“Since when do you follow BSU gossip pages?”
“Since my big brother became half of the most talked-about couple on campus!” He pauses. “So? Is it true? Did you finally stop slutting around and settle down?”
I choke on air. “Excuse me?Sluttingaround?”
“Oh, please. I’m not stupid, Drew. I know you’ve been with half of New England. Remember when you brought that guy home for Thanksgiving, and he kept calling you ‘Daddy’ at dinner? Mom almost had a stroke.”
Heat floods my face. That was a mistake. Calvin had promised to behave, then made bedroom eyes at me over the mashed potatoes while my mother tried to pretend she was anywhere else.
“First of all, I have not been with half of New England. More like…a third. Second, Jackson and I aren’t dating.”
“But you want to be.”
The certainty in his voice makes me freeze. “What?”
“Dude, you talk about him constantly. It’s always ‘Jackson this’ and ‘Jackson that’ and ‘Jackson’s hilarious’ and ‘Jackson scored a touchdown.’”
Fuck. Have I really been that obvious?
“We’re friends,” I insist, even though the words taste sour. “Everyone’s got it wrong.”
Patrick snorts. “Right. And I’m sure sharing a blanket with him had nothing to do with wanting to get up close and personal with his dick.”
“We were cold!”
“You were cuddling.”
“It was survival!”
“It was gay.”
“Iamgay! Well, bi, but—that’s not the point!”
“You’re right. The point is you want him, and you’re too chicken to do anything about it.” Patrick’s voice goes soft, whichis somehow worse than the teasing. “Drew, why don’t you tell him?”
Because Jackson’s straight. Because I don’t do feelings. Because the last time I let someone matter, Dad walked out, Mom broke down, and I had to hold everything together with my tiny six-year-old hands.
“It’s complicated,” I say instead.
“You’recomplicated. Andexhausting. He seems pretty simple. Also, he’s hot.”
“You’re fifteen!”
“I have eyes! And the internet is saying the same thing!”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Drew, wait—” His voice catches. “Are you happy?”
The question gives me pause.Am I happy?I’m Drew fucking Larney. I’m always happy. I’m the life of every party, the guy with the easy smile and easier conquests. Happy is my brand.
But Patrick knows better. He’s seen me at three in the morning, home for Christmas break, staring at my phone and waiting for Jackson to text back. He’s caught me rewatching Jackson’s game highlights with an expression that borders on lovesick puppy.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Patrick—”
