Holden has night duty again, and he reluctantly accepts that I’m not coming by to help him stay awake. I’m going
to take the opportunity to talk to Smith. Alone. If he’s mad, he’s mad, but it’s better than lying.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I stand outside his room. Adrian gives me a kiss, whispering a quiet, “Good luck. For the record, you’re probably still wearing too many clothes.”
“I’m in a hoodie. And wool socks.”
“And fucking sexy as hell.”
“Stooooooop.”
He smiles wickedly and vanishes into his room. I take a deep, steadying breath and knock on Smith’s door. He calls out and I open the door. Holden’s side of the room is tidy, the bed made, and his backpack tossed on the middle. I’m a little surprised to find Smith lying on the bed shirtless and in shorts, reading a book. I’m definitely surprised to see the black, square-framed glasses perched on his face.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“Just to read.”
“They’re pretty sexy.”
He lifts a dark eyebrow.
I shut the door behind me and the lock clicks. He places the book on the side table and I glance around the room. My mother painted it lavender when I was twelve. We never changed it even when my interests and tastes changed. Pin holes signify where I’d put my most cherished photos of Sam and Dean Winchester, torn from fan magazines long ago. The dresser still holds a few trinkets, an old jewelry box filled with strange mementos that I can’t really remember what they were about. Ticket stubs, dried flower petals. Everything is old and brittle—from another time and place—including the purple-checked bedspread underneath Smith’s body.
“My thirteen-year-old self would be pretty freaked out right now to know a man is in my bed.”
“What about your twenty-three-year-old self?”
“Ah,” I say, leaning against the white dresser, “that’s a different situation. Part of me wants to show the teenage me exactly how far I’ve come.”
“And the other part?”
“Needs to tell you something,” I admit. “And I’m nervous.”
He frowns. “Okay.”
The fear I have comes from wondering what happens if he says no. If he tells me to leave. Do the others go, too? Is this all over before it really began? I ignore the ticking clock in the back of my mind, the one saying this is a short-term thing anyway.
I shove all of that aside. “If I were talking to Dexter right now, or any of the other guys, I would tell them that if they aren’t mature enough to have this conversation, they aren’t mature enough to be in the situation.”
He blinks. “I can get behind, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I like you, Smith. A lot.”
“I like you, too.”
My hands grip the edge of the dresser. “I also like Holden. And Adrian.” I swallow. “As much as I like you.”
I hold his blue eyes and wait as the reality of what I’ve just admitted sinks in. It takes a second—but not much more. “You like all of us.”
“Yes, and it’s important for me to be honest, I should have said something earlier, before we kissed. I just…it was unexpected, and we’d been tip-toeing around it for so long.”
He takes a deep breath and takes off his adorable glasses to rub his eyes. “Have you…”
“I’ve kissed them both,” I blurt, wanting it out there. “And…I’ve slept with Adrian. And been intimate with Holden.”
He swears, jaw clenching. “We agreed not to hit on you.”
“It was me as much as them, if not more so.”