“Hey,” Gage said sharply, tilting my chin up with his hand. “Noah, that wasn’t some kind of long-ass essay question you’ve gotta spend two weeks preparing for.” He swallowed. “Do you still want to be mine?”
OfcourseI did, but just for purposes of clarification…
“Do I want to be your what?”
Gage’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he froze like a statue, not even breathing for a minute. Then his arms tightened convulsively around me, and—
“What do you mean, my what?” he asked, his voice all raspy, as if he’d just woken up.
Just woken up, or...
Shit shitshit. I was screwing this up. I was makinghimworry.
“I just meant—”...that I’m a massive chicken and can’t make myself ask you what I really want to know, or even say the word “boyfriend” out loud in case I screw up even worse, but also…“—that of course I want to be yours, Gage. Iamyours. Always. Is that even a question? That’s not a question. That’s a… a fact. You don’t even need to ask. I’myours. Your property. You know that. I belong to you. I’m your… your something. Youranything. I mean, anything you want, that’s what I can, um… be. I mean, that’s what I am?”
Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod.HadI screwed us up? We never fought. We never even hadmisunderstandings. It was probably why my parents thought we were codependent, because… I mean, because yes, Gage was right, we probably actually were codependent, butalsobecause we just… fit. We always had. We got each other and understood each other and really and truly were like two halves of something, and I… I didn’t even know what todowith the idea that I might have messed that up.
My stomach cramped.
I started to sweat.
Gage stared at me hard for a minute, then finally muttered aJesuson an explosive breath and scrubbed a hand over his face.
But then,then, he finally smiled at me, and my stomach started to settle back down and the world righted itself.
“Okay, then,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’re mine. But not my ‘anything,’ Noe. You’re my everything. This isus. This is what works. Why are you getting all worked up about this codependency bullshit? Did your parents call? Is someone giving you grief?”
Arnie’s flood of emojis didn’t count, right? Right.
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh. Nope. I’m fine. We’re fine. It’s fine?”
Please let it be fine.
“Noah,” Gage said, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck to hold me steady as he stared at me hard again. “You were fucking babbling just now. Total word vomit. You think I don’t know that means something’s up? I’ve known you my whole damn life.”
“Only since first grade,” I pointed out, hoping that would make him laugh.
It did, and the last bit of tight worry in my stomach eased up, morphing into happy flutters.
“That’s the only part of my life that counts anyway,” he said, giving me a wink as he started carding his fingers through my hair… stroking the back of my neck… easing me around until I was fully straddling him and looking at me like… like…
Like it was true. Like Iwashis everything, just like he was mine, and that was even better than just being a boyfriend anyway, right?
“I just worry about not… not being enough,” I blurted.
Gage furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Not pulling my weight, I mean.”
He grinned, sliding his hands under my ass and standing straight up with me squeaking like a mouse and grabbing onto him. “Bro, you weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. Pretty sure I can handle pulling that kind of weight for you.”
He winked (sexy) and I narrowed my eyes (unmoved by his sexiness) (just kidding) (I was totally moved). But a hundred pounds? Please. I wasn’tthatsmall… anymore. I’d been going to the gym with Gage semi-regularly ever since the start of the school year, and I’d put on atleastten pounds. Maybe eventwenty. Besides, that wasn’t what I’d meant and he knew it.
He walked us over to the bed—hisbed—and sprawled out on it, arranging me on top of him like a blanket. But nuh-uh. Not that. Not yet. We had things to talk about.
Or… or I did, at least.
I scrambled up, straddling his waist and poking his chest to emphasize the super important points I was about to unleash on him.
