Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“Mine ran out Friday, and yours is fucking tasty.”
“Thank you.”
“Now spill the truth, Trevor.” His voice softens. “Please. I’m so tired of being lied to. I’m supposed to be your best friend.”
I sigh. “You are my best friend.”
“So tell me where you were.”
I stare at him hard, which isn’t a difficult task considering he’s so close to my face that I can see up his nostrils. I consider him for much too long, so long that I start to wonder if I’m making us late for work.
The trouble is, while I trust Elijah wholeheartedly, I’m not sure if this particular truth is too big for him to handle. How much can our friendship truly withstand?
“Elijah, if I tell you …” I start to say, clench shut my eyes, then quietly resume, as if I’m worried that the other interns are hiding in our walls. “If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t blow up, and that you won’t tell anyone else.”
“Whatever it is, the secret’s safe with me and you damned well know that. Whether or not I blow up, I reserve that right,” Elijah fires back, hardness in his words. “Now spill.”
I take a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m about to say this.
“I’m ready,” states Elijah impatiently, pressing me.
I lick my lips, then let it all out. “I’m involved with someone in the office. We went away for the weekend.”
Ugh.
Okay, so I let some of it out. Maybe this makes me a total wimp or a coward, but what Elijah doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?
When I see the look of hurt enter Elijah’s eyes—genuine hurt, the kind that no humor can touch—I feel a deep and irreparable stab of guilt.
“Who?” he asks, one little word.
Fuck. I can’t possibly bring myself to say Benjamin’s name. I simply can’t. If Elijah knew the whole truth, it would destroy our friendship.
That’s what this is, right? A friendship? A friendship where I lie to him and keep vital truths from him, not trusting that he’ll be by my side? I’m so messed up suddenly.
I owe him a name. I owe him a name and nothing’s coming. I’m frozen up, my throat tightened so much that I can’t even draw a breath for who-knows-how-long. Just give him a name, any name that isn’t the real one.
Elijah shakes his head and backs away from me, giving up. “We’re going to be late,” he mutters, disappointment in his eyes, then turns to head for the door.
He’s let me off the hook. For now.
The whole way to the office, I feel my brain working at full speed. What hurts me the most isn’t the look of betrayal in Elijah’s eyes, or the way he confronted me, or the genuine fear that sits in my chest that I may have permanently damaged our friendship.
It’s the fact that I’m still trying to construct a lie.
Who’s name do I offer up to Elijah? Brandon? Isaac? Caleb? I’ve already denied having anything to do with a number of them each time Elijah fishes for the mystery bathroom bump-boy.
I could offer him Brady, who would be first to deny anything’s happened between us, since he’s straight and all. But even I can’t stomach the amount of yuck in that lie.
Not that it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be associated with that delicious straight boy and his perfect hair.
Shut up, Trevor.
When we step into the office, there is an immediate and quite alarming difference in the atmosphere. The computer wizzes rush around with worry in their eyes and files hugged to their chests. Stressed, tight-throated words are called out over the walls of cubicles. The intern table is completely empty, the interns spread out everywhere in the office.
Elijah and I share a look of concern, momentarily forgetting we were upset with each other at all.
Ashlee is the first one either of us see, standing over the copy machine. Together, we hurry up to her side. “Is something going on?” I ask first. “Something juicy with a client?”
Ashlee meets my eyes with her pretty, bright green ones, and there’s excitement in them. “Really?” she questions, her eyes going between either of us. “You don’t know?”
“Obviously not,” I retort, perhaps a little more snippily than I intend. “What is it?”
A tiny chuckle escapes her lips, then she covers her mouth quickly. “I really shouldn’t laugh,” she mumbles through her fingers, then leans into us to add, “It’s our boss. A photo of him is going viral. A compromising photo.”
All the blood escapes my brain. I’m rendered numb as a crash test dummy, staring blankly at her eyes.
“So, yes,” she finishes. “It’s something very juicy. And now, we are being tasked with the very important job of minimizing it.”
Elijah finally speaks. “What exactly is this photo of? Did some pervert get a camera into our boss’s bathroom or something?”