“Nothing.”
“You’re holding a box.”
He’s right. I am. “Uh,” I start. Fuck me, I can’t even think. “Mom and Dad are cleaning out the attic, I guess.”
Reid stands up a little straighter, eyes narrowing, but he’s silent. I’m silent. The house is silent. Possibly, the world is silent.
“You okay?” he finally asks, at least a year later. “You look—” he pulls a hand out of his hoodie pocket and waves it in my direction.
Of all people, Reid would understand. Of all people, Reid would never blame me. He might even know the right thing to say.
“I’m good,” I say, and head for the stairs, box still in my hands. “Just Matt.”
“Ugh,” he agrees, and disappears.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
ANDI
I headup Gideon’s driveway with my backpack over my shoulder, ninety-nine percent sure I’m welcome. Why wouldn’t I be? He’s my boyfriend. I’m his girlfriend, a fact that he’s made hilariously clear to several hopeful matchmakers. We like seeing each other and he’s been explicitly clear that my presence is always welcome—just come over whenever, quit asking like you think it’s an imposition—so, what the hell, final one percent?
I knock on his door because he hates the doorbell and tell myself that just because he’s been quieter via text and a bit monosyllabic doesn’t mean I’m being too much and I need to back off or something. He’s been working a lot. He said so.
It takes Gideon so long to answer the door that I almost knock again. The way the look on his face goes from thunderous to relieved when he sees me is… weird.
“Surprise!” I say, holding my arms out like a muppet, and finally, I get a smile. “School board postponed their meeting again.”
“Hi,” he says, and looks so quietly pleased that I forget what I was all in my head about. He lets me in and we kiss hello, chaste and then a little deeper until I’m chasing his mouth when he pulls away. “Reid,” he mutters, tilting his head toward the living room.
“Reid’s seen it before,” I point out. “Didn’t he grow up with farm animals?”
“One, no,” Gideon says, and then ghosts his hand to my face and gives me another sweet, thorough kiss. “And two, the only farm animals we ever had were chickens, and that’s not a flattering comparison.”
I laugh, lean in, kiss him. We’re practically whispering. His beard is very soft and I like it.
“Is there a farm animal thatwouldbe a flattering comparison?” I ask, and something occurs to me. “Ooh, like stallions.”
“They don’t tend to be very generous lovers.”
“Really? I thought that’s exactly what they were known for.”
Now he’s blushing and glancing at the living room again, like Reid’s never heard a sex joke in his life.
“It’s one thing to be…” Gideon makes a gesture that probably meanshung like a horse. “It’s another to be good at it.”
“So which animalsaregood in bed? I read somewhere that pig orgasms last half an hour.”
“Not because pigs are good lovers,” he says, his hand making its way down to my waist. “That’s also more of an urban legend than anything. Sometimes, in the right conditions, some types of pigs willmatefor that amount of time—”
“THAT’S ANDI, RIGHT?” an invisible Reid calls.
“Yeah!” I call back, then give Gideon one more quick kiss. “Tell me all the details about how pigs fuck later.”
He closes his eyes, briefly, which is probably the correct reaction. I head toward the kitchen, where something smells good. From the next room, I can hear Reid saying, “Quitit, jeez,” so I poke my head in.
“Don’tpokeme,” he’s saying as he looks up. He’s cross-legged on the couch, in jeans and an oversized hoodie, and Dolly has one paw on his leg and one raised in the air, almost touching his chest. Reid’s got one hand free and one holding a giant, floppyNorton Anthology of American Literaturewith a creased cover, frayed edges, and a bright yellow USED sticker on the spine. “Oh. Hey.”
“Hi,” I say. “Uh, you guys okay?”
