“Sure,” he says.
And . . . I was not expecting that. I suspect it’s the alcohol because there’s no Ogden party without it, but if it helps in getting Ezra’s mind off his current predicament, I’ll take it. Inote to watch over him. He tends to get carried away with drinking. I can’t say I fault him for it.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
I want to be one hundred percent certain before I drag him into a throng of drunk high school students.
“Why not?” he rebuts.
Ezra’s eyelids are scrunched as if this conversation is bothering him. I want to push him for the truth but think better of it. His attention returns to the movie. For some odd reason, I feel like I’ve failed, that I lost him. There are just some things we don’t talk about—a mutual understanding. So, I toughen up and don’t pry.
“I love this scene,” he says more to himself than me.
I glance at the TV but move to my room and grab my homework since Ezra is so enthralled with a scene he’s watched thousands of times. Upon my return, he eyes me in exasperation. With dramatic gestures of his hands, he says, “It’s the fucking weekend.”
“AP test Monday!” I argue.
“Ah, right. I forgot you’re abandoning your full-ride scholarship for no life,” Ezra says, exuding sarcasm.
“Don’t be a dick. You know why,” I say and hit him with one of Mom’s designer pillows. “And besides, if we’re talking about people with no life, you take the cake.”
Ezra hits me back. The grin from this morning makes a triumphant return.
“I do know why. Have you told your mom yet?”
I sigh. “I haven’t figured out how.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re a great writer,” he says.
My stomach flips, elated by the praise. But wait . . .
Hedidn’t.
“When the hell have you read my stuff?”
I’m sure he hears the mortified tone in my voice because he suppresses a snigger and smiles a shit-eating grin.
“That one time.”
I guffaw, reach for the pillow, but Ezra is a blur, stealing the homework from my lap. I move to intercept. Ezra bounds to his feet and holds the papers high in the air. He’s using his goddamn height against me!
“You tall little shit, give it back!” I exclaim.
Crouching low and lunging forward, I tackle Ezra to the carpet. He strains against my muscles, but he puts up a decent fight. We wrestle, rolling along the floor. My leg hits the coffee table and I stifle a groan. Ezra takes advantage of my momentary blunder to get on top of me, gripping my wrists and holding them to the carpet. He pins my legs together and I suddenly feel myself go hard. I could push back and easily overpower him, but I keep lying here, crossing my legs together to hide the erection. Whatever just happened has become too intimate. Too intimate for even us. Maybe not when we were in junior high, but we’re different now.
We pant, collecting our breath. He stares at me uncomfortably for longer than anyone would have otherwise. To play it off, I decide to redirect with lighthearted humor.
“We haven’t done that in a while. When did you get so strong?”
“Pfft,” he blows. “Your wrestling phase did nothing to prepare you for me.”
In his distraction, I snatch my homework and kick him off when I’m in the clear. I sit on the couch and pretend nothing happened—there was no disruption, and Idid notget an erection. I cross my legs again to mask the obvious effect Ezra has on me.
He joins me seconds later, but he’s farther away this time. Distant. He returns to the movie as if he wasn’t bothered by our farce. It sure as hell bothered me. This may not have been a bigdeal to him, but it certainly evoked a multitude of hormones, emotions, and desires out of me. Does he really not see the effect he so evidently has? It’s not his fault, I suppose. He has no idea. Yet, it hurts. I’m seemingly invisible to him—nothing more than a childhood best friend and a brother.
I can’t focus on homework anymore.
Chapter 9
