"That’s nice."
Nice.
Shit.
"It’s actually the week of your showcase."
"Cool."
I beg the ceiling for answers. For a how-to-ask-your-fuck-buddy-to-come-with-you-to-Teamsgiving tutorial but it’s blank.
The awkwardness is crushing me. My body feels itchy but on the inside, like I need to get up and shake my arms and legs out.
My fingers drum on my stomach and Rhys sighs and rolls over.
The tattoos that trail along his exposed arm transfix me and the twitching feeling evaporates. I trace an intricate design of a mountain range in front of music bars, the sun, the moon floating in the piece as notes, from his shoulder down his tricep and watch the way his back rises and falls with this breath.
"Tonight was perfect." I whisper. Rhys’s breath stutters but he doesn’t roll over, knowing I need to say this to the space between us. "Thank you for coming."
We’re both silent for a moment. More words, confessions, are on the tip of my tongue but I don’t want to say anything to him that I can’t take back in a month.
"I’d like to see the man who doesn’t come while getting sucked off under his kilt in the back of a car."
My head falls forward and I rest it between his shoulder blades. A quiet laugh, a press of lips to his warm skin. "What are friends for?"
Chapter thirty-two
Rhys
The Stripped Down Version
Pressurebuildsbehindmyeyes. My nose burns with unshed tears. This is one of the proudest moments of my life.
MOM
Be sure to send us the video of tonight!
I will.
DAD
Are the kids nervous?
A bit, some more than others.
MOM
Remember your first show?
DAD
Howcould I forget? I had to throw away my favorite sweater.
I told you I didn’t want a hug before going on stage!
DAD
Well, you were green with nerves. I thought it would help.
