4. Oakley

4

OAKLEY

I pull out one of my boho hair ties and stretch it between my fingers. This one has a little bead on it. Nothing super flashy, and it's likely no one else will see it, but I like the extra little decoration in it. I also appreciate that they're seamless, so they don't pull out my hair.

As I gather my hair at the crown of my head and wrap the elastic around it, I pause to reconsider. I've only recently started putting my hair up, even though my hair isn't that cooperative. It's apparently really fine, so almost right away, the shorter strands around my face fall out.

Which I like. Honey Bee says I hide behind my hair, using it as a protective screen. While I've never thought about it, now that I've started putting it up, I think she's right. I feel really exposed and vulnerable, which seems silly since it's just hair. It's not even that long. My curls make it fall to the point it's just barely touching my shoulders.

I suppose because it's always so windswept, it's constantly getting in my face. It's not like I don't brush it back, but since it rarely stays put, I guess I kind of agree with her deduction. Especially because I seriously do feel more visible now that it's up.

I'm not sure I'm the biggest fan of this feeling.

Up until this point, I didn't think I had confidence issues. My reasons for remaining in the closet weren't as a means to hide completely . Just hide from people like Haze's family. His family alone was fucking everywhere. His father had some nasty reach and handholds, and it just never felt safe.

Even when we went to college at home. The guys I saw then were also closeted, so it was a mutual effort to keep who we were and what we were doing under wraps. Again, not because I was scared or embarrassed, but because we were still in Anaheim.

These few months of being in Arizona on our own and in a new school have been incredible. I don't think any of us realized just how heavy the burden of stress was on our shoulders. All of us carried it. Mostly for Haze and his safety, but now that it's gone, I know I felt it for myself, too.

Just the other morning, Levis commented on how relaxed he feels now. As if he left a truly nerve-wracking situation behind. Mind you, Levis is a fucking brown belt in aikido. He trains with a wakizashi—a real blade that can slice through bundled bamboo with one pass when there's skill behind it and it's properly sharpened, which he does frequently.

For Levis to say that he'd felt the tension leave him when we moved here says how very heavy the weight we all carried was. Honestly, we're not all that far away from where we'd been. Less than half a day's drive.

Maybe it's knowing that Haze's father is dead, so he can't reach us anymore. His brother that planted the car bombs is in jail. The last brother left home and has basically fallen off the grid. Those who Jessup Prosser had had in his back pocket within the East End Police Department have also felt the repercussions and there's still a big investigation going on.

But we're not a part of that. We're now a world away, and there's the entire state of Nevada that separates us from California and it feels like we're finally… just… free. Protecting Haze and giving him a safe place with us had taken up a lot of our thoughts and now that we don't need to concentrate on that so much, I feel forty pounds lighter.

That's basically the weight that Haze has on me. Ha.

Taking a breath, I decide to leave the elastic. I don't need to hide anymore.

Flipping the light off, I head downstairs and grab my backpack. It's honestly far too bright, but my brother bought it for me when I started college and I love it. Everybody sees me coming. They know who I am without having to know who I am. Bright backpack with hair in his face all the time.

The thought makes me grin as I step outside to wait for Brek. As I usually do, I stare at the empty house, examining the windows for ghosts or movement. I don't really believe in ghosts—though I change my mind depending on how dark it is outside as I stare at the house in question. But honestly, when you're finally free of this world, why would you want to hang around?

"Ready?" Brek asks as he stops at my side.

I nod and turn for the sidewalk as I glance at him. Shaking my head in amusement, I scan the neighborhood as we pass.

Brek is one of those guys you'd love to hate. He's basically a real-life Clark Kent. His body is quite toned, smooth—though I think he does that part himself—has a really pretty tanned complexion, and he has an overall masculine look to him. It's made somewhat softer by his careless hairstyle that's just a mess of strands on his head, always unstyled. I'm confident he doesn't own a comb. He's clean shaven but not baby faced. Like there's always this hint of stubble. Then there's the black-rimmed glasses.

He's like a nerd and a jock rolled into one. Especially considering he's wearing a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to just below his elbow, but left unbuttoned to show off his physique. That he unfairly does nothing to work for.

Beside him, I feel wholly unimpressive. Especially since graduating high school and no longer working out with the football team. A few of the players earned scholarships to the college we went to and there were days they dragged me with them my freshman year but, you know, we grew up. Life happened and it just stopped.

The muscle mass I had, which was never that great, had long since disappeared. Now I'm just really thin and lanky. Not a bad look. As far as I'm concerned, all body types are beautiful. It's the personality behind them that can be ugly.

"No Honey Bee this morning?" I ask as I glance back at the house just before we round the corner out of the neighborhood.

Brek rolls his eyes. "She's on a date."

"It's eight in the morning," I point out.

He gives me an amused look that says I'm rather na?ve. Yeah, okay. She's hooking up. Whatever.

"I think we should all just live together for the rest of our lives," Brek says. "I like normalcy and comfort. It lends a lot of peace to our lives, and we don't have the stress of meeting people or trying to impress them."

It's not the first time he's said something along these lines. I'm not surprised at all. Brek has always been a creature of habit. He thrives on routine and hates any change in it. A day or two here and there he can roll with, but not regularly. The only reason he did so well with our move to Arizona is because we all went together. There was familiarity in that.

He hates meeting people and for most of our childhood, he refused to make friends outside of us. He claims he doesn't need any.

I'm pretty convinced that he's never dated. I can't even remember a time when he's shown interest in anyone—male or female. As I examine him, I'm convinced he's probably never even hooked up.

Huh.

"What?" Brek asks.

I shake my head. "Nothing."

He frowns. "You don't agree?"

"With what?"

Brek sighs. "I swear, none of you listen to me."

I laugh. "I was listening, I just got distracted."

"Because I'm hot? You've been staring at me since I spoke." He smirks, teasing.

And yet, that's the most I've ever heard this man even come close to flirting with anyone. Just the way he teases us from time to time. Not that I can say anything. My flirting is even more horrifying than a bobcat's scream in the woods.

"Why do you wear your shirt open like that?" I ask.

Brek looks down and I can immediately see that I've made him self-conscious.

"It's not bad," I insist, gripping his wrist to stop him from covering up. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm seriously just curious. You trying to attract someone who wants to drool over your abs?"

Once more, he looks down, but this time, his eyebrows are puckered. "No. It's hot." He looks at me and the hoodie I'm wearing. "How the hell are you wearing a hoodie?"

I laugh. "I've had this for like a decade. There's nothing left to it."

Brek grips the sleeve and rubs it between his fingers. "Yeah, fine, but still far too much material. It's already like seventy-five degrees, Oak."

"Is that really the only reason?"

For the third time, Brek looks down at his chest. "Is this bad? Be honest."

Sighing, I link my arm through his and shake my head. "Sometimes, I think you're rather innocent and we need to protect that about you."

He rolls his eyes and shoves me off him. "I'm not looking for someone to drool on my stomach. That's gross. But if you think?—"

"I don't think you look bad, Brek. I clearly need to rethink questions before I spew them. It was merely a thought."

Brek studies me silently. "I have a lot of questions about to why you're thinking about me and my abs, but since this is where we split, I'll save them for later."

"I'm counting down the minutes," I deadpan.

He grins and waves me off, heading for the crosswalk as I turn into the café. Brek has an eight-thirty class, so he rarely stops inside since the lines are usually four or five deep at this time, and he'd be late if he waited. But since mine doesn't begin until nine, I always stop in.

Sure, a frivolous way to spend money that I don't really have a way to replace, but I enjoy the coffees and bagels. It's six dollars happily spent three mornings a week. I bring my food and drink otherwise so I can splurge on this. One of my favorite things about this café is that they offer a student discount, so my breakfast is almost a third cheaper than it would otherwise be.

There are three regular baristas behind the counter and they all know my name and my breakfast choice. It's Patrick today and he smiles. "Morning, bro," he says. "Usual?"

I nod.

"Care to mix it up and add a cinnamon shot? It's new and I promise, it's divine in your regular coffee. I had one this morning. Not too strong, but just a hint of goodness."

"Mmm," I say as I glance up at the menu. Maybe I like my routine too much.

"If you don't like it, I'll replace it with your usual," Patrick promises. "But I'm confident you'll love it, Oakley. Trust me."

Sighing, I nod. "Yeah, twist my ankle. I'll try it."

I'm not sure if it actually costs more, but he charges me the same amount he does every morning. When I first started coming here, my price would vary by like eighty cents, depending on which of the three coffees and bagel spreads I ordered. Now, I'm always a flat out $6.15—regardless of what combination I order.

It isn't long before I have my breakfast in hand and move on to the coffee prep station to gather a napkin and knife. Usually, I add my sugar, but before I do, I take a sip. Yep, still needs sugar.

As I'm taking the lid off and settling it on the napkin to reach for the sugar, a man joins me. Without paying much attention, I shift to the right to give him room, but he tosses his coffee cup into the trash.

"Hi," he says, and I glance up to meet his eyes. He's smiling. There's something… charming about it.

"Hi," I reply, giving him what I hope is a polite smile and return to putting sugar in my coffee.

"Can I be forward and tell you that you have really lovely hair?" he says.

I glance back at him, feeling my cheeks flush. In reflex, I reach up to push some of my hair behind my ear. "Thank you."

"Now that I'm close, your eyes are simply stunning," he continues, and it truly feels like he's staring into them admiringly.

Biting my lip, I turn back to my coffee and put the lid back on. "Thanks," I say. No one notices me. Like, ever. Definitely not enough to compliment me. Never more than a means to throw out the possibility of a hookup.

"Can I join you?" he asks as I pick up my breakfast again.

I nod and he follows me to a table. Almost always, I eat here because it's easier to eat my bagel this way when I'm also carrying a coffee.

"Are you new here?" he asks, sliding his chair a little closer.

My nod is accompanied by a shrug. "We've been here for a few months."

"We? Your family?"

"No. My best friends and I transferred to Eastern State over the summer. We rent a house."

"Ah. That's cool. Have you been to the café before? I swear I live here, but I'd know if I'd seen you before. You're quite beautiful."

I turn my eyes to my bagel again and catch my breath. "I'm here pretty regularly," I answer.

"Hmm." He's quiet as I take a bite. Once I've swallowed, he says, "I'm Jason. I'm a graduate student, so I practically camp out in this café to study." He chuckles.

"Oakley," I say. "This is my third-year undergrad."

Which isn't entirely true. I have more than enough credits to graduate on time with a liberal arts degree in the spring, but I've changed my degree course like a dozen times because I simply don't know what I want to do with my life. What the hell do I want to be when I grow up? What could I possibly do with a liberal arts degree?

Not that there's anything wrong with it. Not at all. I'm not judging that. But in a world where a bachelor's degree no longer ensures that you'll get a job nor get a job with decent pay, even with a very specific degree with a concentrated skill set, what would I even do with it?

"That's an awesome name," Jason says.

"I'm not sure I agree, but thanks."

"My name is as common as they come," he says, laughing. "Growing up, there were like twenty-eight Jasons in my graduating class. I was Jason W or Jason 3 since there were three Jasons with the last name that begins with a W. At least you didn't have to be one of those."

"Okay, fair," I say, smiling.

No, I never had that issue. None of my friends did except Honey Bee, because her name is Jessica. There was a year that we had four in our class. Four! Like, why not split them up?! Thankfully, we always just called her Honey Bee.

Jason stays with me until I finish my bagel, then he asks me for my number, so we exchange them. As I walk away, my phone pings in my pocket. It's already a message from Jason.

Jason

It was great meeting you this morning. I can't wait to talk to you again, beautiful.

I try not to smile, but I'm not sure I've ever been called beautiful.