1

"Mom says the announcement dinner can wait until you get here."

Elsie's voice is tinny over the phone, almost drowned out by the hum of the fluorescent café lights. I roll my eyes, flicking through a pile of old rock CDs.

"I'll be sure to tell the truck that. Maybe it'll get us home faster."

My sister scoffs. "Where are you now?"

"I don't know. Some hippie café with a weird gift shop attached."

‘Weird' is an understatement. The gifts range from handmade postcards to squat animal sculptures arranged haphazardly in a cramped section at the back of the room. A small sign on the wall boasts that they're ‘artisan-made'.

I'm heading home from Harper College for spring break with my best friend, Milo, and we decided to make a pit stop at this roadside café before continuing. It's getting late, the sky outside streaked with pink clouds, but we have at least four more hours of driving ahead.

Taking off my glasses, I wipe them down before adjusting them back onto my nose.

"Fuck, there's nothing good in this place," I say.

"Let me guess, you're looking for a present for Milo."

"Not a present. Something to thank him for driving me down."

My sister groans. "Just ask him out, already."

"Elsie!" I press the phone closer to my ear and glance around. "Don't joke about that shit."

"You've been obsessing over him for years. Maybe now's the time."

Yeah fucking right.

"I'm serious, Elsie. Let it go."

"Okay, I get it. Jeez." She drags out the words like I'm inconveniencing her. "Please hurry up and get here before I go insane. Dad's been sleeping in the guest room with the shitty mattress, and I don't know how much longer I can nod sympathetically when he complains about his back."

"Relax, crybaby. I'll arrive in the next few hours and then we can get the party started."

Elsie sighs. "If I don't perish first."

Grinning, I cut the call and slip my phone into the pocket of my denim shorts.

There are only two people in the world who can upend my bad moods—one is my annoying older sister, and the other is leaning against the counter at the front of the café.

I glance over, warmth curling in my belly when Milo's gaze meets mine. He runs a hand through his shaggy ink-black hair and smiles, slow and sweet.

When we were sixteen, he smiled at me like that for the first time in a dingy high school bathroom and, five years later, it still makes my heart stutter.

Milo tips me a two-fingered salute and I flip him the bird, rolling my eyes. His smile only widens, showing off sharp white teeth.

When I turn back to the gifts, my whole body feels flushed. It must be the heat. The weather's been unusually nice for spring.

Parsing the jewelry section reveals a few knockoffs and cheap plastic rings covered in kids' craft paint. So much for ‘artisan-made'. I turn away, ready to claim defeat and head over to Milo when a glint of silver catches my attention.

Careful not to disrupt the teetering display, I deftly pick out a delicate chain from a tangle of necklaces, revealing a small magpie pendant. Bingo.

Milo's been obsessed with birds since he was a kid, magpies especially. His tattoo sleeve ends in a flock of them circling his wrist. In theory, the necklace is perfect for him. But isn't giving a guy a necklace a little suggestive? The last thing I need is to freak him out and drive him away.

Not that he has a problem with receiving affection from guys; he spends my dorm parties looking for men to hook up with. Just the thought of it churns something ugly in my stomach, green and all-consuming.

Point is, for the past five years of our friendship, Milo's never shown any interest in me, which is fine. We're just friends, and that's how I'd like it to stay.

Milo isn't at the counter when I finally make my way over and pay for the necklace. Instead, he's sitting at a quaint wooden table by the large front windows, scrolling through his phone as he waits.

The barista is a nice enough girl with fluffy blonde hair and sweet brown eyes. She finishes packing Milo's order and rings me up, wrapping the necklace in gift paper.

"Nice choice. Is it your anniversary or something?"

I shake my head emphatically. My fingers twitch as I tap my phone on the card scanner to pay.

"Just a gift," I say firmly. "A platonic one."

She smiles, gaze flicking to Milo's long form spread out on the chair. "He said you two are driving the local trail later. There's a motel an hour down the road if you need someplace to stay."

I thank her and stick the necklace in my pocket, grabbing the food bag and hurrying to the door without waiting for Milo. He leaps out of his chair, throws a quick and charming goodbye to the barista, then spills out into the warm spring air behind me.

"Cal, hold up—"

A heavy arm wraps around my shoulders, halting me in place. He flashes me that smile again and I ignore the way my stomach jumps, sticking my tongue out at him.

"Very mature." He ruffles my curls, nudging my hip with his. "What's got you all twisted?"

She thinks we're dating. "Nothing. Come on, I'm starving. Let's eat."

Milo's dark eyes capture mine, and I look away, suddenly too hot. Today's muggy and warm, the worst combination for spring weather. He's wearing a black tank top that shows off his muscular arms. Like this, the intricate tattoo sleeve decorating his right arm is on full display.

His tattoos are mainly images from Korean folklore, an homage to his culture. They match his shaggy black hair and metal rings. He looks like a punk-rock singer; tall, rugged, and so good-looking it's unfair to the rest of us.

Thankfully, Milo drops that line of conversation and leads me to the bright red pickup truck parked in front of the café. Her paint is chipped in some places, but she looks as good as the day I got her five years ago.

"What'd you buy?" Milo says, rounding the driver's side of the truck. "Thought I saw you get something from the gift shop."

I shrug, tossing him the keys. "Something for Elsie. She wants a souvenir."

The necklace burns a hole in my pocket.

We hop inside the truck and Milo turns on the AC, cool gusts of air sweeping away the warmth built from an afternoon in the sun.

"Was that her on the phone?"

"Yeah, she wanted to know when I'll be there for our public execution."

"It can't be that bad."

" Au contraire , my good friend," I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Lawlor family dinners are no joke."

Milo pats his thighs. "Up. You need to relax."

Instinctively, I swing my legs over the console and place them in his lap, getting comfortable. He wraps a hand over my bare shin, teasing the long brown hairs, and the tension in my shoulders dissipates. It's comforting and familiar, like coming home after a shitty day.

Settling into him, I check the food he ordered. Two sandwiches, a Coke, and an iced coffee. One of the sandwiches has tomatoes in it and, without asking, I set that aside for myself, handing the other one to Milo along with his Coke.

"How'd you know this was for me?" he says, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite.

"Easy. You hate tomatoes."

Milo arches a brow, a bemused expression on his face. "And how'd you know that?"

"I'd be a shitty best friend if I didn't." I shrug, trying for nonchalant. "I think you told me once."

He didn't. Usually, he avoids them, no questions asked. Truth is, I've cataloged everything about him and separated the facts into neat little boxes in my mind. Everything from his childhood crush to the way he snores when he falls asleep on FaceTime is seared into my brain.

It's fucked up and weird, but I can't help myself. I want to know him. It's like an itch I can't scratch, and I gave up trying a long time ago. High school became a lot easier when I could drown out everybody else and focus on him to get through the day.

"Alright, man," Milo says, finishing the last bite of his sandwich. "Let's get out of here."

My legs feel strangely cold when I take them out of his lap and I lean against the door, watching his tattoos dance as he starts the truck.

It's easy to see why he's popular with the guys he takes home. If we were different people, strangers maybe, without a past like ours, I could have been one of those guys.

"Dammit." Milo's outburst cuts through my thoughts.

"What's wrong?"

He shakes his head and jiggles the stick shift, frowning when nothing happens. Takes the keys out of the truck and puts them back in. This time we lurch forward, the engine roaring to life.

"Your truck's on its last legs, man," he says.

"She just needs a delicate touch. You got it working, didn't you?"

"Yeah, for who knows how long."

I groan. "I'll get it fixed later. Let's just get home before anything else happens. My mom's dubious casserole awaits."

When he's concentrating, a thin line appears between his eyebrows. The line is there now, a small blip in his otherwise smooth skin. It's unbelievably endearing. Rubbing my clothed thighs, I force myself to look out the window and watch the café peel away behind us.

Remember, Callum. Don't look at him too long. Don't let your touches linger. And don't think about how much you want him, because that way lies madness.

Hiding a part of myself from him hurts like hell, but it's worth it to stay by his side. I can't afford to lose another best friend because of my weird feelings.

Besides, Portland's four hours away. I can survive until then.

*

A loud slam shakes me awake, the sound cutting through the faint haze of sleep. The world is blurry when I open my eyes, evening light illuminating the inside of the truck. Something's wrong. We've stopped moving.

The driver-side door opens, and something presses into my hands. My glasses. Adjusting them onto my nose, I blink up at the concerned face looming over me. Milo looks pissed, dark brows drawn over even darker eyes, his mouth settled into a sour line.

"Get up, Cal, we have to go."

I yawn, pushing my curls out of my face. "Is it my turn to drive?"

"Good luck with that. I don't think there'll be any more driving tonight."

That gets my attention. I struggle to sit up properly, blinking the last of the sleep from my eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Your shitty truck quit on us." Milo flops into the driver's seat with a heavy sigh. "I managed to pull over, but we'll need to find somewhere to stay for the night."

Fuck. My Ford pickup is from the 2000s and has seen better days, but she's been loyal to me since I was a sophomore in high school. Sometimes she needs a thump to kickstart or a change of one of her many parts every few months, but until now she's been alive and kicking.

Milo coaxes me out of the truck with promises that we'll be back for her as soon as we settle in for the night. It's not like I have any other choice.

Humid spring air clings to my exposed arms, and my forehead prickles with sweat.

"The barista said there's a motel nearby," I say, already checking Google Maps. "It's a few minutes down the road."

Despite the short distance, I'm exhausted by the time we arrive, fatigue pulling at my limbs. A bright neon sign flickers above the entrance, telling us we've made it to the Lakeview Motel.

A kind-looking woman with graying hair and a welcoming smile greets us at the front desk. Her name tag reads ‘Greta', and she tells us that the only rooms available are overnight ones.

"That's no problem," Milo says tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "Hopefully, we'll only be here for the night."

After paying, we collect our keys and drag our bags up to the room. Milo unlocks the door, pushes it open, and flicks on a nearby light switch. I stand at the threshold, peering in behind his broad shoulder, and almost trip over my own feet when I see it.

Right there, slap-bang in the middle of the room, is a single bed. Pressed against the back wall, the sheets are a sickly brown that clashes against the cyan carpet, it looks barely big enough for one grown man, let alone two.

Milo enters first, throwing his backpack down by the right-hand side of the bed.

Bed?

That can't be right.

But it is. There's only one bed. No spare, no fold-out couch, not even an air mattress tucked into the corner.

A strangled noise escapes the back of my throat before I can swallow it, drawing Milo's attention. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"What's up?"

I gesture wildly at the bed in disbelief. "There's only one fucking bed, that's what's up."

"We'll share."

Shutting the door, I dump my backpack on the floor and cross my arms. "I'm not sharing a bed with you, dude."

"Why?" He shrugs like it isn't a big deal. "We've shared beds with our friends before when we hiked the mountain."

"That was different."

I never shared with Milo, always preferring to squeeze in beside Oliver or Spencer. People that don't make my mouth dry just from looking at them. Tension settles between my shoulder blades.

"Look, man, can you have your tantrum tomorrow?" he says. "I'm exhausted and I need to call my mom."

She hasn't been feeling well for a while, and Milo's been taking turns caring for her with his older brother, Kai. This trip home is less of a break and more work for him. And here I am making it worse. I know I'm being a baby, but this goes against my strict ‘keep to yourself' rule. If Milo catches onto my weird feelings about him…

"I just don't want it to be awkward."

His expression softens and he shakes his head, smiling ruefully. "We're close enough that it'll be fine, Cal. Don't worry so much."

He's right, we've known each other long enough that shit like this shouldn't be a problem. We used to lay on his bed, pressed together from shoulder to ankle, and talk about whatever came to mind. Music, superhero movies, the latest guy Milo had a crush on.

Sleeping in the same bed should be second nature to us. But then why is my stomach tightening at the thought of it?

The room itself is small but fitted with a dresser, an old CRT TV, and a gaudy print armchair tucked into one corner. One of the two nightstands on either side of the bed holds a lamp glowing softly.

When it's my turn in the bathroom, I lock the door and grip the sink, the green porcelain cool against my skin. It's ugly in here, the tiles a hideous shade of pink that rolls my stomach. This place looks like it's right out of the 80s.

I glance at the chipped mirror. My reflection stares back at me with tired blue eyes. I look like shit; gaunt cheeks, a pouty mouth stuck in a perpetual frown, my brown curls unruly and flopping over my head.

Letting out a deep breath, I splash water on my face and swirl Milo's mouthwash around my mouth, trying to calm myself down. It's just for tonight. In a few months, we'll be laughing about this, a distant memory.

When I force myself to stop hiding and exit the bathroom, Milo is standing by the bed, frowning at his phone screen.

"How's your mom?" I say, rounding the bed to the other side.

"Alright, I think. Kai dropped her off at a friend's house for a few days, so she doesn't need me there yet."

"That's good."

Stop stalling, Callum.

The duvet is stiff under my fingers. Unfolding a corner, I slip inside before I can chicken out. Milo follows suit, the weight of his body dipping the bed. Warmth radiates from him like a furnace, and I shuffle further back, heat filling my cheeks.

He smells good. Masculine and rich, a mix of cherries and wine and fresh sweat. I lick my dry lips.

For a moment we lay there, saying nothing. Silence blankets the room, punctuated by the steady rhythm of our breaths. I've moved so far back that I'm practically hanging off the edge, my muscles burning with the effort.

It's so quiet I wonder if Milo can hear my heart thumping wildly.

"Go to sleep, Cal." He reaches over me and turns off the lamp before settling back into position. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

That's easy for him to say. I feel like I'm vibrating, every part of me buzzing with electricity. Closing my eyes, I force myself to deepen my breaths. There's no way I can fall asleep like this, with our bodies separated by mere inches of space.

I listen to Milo's breaths deepen then even out until, somehow, sleep takes me.