Page 21 of The Amazing Alpha Tau Fratmas Experience
The weight of the unsaid words hung between us—could he feel them as acutely as I could?—and I tried, and failed, once more to push them out. Then, when nothing happened, I pushed Trey off me instead and said, “Good morning.”
His expression softened as he smiled at me. “Good morning.”
He leaned over and pulled some Kleenex from the box we kept on the nightstand next to the lube and cleaned us up. Then he sat up and pushed the comforter back.
I grabbed his arm. “What the hell are you doing?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Uh… going for a piss?”
“And coming straight back here, right?” I asked him. “Right, Trey?”
He looked a little shamefaced. “Well, I thought I’d go downstairs and check to see if the cleaning?—”
“You’re not the house manager anymore,” I reminded him.
He raised his eyebrows. “No, but I’m chapter president.”
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close. “Trey, it’s our last morning together for weeks. Learn to goddamndelegate.”
He rolled into me, and I took the opportunity to breathe in his scent. “But I really need to piss,” he said. “And I also want a coffee.”
I pushed him away from me again. “Go to the bathroom, and I’ll go and get us coffees. We’ll meet back here in five.”
Because I knew if Trey set foot downstairs, he’d get roped into some ultra important fraternity business—like last month’s Case of the Missing Paper Towels—and I wouldn’t see him again for hours. Which, on our last morning together for almost a month, was unacceptable.
Because why, Scout?
Because I love him, obviously.
And you didn’t tell him that because why, Scout?
Shut up.
Trey headed for the bathroom while I pulled on my underwear and a robe.
When I got downstairs, Marty was in the kitchen loading Charlie up with foil trays of leftovers.
“Nah, seriously, bro,” he was saying, “just take it all. Otherwise it’ll go in the trash.”
There was at least one untouched ham there, and I gave Marty an approving smile. Well, probably more of an approving smirk, but I trusted him to read it correctly. Dalton wandered in, all bed hair and track pants hanging off his hips, and gave Marty a hug from behind while he was still trying to offload the trays to Charlie.
“Love you too, boo!” Marty said with a laugh, like it was that easy. “Hey, Scout, don’t tell Trey yet, but I think last night someone scratched the shit out of the coffee table. It’ll probably buff right out, but if it doesn’t, it could have been any whippet, okay? Those scratch marks are totally circumstantial evidence.”
I headed for the coffee machine. “Throw a tablecloth over it, and make sure you fix it as soon as you get back.”
“He’ll never notice, right?” Marty asked.
“Trey. Will never notice,” I deadpanned. “Have youmethim?”
Marty grimaced. “Yeah, fair point. It’ll buff right out, like I said. Otherwise, I guess I’ll pay the fine for Squirrel. Or, you know, whichever stray dog broke in and did that.”
Charlie, loaded up with foil trays, said, “I hope you have a good Christmas, Scout.”
“You too,” I said, and he toddled toward the hallway. I said to Marty, “If he drops those before he gets to his car, you’re helping him clean up.”
“Bro, he’ll be fine,” Marty said, because he was a born optimist.
Dalton released him at last, grabbed a protein bar from the bowl on the counter, and left the room.
