Page 89 of Maybe You
But now I settle against my pillow and press the phone to my ear.
“Hey,” I say, softly, because Theo is on the other side of the wall, and I don’t want to wake him.
“Hey,” Sutton says. Equally softly for some reason. He doesn’t sound like his usual self at all. Less confident somehow. I’m probably imagining it. He’s only said one word, so that’s not enough to draw any conclusions, yet here I am, doing just that.
“Already miss me?” I ask when he still hasn’t said anything. “You’ve been gone for two days. Man, tropical islands must really suck if you still have time to remember me.”
He lets out a short, low laugh.
“Is that where you think I am?” he asks. “Some island in the middle of the Caribbean?”
“Or on a yacht, working on your tan.”
It’s my best guess. It’s not like he said where he was going. Just that he’d be out of town until the end of the week.
“Taking some time off,” is what he said flippantly. I had no idea what that meant for him, but somehow it seems to mean texting me a lot. My phone’s been going off a whole lot more these past few days, and it’s always Sutton. I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m also not sure what to make of the fact that I like it. That when I see his name on my phone screen, something warm unfurls inside my chest.
“I’ve never been one for lying still in the sun. I get bored,” Sutton says, cutting into my thoughts.
“It does sound a bit boring,” I admit. “Not that I’ve tried, so I don’t know for sure,” I add, and he laughs again, more relaxed this time.
“Never had a beach day?”
“When I was a kid, but then I was building sandcastles and not lying still. I haven’t been in years, though. Extensive burn scars and too much sun don’t go together.”
“You’re not missing out on much.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” I wiggle a bit to settle in more comfortably and suppress a yawn. “How are things?”
He makes some sort of noncommittal sound and ignores the question.
“Tell me about your day.”
“Because you want me to bore you to sleep?” I ask. “There’s really not much to say. It’s just the usual.”
“Tell me,” he says.
I do. I tell him about my day, and he listens and insists on me covering all the mundane details about my classes and work. It gets to a point where I relay what I had for lunch.
“Dinner?” he asks once I’m done covering the specifics of the sandwich I scarfed down between classes.
“Pasta with mushrooms and vegetables. Seriously, are you having a contest with somebody to see who has the most boring friends?” I ask with a laugh.
He’s silent for so long I really do start to think I’ve managed to bore him to sleep.
“Is that what we are?” he finally asks. “Friends?”
“I mean… yes?” I say. “At least, I think we are?”
I’m not sure I should’ve said that, what with the whole I’m-against-relationships-of-any-kind policy he’s got going on. But also maybe I shouldn’t tiptoe around everything. Fuck’s sake, he’s had my cock down his throat and I’ve told him more about myself than I have anyone else. I think I’m allowed to say we’re a bit more than just casual acquaintances by now.
“Yeah,” he says after he’s mulled over it and apparently determined that he’s not going to burst into flames just for using the wrong kind of f-word in association with me. “Yeah. I think we are, too.”
He takes a deep breath.
“What do you have planned for the rest of the week?”
“Same old, same old. More school. More work. I was thinking of heading to the park on Saturday.”