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18. MILES

EIGHTEEN

MILES

The knock on my front door sounds dramatically loud. After our last home game, another sweet-as-pie shutout, I had a brilliant idea. I worked out who could dog-sit Killer while we’re gone tomorrow.

Only now it’s happening, my palms are clammier than they have any right to be.

“Expecting someone?” Mom asks as I jump from the couch. I’ve been hanging around inside like a bad smell for the last half an hour, and I know she can tell something’s up.

“Yeah, one of my teammates.”

“You mean we’re finally cool enough to meet one?” Dad shouts as I go to let Bilson in. I leave them behind in the living room and step into the hall to head for the front door.

This was a stupid, very bad idea.

It will be good for Killer, I remind myself. When did I fall for that little dograt?

“Hey,” I say, opening one side of the French front doors. Bilson’s standing on the front stoop, all handsome with his dark hair neatly styled and Killer huddled adorably in his arms.

“You sure about this?” His forehead creases with the question, which is what I need to play confident.

“Totally. Look how big this block is. Killer will love it here.” Tall trees, orangey and losing their leaves, hug the property.

He casts a doubtful glance around. “And your parents?”

“Ehh. I’m sure it will be fine—they took me in, didn’t they?”

“But you’re their kid.”

I steal Killer and lean into the tongue attack, his little butt shaking faster than the rest of him. “And you’re basically their grandson. Aren’t you? Aren’t you, widdle dograt?”

“Stop calling him that.” It’s about the thousandth time those words have left him, and I’m sure it’s more of a reflex than anything by this point.

“He doesn’t care.”

“Oh, yeah? Next time I see Seddy, I’m going to tell him quartz is clearly more impressive than riverstone.”

My whole damn mouth drops. “You wouldn’t.”

Bilson leans in close, eyes gleaming with evil victory. “Oh, but I would.”

That husky tone should be illegal at two in the afternoon, standing outside my parents’ place. I swallow roughly and take a step back from him. “No more dograt.”

“Better. Now, let’s ambush your parents.”

“I prefer persuade over ambush.”

“Prefer what you want; you’re doing the talking. And making it clear this is all your idea.”

Fine by me. I lead Bilson through the house into the large living area. There are wooden ceiling beams that match the polished floor and a slate fireplace next to huge glass doors that lead to a large deck outside.

“This is incredible,” Bilson says.

He’s right. Mom and Dad worked hard to have this house designed and built.

“Who’s this?” Mom calls from her place on the sofa.

“Cody, this is my mom and dad. Mom and Dad, this is …” I trail off as I’m hit with the complete awkwardness of the situation. A chill creeps through me, and I quickly redirect, holding up the furless creature in my arms. “Killer. This is Killer.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment.

“What … what is it?” Dad asks.

The tension leaves me. “He’s a dogr—ah, a dog.”

“You sure?” Dad leans forward and eyes Killer in concern.

“He’s a Chinese crested,” Bilson jumps in. “Super friendly.”

And like Killer knows what Bilson has said, the wriggly little thing squirms from my arms, drops to the ground, and pelts at Dad, long ear fur flapping.

Dad barely has a second to react before Killer jumps into his lap and starts yapping happily for attention.

“Why is there a dog in here?” Mom asks.

I can feel Bilson’s unease from here.

“Look at him.” I put on my most pleading, baby voice. “So much love to give. And there’s only so much me and CB can do. We’re away again tomorrow, and this barbarian”—I point right at Bilson—“has been locking him in the laundry room and having someone stop over a couple of times a day. My heart is bleeding for him. Bleeding.”

“Absolutely not,” Dad says, trying and failing to keep Killer from slobbering all over his face. Bilson really does spoil him.

“The laundry room, Dad. Have a heart.”

Mom speaks up. “Miles is right. The poor dog can’t be holed away all that time.”

I whirl to her, excited to have an ally. “You are so wise. And pretty. And clever.”

Bilson actually scoffs from behind me. I throw up a finger at him, which earns me the look from Mom.

“In my house? Really?”

“Sorry. Sorry. Back to the dog and how right I am.”

She turns to Dad. “This is better than the time he brought five pigs home and tried to hide them in his bedroom.”

Dad still doesn’t look convinced.

“And the time we found him stuck hanging from the deck.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilson cuts in, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. “He what now?”

Dad’s gotcha smile is immediate. “Thought it would be cute to hang a squirrel feeder from the tree outside. Didn’t get out of his hockey gear first though, did he? Ended up hanging by one of the straps.”

Bilson turns to me with glee. “Tell me you didn’t try to climb into a tree in your full pads?”

“I thought it would be better to get it out of the way before I went up to shower.”

“Why didn’t you shower in the locker rooms?”

“I was twelve and self-conscious. I didn’t look like this back then. Why are we talking about this? Killer is the subject of today’s meeting.”

“I dunno, I’m pretty happy with the detour we’re taking.”

Dad sighs. “We have more stories than we can get through in one afternoon. Never had any problems with the others—it was all Miles. Should’a known when he was five and decided he’d only play in goals. His coach at the time tried to rotate out the players to give everyone a turn, and the first time he tried to put Miles in defense, he clung tight to those goals and screamed his head off.”

I give Dad a dry look, so Mom takes over.

“The next practice, he covered the pads and helmet in maple syrup so no one else got to use them.”

I shrug, trying to play off my childish antics. As the youngest of four, I was very possessive of anything I saw as mine. “Even back then, I knew I was the best. Just trying to do the team a solid.”

“Well, that answers my question about whether you’ve always been a cocky brat,” Bilson says. He turns to Mom. “I told him you wouldn’t be okay with me foisting my dog off on you. I’m so sorry I put you in this position.”

He’s talking with a tone I’ve never heard from him before. It’s so … charming. Gross.

“He really, really doesn’t mind the laundry room. It’s small, but he’s small, so it’s fine.”

Bilson’s laundry room is so not small. That asshole is playing them.

And it works.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Mom says.

Dad huffs. “Can’t be leaving the thing alone.”

Satisfied he’s done his job, Killer hops down off Dad’s lap and curls up at his feet.

“And now we run before they can change their minds,” I tell Bilson, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him toward the door. “We’ll be back for him soon! I’m gonna show CB my pad.”

“If he tells you he has girls back there every night, he’s lying,” Dad calls after us.

Ergh.

It’s not until we’re out of the house and crossing to my small place that I’m able to be almost normal again. “That was weird.”

Bilson laughs. “I loved it.”

“You’re not the one who was being picked on.”

“Exactly. I wish we’d given them time to pick on you some more. Baby Miles sounds adorable. And dumb as bricks.”

“You’re gonna say nothing’s changed, aren’t you?”

“Why, when you said it for me?”

Asshole. I unlock my door and lead him inside, that self-conscious feeling settling over me again. It’s a pain in the ass, and I wish it’d fuck off already. Ignoring it is hard to do when it’s making my movements stiff and awkward.

I sit on the trunk at the end of my bed, and Bilson’s eyes linger on it.

“That looks like it’s the perfect height to …”

Damn, he’s right. “Well, now I won’t even be able to walk into my bedroom without picturing it. Thanks for that.”

“We could try it. I bet I could be fast.”

And as much as I’d love that, as much as I’ve been craving another pounding from him, my good mood crashes.

“Yeah, not a good idea.”

“Oh.” He actually backs up a step. “No, you’re right. Twice was enough. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Calm down,” I say, managing a smile at his rambling. “Twice definitely wasn’t enough. I just mean we can’t do that stuff here.”

He tucks his hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side. “I’m not following.”

“My parents.”

“Worried they’ll walk in on us? We’ll put a tie on the doorknob.”

But the more he tries to make me feel better, the more it has the opposite effect. “They wouldn’t approve. Of all that.”

“All that?”

How does he still not get it? “The gayness,” I explain. “I love them, but they have some pretty outdated views on shit, and the worst part is that they don’t even realize they’re outdated. They think they’re all progressive and loving when they say things like ‘love the sinner but not the sin’ after I told them about some of my frat buddies getting together.”

Bilson crosses the room and sits on the trunk next to me. “That’s why you don’t want us telling anyone.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t get it. I didn’t think anyone thought that way anymore.”

If only it was that simple. “A lot of people still think that way. Maybe not in Seattle, and Nashville is mostly okay, but venture out a bit, and the sad part is my folks really do look progressive by comparison.”

“I’m sorry, Miles.”

“Don’t be. It’s not like I’m ….” Like I’m what? Queer? So what, I like sex. Does it matter whether it’s a woman or a dude on the other end of the thing fucking me? It doesn’t change anything.

It can’t.

We’re quiet for a moment, and I hate that the tension is so thick.

“They really will take good care of Killer.”

“I believe you.”

“And I meant what I said.” I wait for Bilson to look at me. “Twice wasn’t enough. We might not be able to have sex here, but we’re doing it again. Agreed?” I hold up my pinky finger, and Bilson bites back a laugh.

He links his finger around mine. “Can’t wait.”

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