Oliver Jones was in hell.
When he’d first come home to Irvington, he’d expected a lot of boredom, family time, and headaches from the family time. It wasn’t his idea of a perfect summer, but if it made his dad happy and gave him a chance to breathe some fresh air, he could survive anything.
He hadn’t expected to run into his first love, and he certainly hadn’t expected Aiden to turn out to be one of the most interesting, sexy, and all-around frustrating men he’d ever met. Oliver had been trying for days to figure out what was going on between them, to no avail.
Not for any lack of trying on both their parts. Every time they attempted to talk about what had happened between them—or rather, what had almost happened—they got interrupted. Max was always around, and if he wasn’t, their parents were. They couldn’t talk at home without company, and they couldn’t talk in public without . . . well, the public.
It didn’t help that Oliver kept having flashbacks to their encounter in the basement. Little sensory memories that taunted him with how close they’d been. Close to each other. Close to acknowledging the spark he was certain they could both feel. The scene played over and over in the quiet moments throughout his day.
Oliver’s knee, pressed up against Aiden. Tension humming between them, tight as a wound spring. Aiden’s eyes, bright and huge in the darkness.
For an entire, agonizing week, they’d been dancing around each other. Oliver refused to have this conversation through text, and it seemed Aiden did too. Thus, he was stuck in purgatory’s waiting room, which in his head looked like his old orthodontist’s office.
A handful of times, he started to convince himself he’d made the whole thing up, but then something would happen. He’d catch Aiden staring at him, or their fingers would brush, and it’d feel like a lightning strike. Plus, there was the fact that Aiden tended to blush like a good rosé whenever Oliver so much as said his name.
If they could spend some time alone, away from the constant interruptions, they could figure this out. Including what this was, exactly. A summer fling? Or the start of something more?
Oliver’s body had moved of its own accord, shifting closer to Aiden. Despite the movie still blaring away, he’d heard Aiden’s breath hitch as their lips got closer. It’d made his pulse race.
This was what happened when two introverts tried to flirt. They ended up with a lot of awkward silences and not-staring contests while they each waited to see if the other one was going to make a move. If Oliver gave Aiden one more lingering look from afar, he was going to become the protagonist of a YA novel.
Oliver could only wait for Aiden’s response. It wasn’t a position he was used to being in. He’d dated his fair share of men since he’d left for college, but they’d always pursued him. Now, things were the other way around.
And he definitely wanted to pursue Aiden. If there was the smallest chance of making something happen, he had to take it. Even if it meant risking his rekindled friendships with the Kingsman twins. Aiden had this way of breaking through his reservations that Oliver had never experienced before. It was like he . . . well, like he’d known Oliver his entire life.
At the last possible second, Aiden had jerked away. Muttered something about needing to put Max to bed, needing to think. A knife had twisted in Oliver’s chest. He’d gone too far. He’d overstepped. But then, Aiden had reached out and brushed Oliver’s hair away from his eyes, the warm fingers lingering with such . . . intent.
Damn. The memories were going to be the death of him.
There was no question. Whatever Aiden wanted, Oliver would give it to him, be it a summer fling or something more. It’d be worth it. Assuming, of course, that they ever got this thing off the ground. Maybe he should be spontaneous and kiss Aiden the next time he saw him. Oh God, Oliver wanted to kiss him. The thought alone made him itch.
But he wasn’t going to get relief anytime soon. Much as Oliver would love to camp out at the Kingsmans’ for the rest of the summer, he had to go home sometime. Home, to his quarrelsome, drunken relatives. Awesome.
After yet another frustrating, exhilarating day with Aiden (et al.), he had the twins drop him off at his dad’s house. It could be his imagination, but it looked dingier than usual. Brown and lifeless like a dead patch of grass.
For a moment, he stood in the driveway and let the afternoon sun bake into him. The sky was deep blue and dotted with fluffy clouds like dollops of frosting. It made him feel peaceful, but also oddly forlorn.
When sweat began to roll down his face, he worked up the motivation to trudge inside. It was quiet, for once, but all illusion of serenity shattered when he entered the kitchen and found his dad cleaning up a veritable Mount Doom of dirty dishes.
Oliver surveyed the trashed kitchen—from the discarded egg cartons to the spilled flour—in horror. “Jesus, Dad, what happened?”
Dad, who was standing at the sink, brandished a soapy saucepan at him. “Well, look who finally decided to come home. Long time no see, stranger. You missed breakfast.”
“Did I miss breakfast or the apocalypse?”
“We had a little impromptu family brunch. We made pancakes. You’d know that if you were ever here these days.”
Guilt clawed at Oliver’s gut. He nodded at the dishes. “You need help with those?”
Dad considered him and then sighed. “No, I don’t want to make you do dishes the second you walk through the door. I’ll deal with these later.”
“Why didn’t anyone help you clean up?” He spotted some empty beer cans next to a pile of used napkins. “Were the uncles drinking again? It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
Dad immersed the saucepan into the water and suds. “Yeah, well. They work mornings, so their schedule isn’t like ours.”
Oliver debated with himself before deciding to focus on the bigger issue, for now. “You shouldn’t keep cleaning up after our relatives. If they’re going to spend so much time over here, they need to contribute. Or better yet, why don’t we tell them this ‘family reunion’ has gone on long enough?”
Dad, to Oliver’s surprise, chuckled. “There’s no end to family, Oliver. They’re going to be a part of our lives forever. That means we’ll occasionally have to deal with them doing what family does best: being inconsiderate jerks. At the end of the day, we all still love each other.”
You wouldn’t be so forgiving if Mom had made this mess.
“I’d hoped things would be quieter around here now that Mom left.”
Dad’s face contorted with what looked like remorse. “About her, and all the fighting we did . . . I’m sorry. We swore we weren’t going to do that around you anymore.”
Oliver shrugged. “I don’t see why you should stop now. I’m an adult. The damage is done.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Oliver fell silent.
Dad started scouring a plate with superfluous force. “Let me try that apology again, all right? I’m sorry your mom and I can’t keep things civil. We’re going to make an effort, though, now that we’re living in the same state again.”
Oliver wanted to believe him, but his parents had been promising they’d get along for almost his whole life. He did appreciate the apology, though. Heavy-handed or not. “That’s good. I suppose you can test it out when Mom comes to get me at the end of the summer.”
“Speaking of which, she called for you. Said you weren’t answering your phone.”
He’d put it on silent during a movie. He checked it now, and sure enough, he had a missed call. “Whoops.”
“Go call her back. I have to head in to work for a few hours. I expect you to show your face at dinner tonight. Your aunts are wondering where you’ve been.”
Oliver restrained a sigh. “Okay. See you then.”
He made his way to his room, noting the poker table still set up in the living room next to a pile of discarded toys. His cousins never picked up after their kids. This place would be a wreck if Dad weren’t such a clean freak. He made a mental note to help around the house more. It wasn’t fair for Dad to have to do everything.
When he reached his room, he shut the door behind him and flung himself on his bed. The stale, musty smell was starting to become familiar to him. He wasn’t certain if he was relieved or alarmed.
He pulled his phone out, found Mom’s name in his missed calls, and tapped on it. Two rings later, she answered.
“Ollie? Where have you been? My lunch break ended an hour ago.”
“Sorry, Mom.” He rolled onto his side and pressed the phone to his ear. “I was watching a movie. Want me to call back when you’re off work?”
“No, it’s all right. I’m driving to a meeting, so I can talk for a bit. How’s life?”
“Fine.” He hesitated. “The house is a disaster, thanks to our ever-present relatives. Dad won’t say a word to them about it either. It’s frustrating. I don’t see how he can get so angry with you over trivial things but give a bunch of freeloaders a pass simply because they’re blood.”
“Don’t be so hard on your father. He’s going through a huge transition right now.”
“I dunno why you’re always saying that to me. I would think you’d love it if I hated him.”
“What an ugly thing to say, Oliver Jones. Of course I don’t want you to hate your father. I want you to have a good relationship with both of us.” She cleared her throat. “So long as you like me the best.”
Oliver snorted. “What is it with parents and bad jokes?”
“Wait until it’s your turn. But in all seriousness, Ollie, your dad’s side of the family believes in that whole ‘it takes a village’ thing. They always show up en masse, and your dad was raised to put family first.”
“That’s rich, considering he let ours fall apart.”
“Dad didn’t want to get divorced, Ollie. I did.”
Oliver sucked in a breath. He’d always assumed it was a mutual decision. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He wanted to stick it out no matter how miserable we made each other. I only convinced him to give up when it became obvious that our fighting was affecting you.”
“Wow, I had no idea.” Oliver flopped onto his back and switched his phone to his other ear. “Kinda proves my point, though. Dad’s priorities are in all the wrong places.”
“Maybe. But if I can make an effort to understand him, you can too. A lot of what he does, he does for you.”
That mollified Oliver in terms of his father, but not their leeching relatives. After spending the last few days with Aiden and Max, he was getting spoiled. He’d always known his family was dysfunctional, but he’d thought every family was like his.
Being with the Kingsmans, however, had thrown a sad fact into sharp relief: there were people out there who were genuinely happy. People who had relatives that not only loved each other, but liked each other too. Oliver didn’t have that, might never have it. No matter how much he clung to the Kingsmans, he wasn’t one of them. He was a Jones, and the Joneses were a mess.
“I guess,” Oliver said, for Mom’s benefit. “I’ll cut Dad some slack. And the rest of them. Admittedly, it’d be easier if there were someone I got along with. All the cousins who are my age have kids, and all they ever want to talk about is daycare and prenatal vitamins.”
“Yikes. Though from what I hear, you’re getting plenty of companionship from outside sources.” Her tone was saccharine. “Dad says you’ve been spending a lot of time with the Kingsmans. I assume you’ve reconnected with Aiden and Max?”
“Oh, yeah,” Oliver said, happy for the change in subject. “It’s actually kind of eerie. It’s like we never stopped being friends. Granted, we have a lot of catching up to do—you should hear some of Max’s outrageous stories from high school—but overall, we picked up right where we left off.”
“True friends can always do that. Remember Aunt Sylvia?”
“Your best friend from high school?”
“Yeah. We only see each other every few years, but when we do, we discover we’ve somehow grown together instead of apart. I’m so glad to hear you’re getting along with the twins. I hated moving you away from them. You cried for days. It was like you were heartbroken.”
Oliver’s face got hot. Thank God Mom couldn’t see it.
But of course, she didn’t need to. In true motherly fashion, she seemed to read his mind. “Now that I think about it, didn’t you used to have a crush on one of them?”
Damn it.
“Mom,” Oliver whined.
“Oh, come on. I’m teasing you.” She paused. “Was it Max?”
“Of course not! It was Aiden.”
“Ah ha! I knew it.”
Oliver opened his mouth only to make a defeated, sputtering noise. “Walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Sorry, honey. If there’s one thing I know about children, it’s that they love to correct their parents. So, tell me about him. Is he in school? Have your old feelings returned, or are you just friends now?”
“Mooom,” Oliver whined again. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’ll jinx it.”
“So, there’s something to jinx, huh?” She giggled. “All right, then. I won’t ask about your relationship, but I will ask about him. He has to earn my seal of approval. To my recollection, he was a quiet child, though he might have seemed that way because Max was so loud.”
“He definitely doesn’t stand out as much as Max does, but he’s unforgettable once you get to know him. He’s so . . .” Oliver chewed his bottom lip. “Kind. Not only does he do nice things, but he does them before anyone can think to ask him. You know that one sandwich shop near campus that I love?”
“The one with the giant meatball sub you’re always cleaning out of your shirts?”
“That’s the one. The other day, I mentioned I had a craving for them. The next time I saw Aiden, he handed me a picnic basket full of their sandwiches. He’d driven into the city to get them.”
Mom made an impressed noise. “That drive takes an hour, one way.”
“Yeah, if traffic is light. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Very sweet. Maybe a little self-serving.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you get homesick, you might leave. Sounds like he doesn’t want that to happen. I bet he’d move the whole city closer to get you to stay.” Her tone was teasing.
Oliver chuckled. “Maybe, but I’m not the only one he’s sweet to. You should see how he takes care of his brother. Waking him up in the morning. Bringing him coffee. Making extra food whenever he cooks because he knows Max is gonna want some as soon as he smells it. I hate to admit it, but it makes me envious.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . . they’re brothers, you know? Twins. They have a bond I’ll never understand. I’m always going to be the outsider.”
“I doubt either of them thinks of you that way. Also, I know I’m not supposed to jinx anything, but if you and Aiden become an item, you’re going to have your own special bond. Something that will be unique to you. And remember, it’s not a competition.” She was silent for a beat. “You know, if you wanted to, say, bring him home next break so I can meet him, that would be nice.”
“We’re so not there yet.” Oliver laughed. “But if we ever get to that point, I’ll definitely reintroduce you. You’ll love him.”
“Perfect. I’m pulling up to my meeting, so I have to run.” Mom hesitated again, but this time there was weight to the silence. “Ollie, before I go, will you promise me something?”
“Of course.”
“Promise you’ll call me if anything happens. Anything at all, day or night. I can be there in an hour.”
“What could happen?”
“I don’t know, but promise me anyway. Say you’ll call, even if you think it’s trivial or you’re being a bother. You’re not. Okay?”
“Okay, I promise. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Oliver jabbed the End Call button with his thumb. For a long moment afterward, he stared up at his ceiling, thinking about his two parents and how different they were. Mom had always been a career-oriented city girl, whereas Dad had only ever wanted a big family and a house like the one Oliver had grown up in. No wonder they hadn’t worked out. He wondered sometimes why they’d gotten married at all. Why had they had him?
He supposed it did him no good to speculate. He was here now, and he had some time to kill before he needed to get dressed for dinner. Facebook was his first stop. His handful of friends back home had been hounding him.
Adam wanted to know when he was coming back. Christine’s messages started out amiable and then became increasingly peeved as he failed to respond for days on end. He replied to her first, assuring her he was still here and saying (lying) that he’d been busy with family. He truthfully said he missed her and then moved on to his notifications.
He’d been tagged in a few memes and had some new wall posts, but his friend list was short. He made quick work of proving he was still alive.
After, he dicked around on the internet for a bit. Read some articles, scrolled through the photos he’d posted on Instagram of himself with the twins, and briefly toyed with the idea of changing his profile pic to one of him and Aiden . . . But he discarded it.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
A little before dinner, he wandered out of his room and asked Dad if he wanted any help. Dad grunted in response and waved him away with a turkey baster, which Oliver took as a no. He retreated to his room, changed into nice jeans and a fresh green shirt, and reappeared right as people started arriving.
For the first half hour, the doorbell rang like church bells. Aunts, uncles, and one surviving great-grandmother who was as old as Italy itself piled into the living room, along with more cousins than Oliver could name. Literally. They all looked alike, and he’d always been bad with names.
There were hordes of children too, running from room to room, shrieking at the top of their lungs while their parents shouted fruitlessly at them to stop. The noise multiplied with each new ring of the doorbell.
And then there was wine. Oliver had never seen so much red wine in one place, outside of a vineyard. Bottle after bottle got uncorked as the living room crowd spilled over into the dining room and started claiming seats. No matter how many leaves they added to the table, they never had enough room for everyone. Someone broke out some fragrant bread, and soon they had a proper predinner party going on.
Much as Oliver complained, he had to admit, there was never a dull moment.
He snagged a seat and did his best to be invisible, but inevitably Susie, one of the cousins he actually kinda liked, spotted him. She lowered her vastly pregnant self into the wooden chair next to him and plunked a water glass full of wine onto the table.
Oliver tried not to stare, but she must have read the horror on his face.
“The doc says a glass a day is fine.” She patted her swollen belly. “I usually don’t, but I heard your dad made braised lamb.”
Oliver wanted to point out that the doctor had surely meant one serving per day, but he’d learned from years of having pregnant cousins to never, ever tell someone what to do during their pregnancy. He’d once made a comment about sushi to his cousin Morgan that had gotten him an eyeful of wasabi.
“So—” Susie took a dainty sip of her wine “—how’s college?”
“It’s great. So much fun, and I’m learning a lot.” He started to say more, but then someone pressed a glass of wine into his hands—a standard one, thankfully. He scrambled to hand it back.
Susie tsked. “Relax, will you? Have a drink with dinner like a grown-up.”
Oliver hesitated for a fraction of a second before relenting. If he was the only one not drinking, he’d get comments about it all night. He could nurse one glass for the next few hours. While Susie watched, he took a sip and grimaced. Wine was so sour.
“You’ll like it one day,” she said. “I hated red wine all throughout my twenties. Then thirty hit, and suddenly I’d stab someone for a good cab.”
“Oh good. Something to look forward to.”
“You go to NYU, right? That’s a big school. Anyone catch your eye yet? Any guys, or whatever you’re into these days?”
Oliver struggled not to look as awkward as he felt. “No.”
“You are still gay, right? Like, you haven’t changed your mind or anything?”
So much for that brief respite.
He knew she wasn’t being insulting on purpose—and it was kind of refreshing to have someone acknowledge his identity instead of whispering behind his back—but the question still stung.
Tongue heavy in his mouth, he worked up a response. “Nope. Still gay. I’ll save you the trouble of asking: I’ll still be gay tomorrow as well.”
A few of the people sitting on either side of them had grown quiet. No doubt they’d heard, though whether they were eavesdropping on purpose or couldn’t help but overhear remained to be seen.
Susie apparently decided now was the time to ask him all about being gay. “Have you ever actually dated a girl, though? I don’t want any details or anything. I’m just not sure how you can know you don’t like women if you’ve never been with one.”
Oliver was contemplating hurling himself out the dining room window when Aunt Antonia elbowed Susie. “Don’t bring that up at the dinner table. You’ll give your father a heart attack.”
“What? We’re a modern family.” Susie swatted her away. “Besides, we were bound to have a gay one eventually.”
A gay one. How lovely. Oliver struggled not to roll his eyes. This was so . . . typical. He understood, on some level, that he was one of the lucky ones. His family hadn’t outright rejected him when he’d come out last year. But they also hadn’t welcomed him with open arms either. He was the token gay cousin, and no one was willing to discuss it much beyond that. At least, not to his face.
Honestly, in this day and age, was being gay really a whispered conversation to be had around the dinner table while the older relatives palpitated? Maybe Oliver had been living in the city for too long; this small-town nonsense seemed ridiculous to him.
The funny thing was, he was certain they’d get over it if he talked to them one-on-one. But he didn’t have the energy to walk twenty people, not counting the children, through the realization that he was the same person as before. He could either get angry, or make pleasant small talk and pretend there was no elephant looming in the room.
Or you can choose secret option number three: drink another glass of wine and fake a stomach ache so you can leave.
He drained his glass, coughed, and stood up. “Excuse me for a moment. I need a refill.”
There were two open bottles of wine on the table, but he breezed right past them. As soon as he vacated his seat, someone new hermit-crabbed into it, and the conversation carried on as if he’d never been there.
Right as he was about to duck into the kitchen, he spotted his father talking to Uncle Marcus by the sink. Oliver backed away and changed course like a ship avoiding an iceberg. Hell if he was going to risk another awkward conversation right now.
He snagged a bottle of wine off an end table, dumped some into his glass, and wandered off in the general direction of the living room, lost in thought.
Reconnecting with Aiden and Max had made him go from dreading this summer to wishing it would never end. But that had its own set of issues.
On one hand, he had this burgeoning romance, but on the other, it was going nowhere fast. His friendship with Max was solid, but he also had friends back home that he missed. He was getting to spend some quality time with his father, but the rest of his family came as a package deal.
I think this is one of those adulthood things. For every pro, there has to be a con. Like you can eat cake whenever you want, but you also have to pay taxes.
Or maybe the problem was with him. His family members weren’t the only ones he struggled to connect with. All throughout school he’d done his best to be invisible, and college was no different. Now, he’d reunited with his oldest friends, and yet he worried about being an outsider. Why was that?
He’d always thought he’d never had a serious boyfriend because he wanted to keep things casual, but ever since he’d moved back to Irvington, he’d been thinking about relationships. Maybe it was all the moving. He didn’t want to be a typical young adult and blame his parents, but sometimes he wondered if—after all those years of watching them and thinking that this was what marriage was like—something inside of him had gotten twisted up.
He eyed his wineglass. Time to stop drinking. It’s making you maudlin.
Oliver left his wineglass in the kitchen, snagged a few bites of bread to soak up the alcohol, and mumbled his excuse. Stomach ache. So sorry. Gotta go. He made a beeline for his room. Nosy aunts and godparents popped up along the way like land mines, but he managed to dodge them.
When he got to his room, he shut the door behind him, trudged over to his bed, and fell face-first onto it. The next time he went shopping, he was going to buy the kind of laundry detergent his mom used. Maybe that could make this place smell like home.
Picking his head up with reluctance, he glanced at his alarm clock. The red digital letters read 8:38 p.m. It was way too early to go to bed, and yet he was exhausted. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Striations of light streaked across it from the window. He craned his head toward it. From this angle, he could see the bottom of a fat moon, but no stars.
I miss Aiden.
They’d hung out earlier, and yet there was an ache in Oliver’s chest that could only be soothed by blue eyes and brown curls. He was developing an addiction. What would happen at the end of the summer when they had to go back to school?
That was a question for another time. For now, he pulled out his phone and sent Aiden a text.
I feel like an angsty teenager.
He checked his notifications while he waited for Aiden to text back. Thankfully, for someone who wasn’t demonstrably social, Aiden always replied right away.
Why’s that?
Because my family totally doesn’t get me. He added a wink emoji to lighten his words.
A minute passed. Then, You all right?
Yeah. But I’d rather be with you right now.
This was the closest they’d come to talking about their feelings. Oliver’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited for a response.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Me too. Whenever you’re not around, I spend all my time wishing you were.
Oliver’s fingers paused over the keyboard. He could tell Aiden he felt the same way . . . or he could do something about it. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe Oliver could smell opportunity on the air, but suddenly, he sat straight up in bed.
If you want to see him, go see him, he thought. Make your own alone time. Find out how he feels. If nothing else, that’ll be a weight off your shoulders.
Was it too late to show up at Aiden’s house, though? Aiden was a night owl. He probably wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, and he’d said he wanted to see Oliver.
That settled it. Talk about feeling like a teenager. Oliver was going to sneak out of his house.
He sprang to his feet and shoved his phone into his pocket, the last text unanswered. He started for his door, only to hesitate. He couldn’t go out the front. There was no way someone wouldn’t spot him and ask where he was going. He glanced behind himself at his window. It looked barely big enough to let him through, but barely would have to do.
The hinges screeched as he pushed them open. Thank God his family was full of loud lushes. He jumped out legs-first, compressing his shoulders inward to get his broad chest through the small opening. He landed on the grass with a crunch and closed the window behind him. Too late, he thought to leave a note.
Oh well. He had a phone. If Dad came looking for him, he could call.
It was a cool, clear night. The wind felt good against Oliver’s feverish skin. He sneaked around the side of the house to the driveway, which was overflowing with cars.
Please let Dad’s be parked on the street. He’d walk if he had to, but he was really hoping he could commit some simple grand theft auto.
Miracle of miracles, he spotted his dad’s car on the street, wedged behind Uncle Charlie’s pickup truck. Dad had locked his keys inside one too many times and therefore kept a spare set in a hidden magnetic case under the car.
Sneaking out and stealing his dad’s car. It was as if he were working some latent teen rebellion out of his system. Speaking of which, he walked heel-to-toe the rest of the way to make sure those two glasses of wine hadn’t gone straight to his head. He made it without so much as a wobble.
It took Oliver less than a minute to locate the key and get behind the wheel. Once there, he pulled away from the curb and made the drive to the Kingsmans’. The sight of the house alone made relief wash through him like a warm bath. Most of the lights were off, however. Had everyone turned in?
He hadn’t thought about what he’d do once he got here. He supposed he couldn’t very well knock on the front door at this time of night, especially if people might be getting ready for bed. It occurred to him that he should have asked Aiden if it was cool if he came over, instead of slinking up to his house like a stray cat. Maybe the wine had affected him more than he’d thought.
Fuck it. I’m not going back home now.
He knew which bedroom was Aiden’s from the night they’d put Max’s drunken self to bed, but finding it in the dark, from the outside, wasn’t going to be easy. He parked a little ways down and pocketed the keys before tiptoeing around the side of the house.
Is this what being a rebellious teenager is all about? Sneaking everywhere?
As it turned out, he didn’t have to count windows and pray like he’d planned. A bright light guided his way. Aiden was sitting at his desk with a lamp on and a book open on the polished, off-white wood. One hand held a page in preparation to turn it while the other cupped his chin. His curls were adorably messy, and his lips were quirked up. Not quite a smile, but smile adjacent. He looked peaceful. And gorgeous.
Oliver almost hated to disturb him, but seeing him made the ache in his chest grow to a burning need. He rapped on the glass with his knuckles.
Aiden jumped so hard, he fell out of his seat. Oliver had to clap both hands over his mouth to keep from laughing. Climbing to his feet again, Aiden hurried over to the window.
Oliver’s laughter died in his throat when he caught sight of Aiden’s sleep clothes: a tight T-shirt with Pace Lacrosse printed across the chest and cotton pajama bottoms that didn’t conceal as much as Aiden probably thought they did.
Gulp.
Aiden unlatched the window and pushed it out. “Oliver?”
Oliver grasped at composure. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” Aiden leaned on the window frame. He was taller than Oliver like this, his eyes bright in the moonlight. Suddenly, it was hard for Oliver to breathe.
He swallowed. “I had to get out of my house.”
“Is it your dad again?”
“No. And yes.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here because I wanted to see you. We haven’t had a chance to be alone since . . .”
Even in the dim light, the blush that painted Aiden’s cheeks was obvious. “Yeah, I’ve been dying to talk to you too, but there’s always someone around.”
“There’s no one around now.”
Silence draped itself over them, thick and loaded. Oliver had come over here specifically to get some alone time with Aiden, but now that he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it.
Aiden wet his lips. Oliver followed the motion with his eyes, and suddenly, it was like they were magnetized. Oliver took a step forward at the same time Aiden leaned out the window toward him.
“Oliver.” Aiden’s voice was so soft, it was almost inaudible over the wind. “Do you want to come in?”
Oliver looked past him, into his bedroom. There was nowhere on earth he’d rather be. But he knew, somehow, that if he crossed that threshold, they wouldn’t get any talking done. And they really needed to talk.
“I have another idea. Remember that big tree we used to climb when we were kids? The one we’d use to get onto the roof?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it still there?”