Page 45 of Kitty Season
Like the two idiots we are, we just sit there and stare at each other. I can’t help but wonder if Claire told him about our conversation, but I doubt she would betray my trust like that.
The more likely scenario? Maybe I’m not as straight-presenting as I thought. Maybe I should be more open and brave like she was at my age.
“There is no queer timetable.”She told me. No timetable, but still. Maybe itistime.
“If it was any other guy, focusing on them a bit too would be … fine. That’s not the problem. Like I said, it’s him. Why does it have to be him? I mean, there’s more than that too I guess, because I don’t know if I’m bi or pan,orwho does what, and what goes where, but I do know the thought of touching, or having another dude’s dick in my mouth, is just as appealing to me as a nice set of lovely jubilees is.”
Crap, I might faint.
I can’t believe I just rambled that.
To his credit, Noah remains as nonplussed as always, though there is a slight thinning of his lips like he’s fighting a smile.
“Okay, well here’s hint number one, Big D. If you ever want to touch the latter, don’t call them lovely jubblies.”
“Fuck, Noah.” My body shakes with laughter. “I just came out to you and that’s all you have to say?”
“Oh, no way. I have loads to say about that and more importantly what goes where. The jubblies just seemed like a priority.”
Reaching over, he swipes a piece of paper and pencil, licking the tip as he winks. “Buckle up, Big D. Dr. Love is in session and things are about to get specific.”
A second ago he was a certified god of sexy times. Not sure if a doctorate is an up or down grade, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Since returning from the library,I’ve been hiding in my room. Seeing Troye right now would only end in disaster. I’ll either knock his block off or run, and I really don’t want to run.
My mind is set. Tonight needs to happen. I want to be with Quinn. I want her so badly the thought of touching her makes me see stars. Since this may be my only chance, I refuse to let someone like him take that away from me.
That’s why, under the tutelage of Doctor God of Sexy Times, I’ve come up with a plan.
Troye Asshat Becker with his almost black hair, neck tats, piercings, and the long lean lines of his body, is unfairly andunquestionably hot. So it’s that, all ofthatthat I need to tune into … while actively tuning out his personality.
“Don’t talk to him. Focus on his body, and on Quinn.” Is my mantra as I dress for the party with Rush, by my favorite Aussie singer, Troye Sivan, blaring through my headphones. Quinn insists it’s a small gathering of friends, but it is a twenty-first, which is a big deal back home. And it’s at Coach’s place, so I need to impress him as much as Quinn.
When I think of it like that, there’s no chance of me rocking up in the perfect outfit, so I just need to decide between under or overdressed? After changing twenty times, my floor is littered with clothes, but I’ve settled on fitted gray dress pants that barely reach my ankles—curse of a tall guy—a white shirt they call a button-up here, and a black tie, figuring if Noah chirps me for it, I can lose it in one tug.
Standing in front of the mirror, I tell myself I look good—okay, maybe mid—and that I feel confident after Noah’s advice. But the nagging voice that loves to remind me how far out of my depth I am in every situation, lingers.
You don’t belong here.You’re going to screw this up. Without ever holding her, Quinn will slip from your grasp.
Pacing the room like a caged lion, repeating every positive affirmation, mantra, and quote, trying to will myself out of the spiral. But the harder I try, the louder the negative becomes, and the more I believe it’s right.
Why can’t I do this? Why do I always feel so … wrong? So out of place?
I wish…I wish my family was here.
It may be an odd thing to do before possibly losing my virginity via a threesome, but I need to talk to my parents.
“Brady, darling is everything okay?”
“Hi Mum, it is, I promise. I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Look, that’s always a lovely thing for a mother to hear, but it’s three a.m. Now you’ve heard me, can I please go back to sleep?” Her voice contains enough spirit for me to know it’s a joke, but still.
“Sorry, go back to bed. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.” My finger is hovering over END CALL when I hear her calling out.
“Brady, Brady don’t hang up. Are you still there?”
“I am, sorry. I feel bad for waking you.”
