We talk on the walk back to his dorm, but not about anything important. Mostly about Gus, who’s planning to visit before finals. He shares a few updates on Wade and Cammie. Tells me his mom has started dating, which he’s pleased and a little grossed out by. We pass a few people once we’re inside Faber Hall, two guys who fist-bump him and one girl who gives me an envious look.
And then we’re alone. I browse around his room a little bit, even though I was in here earlier, noting the signed baseball on his desk and the Duomo di Milano postcard attached to the bulletin board. Sawyer pulls a bottle of water out of the mini fridge, offering me one too. I accept, mostly so I have something to do with my hands.
“I need to tell you something,” I say finally, taking a seat on the edge of his mattress.
His bed is neatly made. I bet, if I pulled up the comforter, the sheet edges would be tightly tucked.
Sawyer sits next to me. “You sound serious.”
“I am.”
“Okay.” He glances at the water bottle he’s holding, rolling it between his palms. “I’m listening.”
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Remember when I called you … after New Year’s? I was at a club, and I?—”
“You were with your boyfriend,” he says flatly.
I swallow. “Right. Except I, uh, embellished that bit. There was a guy I met that night that I kissed; he touched me a little, and I … I couldn’t get into it. I told him I was going to throw up so he’d leave, and then I went outside. Called you. And also, you were right about Aaron. Nothing happened with him at that party when we went upstairs. I mean, we kissed once. But that was it. And I—” I risk a glance over.
Sawyer’s head is down, but he lifts it a little when I stop talking.
I swallow hard, glimpsing his expression. “You’re mad.”
He tosses the water bottle toward Wesley’s bed. It lands upright on the mattress, which is impressive, but I doubt he’d appreciate me complimenting his aim right now.
“Of course I’m fucking mad, Wren! You lied to me!”
“I know. I’m?—”
“Earlier, should I have told you I was fucking Lillian? Is that what you want from me? Is this some fucked-up game to you?” He stands, shoving both hands in his hair.
I stand too. “No! That’s not—I wasn’t trying to—I was hurt, Sawyer. I was hurt after New Year’s, and I was trying to get over you, and I thought that was what you wanted from me. I thought you wanted casual, and I thought you wanted me to be unavailable, and I thought you would want me if you thought I’d moved on. I’m not proud of it, okay? Both times, I was planning to go through with it, if that makes itany better. I didn’t make it up entirely.”
“Better?” He scoffs. “That makes it worse, Wren!”
“I can’t change it, Sawyer. I’m trying to be honest?—”
“What else have you lied about?”
“Nothing.”
“You promise?”
“I mean, nothing major is coming to mind.”
He snorts.
“It’s not like we met tonight,” I say defensively.
“I’m aware,” he says tersely. “You’ve lied for years.”
“We weren’t even talking for two of them!”
“And whose fault was that?” he shoots back, which shuts me up fast.
Mine. It was my fault.
Silently, I sit back on the edge of his bed.
