Chapter 4

Four

Josh

T he first thing I realize after getting to my room is that I don't have my phone. I drape his top sheet over my baseboard and grab a pillow to cover my junk before checking the bathroom. But it's not in there. Ezra has it. It's got a passcode, so I guess I don't care. I'm not going to get it just yet.

He was right: I really don't remember last night. When I said something about getting sucked off by a straight guy, I was just bullshitting. What I do remember, in fucking detail, is me running through the bathroom like Super Queero. Climbing on his bed and reaching down to grab his shoulders.

Ezra...

When I was sleeping off the seizure, I think I was aware that he was with me. And I was happy. I was partially conscious, and I have these fragments of memory where I was happy to be in his bed. I remember his hands on me. Maybe my face? Pretty sure he played with my hair. And then this morning—

A quick glance at my clock reveals it's actually 1 p.m. Fuck .

But anyway, when I woke up, he had his arm over me .

Why?

Why why why why why would he do that?

It doesn't matter. I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my forehead. I should call my mom in just a second, see what she wants me to do. I don't think I need to go to the hospital unless I have another seizure. And I won't. I can't .

Tears fill my eyes again. I swallow to keep them from falling. I'm not gonna cry about this shit yet. It was just a onetime thing. No way it happens again.

You can't drive now.

That's why they make Uber Eats.

I stretch out on my bed and pull the duvet over me. It's the same brand as his, but it smells different. The last thought I have before my eyelids drop shut is You're so stupid.

"Dee-geeeyyyyyyyy..."

I hear it a few times before I realize— Ezra . I pry my eyelids open, and he’s right there, standing over my bed.

"Fuck, I fell asleep again?" My throat is sore just like my tongue is.Did my voice break? I can barely hear my own words.

"Say it again, Snow White." I feel the mattress indent as he sits down by me. "I'm listening. Just speak up a little louder..."

My mind spins. "Snow White?"

Ezra's chuckle fills my whole head. "Shit, I meant to say Sleeping Beauty."

I crack an eye open, finding that he's lying on his side now, facing me.

"I woke you up because there's a fish fry..." Ezra wiggles his dark brows and sticks his tongue out, peering at me with his cheek propped in his palm.

I give him an exaggerated frown. "What?"

"Yeah, your boy Brennan, at his uncle's place. Supposed to be a fish fry, they say."

"Oh, yeah." I remember this now. Brennan's Uncle Gus has a big hunting cabin on some land that runs along a county road outside town. Gus moved up to Tennessee last year, and Bren is taking care of the place. He started telling people the other day that he was frying some fish out there this weekend.

"I wasn't sure if you would want to go. So...I got you this." He leans away and reappears in my frame of vision with a cherry Icee.

"Marcel got it, but I ordered it," he corrects, handing the cup to me.

I push up on my elbows, then sit fully upright.

"Thought your tongue might be sore,” he says. “You stuck it so far down my throat, I accidentally bit it." He says this perfectly deadpan, which makes my eyes widen even though I know it's bullshit.

He grins, pointing his fingers at me in a gun shape. "Gotcha."

This might be the most animated I've ever seen Ezra. His eyes are alight, almost sparkling with good humor, and his mouth is curled into a lazy grin. I’m reminded he has nice, white teeth.

"Do you want to go?" He seems intense. Scrutinizing.

I take a long sip of the Icee, trying to avoid his eyes. Who is this guy and where is Ezra?

"If you don't, we can stay here." He sounds...like a bro. Which is how I know it’s gotta be an act.

"You don't need to take me,” I say. “Or stay." I look at him out of the corner of my eye, which makes my head hurt.

A strand of hair falls over his forehead as he looks down. "Yeah, I know. But I want to." He sits up, crossing his legs, and I notice he's got on sleep pants and a plain white T-shirt. With his lean muscle and tanned skin and his marble sculpture features, he looks amazing, and I hate that I think that.

"You didn’t give me a seizure, you know. Even if you were a dickwad." I rub a hand through my hair and arch a brow at him. "Can't get in my head, angel face."

"I know." But I'm pretty sure he looks contrite.

I turn away from him—he's sitting slightly behind me on the bed—and rub my eyebrows. It feels tight behind there.

I drink more of the Icee. My tongue...I guess I bit the side of it. I inhale slowly, exhale even slower. Still feel that weird, sleeping pill feeling. I sort of remember it from when I was younger.

"I'm going to tell Marcel we're not going,” he says. “And don't worry...nobody knows why."

"How the hell did you get Marcel to bring you an Icee?"I look over my shoulder again.

He winks.

"I want to go,” I tell him, surprising myself.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I like Bren’s fried fish."

"Really?" he asks.

I lie back against the pillows, closing my eyes. "It's good, dude. You never had beer-battered catfish?"I crack open one eye just in time to see him make a face."Virginia too good for fried fish?"I ask.

"Sounds greasy,” he says.

"Yeah, it is. It's greasy and good. The fish is soft and white on the inside. The batter they fry it in is good shit. Like...I don't know. Beer-spiked cornbread or something."

He gives me a what-the-fuck face.I feel sort of weird lying down while he sits by me, but I’m so tired I don’t care.

"Oh, c'mon,” I say. “You never had cornbread ?"

"Nah, dude. Fried food..." He shakes his head.

"Cornbread isn't fried food. It's like a buttery cake without icing."

He wrinkles his nose .

"Tell me you like cake .” I give him the same look he's giving me.

He lifts a shoulder. "It's okay."

"Cake is okay?"

His eyes narrow. "Sometimes the icing is too much."

"Maybe you just haven't had good icing."

"I've had good icing."

I shift onto my side, so I don't have to strain my sore neck to see him. "How can you be so sure?"

"My mom is a food snob,” he says. “Her second husband was a chef in Newport News, for this fancy restaurant."

"And did this fancy restaurant serve cake?"

"Some."

"Let me guess. Cheesecake and some kind of triple layer chocolate death gig?"

He cracks a small smile, like a smirk with one side of his mouth. "Yeah, they had cheesecake and chocolate cake. He brought it home all the time and the cheesecake was okay, but the chocolate stuff was weird. Made you feel like you're going to choke on it."

"Oh, you're gonna choke on it."

Ezra shakes his head and puts a hand over his face. "Trust me. It wasn't good. The cake." He looks almost embarrassed. It makes me grin.

"My grandma makes this killer yellow cake with chocolate icing,” I say. “If you don't like it, you're not even alive. I'll make it sometime soon."

Ezra looks skeptical.

"Yeah, I can make cake,” I say. “Can you?"

"No,” he says.

"Not into the culinary arts?"

"No." He looks annoyed.

"Was your stepdad an asshole?"

He gives me a bug-eyed look, like he's surprised I asked.

"I'll take that as a yes. Is your mom with him now?"

"No,” he says.

"Is she with another guy? Remarried?"

"Affirmative.” He rolls his eyes. “Anything else, Sherlock?"

So many things. I tell him, "No," and sit back up to drink more Icee. He sits beside and slightly behind me, still and quiet for a long moment.

"So you want to go?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'll go. If you don't want to, someone else can pick me up."

"No, it's okay. I want to."