“And your privilege has been revoked.” Wolfe points at the door. “Fuck off.”
Stephanie scoffs but turns on her heel and leaves. Wolfe and I scramble to get clothes on.
“I didn’t have time to iron anything!” Wolfe stands in front of the full-length mirror in a Christmas sweater I’ve never seen before.At least I think it’s a Christmas sweater. It’s a pattern and green and red, but it doesn’t really make sense.
“Where did you get that?” I come up behind him.
He smirks in the reflection. “I ordered it.”
“Why?” It’s not something he’d normally wear, and it looks good on him, but everything looks good on him. He doesn’t spend a lot of money on clothes because he doesn’t have a lot. Goalies aren’t given a ton of sponsorship money, and he doesn’t love when I buy him stuff unless it’s for his birthday or Christmas. He only owns a couple of outfits he wears to games. He’s pretty good about mixing and matching what he has, so he doesn’t look the same in photos.
So for him to spend money on clothes means something.
He doesn’t say a single fucking word. Just seems remarkably giddy about it.
“What did you do?” I demand, shoving him a bit. “We have to go to dinner before my mom sends a rescue team.”
“Turn your head to the side and look at the pattern.”
“What do you mean?” I cannot imagine what he’s getting at.
He cocks his head, putting his ear nearly on his shoulder. I mimic him, and the pattern turns into words.
I burst out laughing, clapping a hand over my mouth. “You can’t wear that!”
“Why not?”
“Wolfe!” I’m laughing too hard to argue. “I’m serious.”
“I don’t see the issue?” He steps away from the mirror. “We need to get to dinner.”
I grab his arm, trying to make a real demand. “You can’t actually wear that.”
“Why not?” he asks again.
“The pattern says ‘I’m really gay’. What will my parents think?”
“Do they not know I’m gay? This is awkward,” he deadpans.
“Fuck you.”
“I mean, if you’re offering, but you better make an excuse for dinner because I do not want your sister walking in on us again.” He says it so normally I can’t tell if he’s joking.
He’s got to be joking…right?
“Come on.” I grab his arm and drag him out of the room before this devolves anymore.
“You were the one holding us up.” Wolfe pulls open the door, and Steph falls into him.
He holds up his hands, basically letting her bounce off and crumple. “What are you doing?”
“Coming back to get you,” she says, but she’s lying. “You could have caught me, dick.”
“No, thank you.” Wolfe’s voice drips with disgust. “I don’t want to touch you.”
“Were you listening at the fucking door?” I ask, processing what I witnessed.
“No!” Steph turns and stomps off again.
