Page 86 of Loverboy

But I liked this, too.

I liked having him inside me, pulsing with every twitch of muscle. Even the weight of his arm resting on my shoulder as he scrolled through articles seemed to ground me, and I didn’t know what to do with it. We’d never been this soft with each other. Without the biting words, I was vulnerable and exposed.

“Good boy,” he muttered.

“Fuck you.”

Maybe the bite was still there.

37

Milo

JASPER SAT CROSS-LEGGED a few feet away, taking photo frames out of their packaging and stacking them neatly on the carpet. The job I received was much harder. I stared at the spread of prints between us, a collection of pictures, old and new.

He’d said it wasn’t a big deal and that we didn’t need to replace the one I’d ruined, but I needed to fix it. If I could do something like this, maybe he wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t good enough for him.

“Picked your favourites yet?” he probed.

My fingers rubbed anxiously over the handful of pictures I’d taken off the floor. I was doing such a bad job. He leaned forward to take a look, and I hid them close to my chest, nearly crumpling them.

He smirked. “Let me guess, you only picked ones with us in them?”

“No.” My shoulders sagged. “This one is of you and Blane.”

I tilted the photos toward him, unable to make eye contact.

“Wow, a whole photo.”

My cheeks blazed with embarrassment.

“The best ones just happen to be of us,” I said defensively.

“Right, right.”

I stole a glance at him, catching the heat and amusement in his eyes. My heart tried to strangle itself, squeezing and beating erratically. He enjoyed this—enjoyed knowing the truth behind every word.

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, you did.” I glared. “With your face.”

He was full-blown grinning, shaking his head as he continued to sort through frames.

Every photo was stupid, really—dim-lit bars, faces obscured by a mixture of smoke from tobacco and marijuana, and sloppy smiles. Some photos were from parties in the basement at Mom’s, and others were clearly taken at two in the morning outside a McDonald’s.

I shivered, remembering being plastered and running through sprinklers in the grass outside the restaurant, my brother not far behind. I felt the glare of street lamps behind my eyelids as though I was there again, my chest tightening with longing for a simpler time.

I noticed it more and more. Anywhere I went, he’d go, too. It made me wonder if he’d been mad about the suicide attempt at all, or if what he was really mad about was the fact I hadn’t offered to take him with me.

We sorted through pictures in silence. I’d hand him one, and he’d secure it in the frame. Then it was onto the next one, over and over, the quiet leaving room for all of my intrusive thoughts to rush in.

“The lease will be up soon,” I said abruptly.

His brow furrowed. “Yes, it will.”

Inside these walls, it was just the two of us. I liked it that way. There were only four months left on the lease, and then we’d move back in with Mom. I’d be home, where I was safe, and all the shitty events attached to the apartment would become distant memories.