talk before you lock yourself in your room. You’ve been gone all weekend.”
He blinks like he’s not understanding something. It’s not Evan’s fault that he doesn’t know the something Isaac said to me today unlocked the roommate fantasy floodgates. I can’t tell if I’ve been repressing or avoiding them until now, I just know that once they started, Evan might as well have been on the couch with me and Isaac this afternoon. I halfway expected to turn to the side and see his dick there, waiting to be sucked when I was plunging deep into Isaac’s ass again. And then when we flipped around so he could finish inside me, I came again to the image of Evan straddling me to sit on my face.
His thighs in those slutty short shorts are bringing up all kinds of filthy thoughts, so I force myself to meet his eyes. I get that I have permission to explore whatever here, but not from the person who matters. After the amount of sex I’ve had in the last forty-eight hours, I shouldn’t be so horny, but that’s never been the way it works with me. The more I get, the more I want. I hyper focus. I binge.
“What do we need to talk about?” he asks.
Fuck, I don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t want to talk. “Have you heard anything more from Millie?”
“Other than seven unsolicited nipple pics, no.”
“She’s sending you pictures of her tits?”
“Manon’s. Sorry. Dog nipples. She wanted me to see how puffy they’re getting.”
“Gross,” I say.
“Yeah. Made for an interesting jump scare every time I opened my phone.”
“Have you eaten?”
He waves a hand between us. “I don’t need you to feed me. My stepmom stuffed me full enough for a week.”
“Is she a good cook?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re better, though.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
He shrugs. “Fine. It was just a compliment.”
I give him what I hope is an apologetic look. “Thank you. My grandmother taught me. I hated it at first, but eventually it got to be one of those things that helped me focus. My parents would never eat anything I made. I heard my mom telling my sister once not to either because I probably used sugar instead of salt. Shit like that.”
Evan looks shocked. “What?”
“Autistic means stupid to some people.”
“But yourparents?”
I shrug. “They weren’t big fans of how I turned out. They kind of checked out once I was diagnosed. Started working on having better kids.”
“Jesus.”
“Yours like you, though, huh?”
He grimaces and blushes. “Um…yeah. You could say that.”
