Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
"Liam, cede the floor for a minute, huh? We're talking about Simon's sex life," I say.
"Since when do you want to hear?" Simon asks.
"I love your love," I say.
"At least fill me in." Max keeps his voice the perfect mix of polite and interested. "Who is Vanessa?"
"His girlfriend," I say.
"Vanessa Moyer. She's an activist," Briar says.
"She runs a nonprofit." Simon's voice drips with pride. It's sweet. Or it would be, if I wasn't worried about keeping him on topic. Erm. Off topic.
Max stays focused. "How did you meet?"
"He's wanted to bone her since the first day of high school," Liam says.
Simon actually blushes. "She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She still is."
"But she was too smart to want anything to do with him," Liam says.
"We were rivals for a long time," Simon says.
"In competition?" Max asks.
Simon nods.
"That can be fun," Max says.
"It was," Simon says.
"And now they compete for dominance in bed?" Liam asks.
Briar clears her throat.
Liam shrugs what?
"Don't worry. I'm used to him," Simon says. "Sometimes, but I won't torture Opal with details."
"You're in love," Max says.
"Deeply," Simon says.
"It looks good on you," Max says.
"It does, doesn't it?" Briar asks.
Simon looks away, shy.
It's strange. Kind of cute. And kind of ick too. Those are way too many details.
Thankfully for him, the server spares him from the specific topic.
He drops off our plates and silverware. We shift into usual dinner talk. How is this dish? What is that dish? Everyone try Opal's too spicy for any sane person noodles (I do get them at a ten out of five, which costs an extra dollar).
Everyone tries, deems the noodles too hot for any sane person, keeps the conversation on food and work and Simon and Vanessa's relationship.
And Briar even answers a few questions about wedding planning (not really happening—despite the ring on her left hand, she's afraid of commitment) without grimacing.
Max is a good conversationalist. Quick, witty, generous.
He's perfect here too. With my family. As terrifying as it is.
For a solid hour, we talk. Then he leaves with Liam and Briar, and Simon and I head home, fix dessert and decaf coffee, talk about school.
He acts normal.
Like he believes Liam's story.
He even waits until I'm wishing him good night to strike.
Then he stands straight and looks me dead in the eyes and asks, "Are you sleeping with your professor?"
Chapter Eighteen
OPAL
Are you sleeping with your professor?
My hands never sweat, but all of a sudden, my palms are clammy. My jeans are too tight. My heart is pounding way too fast.
Was that really decaf coffee?
I'm wound tight in the worst possible way.
"What?" It's the only response I have.
"Are you sleeping with Max Morrison?" He repeats the question in a calm, even voice. As if he's asking me what I want to do this weekend.
"Why would you think that?"
"Your professor walked you to my office."
"He was meeting Liam."
"No, he wasn't."
"We're working on a project together," I say. "Outside of class."
"What kind of project?"
"An artist project. He's an artist."
"Where is his work?"
"I don't know," I say. "He uses a pen name. An artist name, I guess. I've only seen sketches." I want to see more. Everything. Everywhere. But I can't let my thoughts wander. I need to seem as neutral as Simon does. "I can ask if you want."
"Can I see?"
"When it's done."
"That's all it is?"
"Do you think I'm that—"
"I'm not blind."
"Okay, yes. I blush when he's around. I get nervous and flustered. I like him."
"You like him?"
"Yes, Simon. I know it's silly and stupid and immature, but I do. Thank you for forcing me to admit it."
"That's all? You like him?"
"I'm going to bed."
"I'll kill him if he hurts you."
"That's a very reasonable response."
"If he hurts you, it is."
"By not falling in love with me?"
"No."
"What if I want him to hurt me?" Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I try to pull the words back, but that's impossible. There's no rewind button here. The words spread around the room. They fill the space with the immense weight of my possible sexual preferences.
And my brother's knowledge of them.
Fuck.
Simon's voice drops to a tone that's all concern. "Is that what you're doing with him?"
"It's only—"
"Is that what you want?"
"Simon. Please."
"We can discuss this."
"We cannot discuss this."
"Yes." He places his palm on the kitchen island. "We can. We're both adults."
"You're my brother."
"I'm still your guardian."
"Please—"
"I know it's uncomfortable, but it's important. If there's anything you want to know, I'll find out."
"I don't want to know anything."
"Would you rather talk to Vanessa?"
"No."
"Briar?"
"Maybe."
"Have you?"
"A little."
"Can I talk to her? Make sure she's telling you what you need to know?"
"Can you end me now so I don't have to have this conversation?"
"No."
"I don't need your assistance. I have the Internet."
"The Internet isn't a good place to learn."
"Simon—"
He interrupts me with a laugh.
"I'm glad this amuses you."
"It's fair. After all those jokes about threesomes."
"They weren't jokes."