Page 17 of Pocketful of Shame

"Did he know?" The words slipped out before I had a chance to take them back or stop myself. It was a question that had tormented me for two long years. "Chris," I continued, dreading the answer. "Did he know what Cal did to me?" I swallowed deeply. "Did he know why I had to break it off with her? That I wasforced?"

"Sketch, I really don’t think you want the answer to that –"

"Did he know, Presley?" I repeated, voice shaking right along with the rest of me. "Did Chris know?"

"Yeah, man, he knew," he finally replied.

I was unprepared for the pain that hit me square in the chest. It was so strong, so fucking horrendous, that I had to press a hand to the skin covering my heart to steady myself. "And he still did that to me." It wasn't a question. Just a whispered statement. A crushing reality check.

"Yep," Presley agreed with a sigh. "What a pickle indeed."

"A pickle?" I turned to glare at him. "A fuckingpickle, Pres?"

"Hey, I didn’t fuck your girl," he replied, holding his hands up. "Don’t shoot the messenger."

"Just change the subject," I blurted, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Quickly. Please. Before I lose my fucking mind."

"You don’t wanna talk about Chris?"

"I do," I ground out. "Just notthem."

"Chris and Romi as a couple?"

"Presley!"

"Okay, okay, relax." He held his hands up. "Just take a breath."

"Just don’t talk about them like that." Grimacing, I dropped my towel and reached into my duffel bag for a fresh pair of boxers. "I can't hear it, okay?"

"Ah, yeah, sure thing." Pushing his glasses up his nose, he reached for one of the notepads. "Care to put some pants on before we go any further?" He flicked his wrist, gesturing to my body. "While I am entirely unoffended by your blatant display of cock and balls – nice tatts, by the way – it's a little more than distracting, dude. And when I say a little, I mean a lot. "

I frowned. "What?"

"Jesus, you're a shower, aren't you?" he groaned, twisting onto his stomach. "Holy hell, so I totally get that it's normal for you and your jock buddies to prance around the locker room in your birthday suits, but if you could refrain while sharing such small quarters with me, I'd really appreciate it."

"Do you have a condition or something?" I asked, morbidly curious and grateful for the distraction.

"A condition?"

"Yeah, like ADHD or something?"

"Now why would you even say that?"

I shrugged. "Well, you're all jittery and shit, you never stop talking, you're always tapping or drumming on something. Also, I've shared a bed with you for the past four nights and I'm telling you now, Pres, that you squirm around constantly. In fact, you're doing it right now; twisting and shifting around on the bed like a damn slippery eel." I squinted, taking in his flushed expression. "And you sort of look like you're in pain, if I'm being honest."

Presley arched a brow. "If by condition you mean I gethardwhen I see an extremely attractive, naked man, then yes, dude, I have a condition."

"You do?"

"No, dumbass, I don’t have a condition," he drawled, tone laced with sarcasm. "And I don't typically display traits ofeel-likebehavior, as you so tactfully put it, but you're hot and you also have a tendency to get naked around me." He shrugged unapologetically. "I'm only human."

"I…huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm gay, Sketch."

My brows shot up. "You're gay?"

"I sure am," he replied, giving me a hard look. "Is that a problem for you?"

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