Chapter 20
Laughter sends shooting pain up and down my ribs. I clutch my side, relaxing against the couch to ease some of the tension. In reality, the movie probably isn't that funny. Hell, I know it's not that funny. But with a few drinks sloshing around my stomach, the humor is hitting me just right.
Roland sits on the opposite end of the couch. Every time I laugh he smirks, the sound of my laughter causing him to smile rather than the movie. He's always such a composed guy. Even during our roughest times in high school, I was the one to lose my temper first. Never him.
A pizza box lays open on the carpeted rug. Roland has to be at least a little tipsy or else this pizza would already be cleaned up, wrapped, and in the fridge for safe keeping. When there's a lull in the next scene, he gets up from the couch and reaches over to me.
"You need a refill?" he asks, nodding to the almost-empty glass in my hand.
I glance down and roll the remaining liquid around the bottom of the cup. I've already had three, and all of them went straight to my head. I chuckle and lazily glance up at my best bed.
"You trying to get me drunk?"
Roland stiffens at the question, but when he realizes I'm joking, his shoulders relax a bit. His coy smirk becomes curious as he gently takes the glass from my hands.
"Do you want me to get you drunk?"
His tone is light, but the question makes me reel.
What's he trying to ask?
I swallow hard and stare up at him from my seated position on the couch. He looks taller than normal. His brown hair is longer than I remember it being too. I'm used to it being cut short, but now it's long enough for him to run his fingers through it.
What does his hair feel like? Is it thick and soft?
"Do you want me to be drunk?" I counter, slightly slurring my words.
Roland snorts and shakes his head. "I prefer you sober, Trey. But I want you to be comfortable. To have fun."
My shoulders sag at the lack of banter. Had I asked Bennett that question, he probably would have sent another zinger my way to keep the questions going. I blink and shake my head, refusing to allow Bennett into my thoughts while I'm trying to reconnect with Roland.
"Right," I mutter. "To have fun."
I glance behind him and stare at the TV. My voice sounds disappointed, but I'm not sure why. Was I really hoping he'd admit that he wanted me drunk? A heated blush rises up through my neck when I realize I the answer to my silent, internal question is yes.
I was hoping he wanted to get me drunk...so he could kiss me again. Because I want to kiss him again. Roland tells me he'll back in a few minutes and starts heading towards the kitchen to get me another drink. I stare at the TV, no longer listening to the characters or the words coming out of their mouth.
It's all just noise, and my thoughts are too loud for me to concentrate. I stand from the couch and glance around the living room. The thermostat is on the corner by the front door. I stumble over to it and squint at its reading. It says 68 degrees, but that can't be right. It's so damn hot in here.
Without reservation I tug on the end of my shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it on the floor. I traipse into the kitchen and lean against the doorway. Roland doesn't hear me approach, and I watch him pulling the vodka and cranberry juice from the fridge. He unscrews the lid of the vodka and pours a generous amount into both cups before grabbing for the cranberry juice to water them down.
He whistles softly under his breath as he puts everything away in the fridge, kicking the door closed with the heel of his foot. When he turns around and sees me standing at the doorway, he comes to an abrupt halt. The whistling stops and his eyes drop down my naked torso.
"It's too hot out there," I say in explanation.
Roland nods and a soft blush rises to his cheeks. "You can turn up the AC if you want."
His jaw visibly tightens as he tears his gaze away from me. I notice the nervous rise and fall of his adam's apple as he grabs for our drinks. I walk a few steps into the kitchen to block his exit. He hesitantly holds my drink out to me.
"Why am I here?" I ask suddenly.
The question catches him off-guard. He leans back on his heels and sets our drinks to the side on the counter.
"Because I missed you," he answers honestly. "You're my best friend, Trey."
The pain in his voice is palpable.
"Is that all?" I press.
Roland flushes a scarlet red. He runs a hand through his hair, the action somehow both masculine yet shy. I take a step closer to him and cross my arms over my chest. He seems flustered by the advance and counters it with a step backwards.
"And I wanted to talk to you about a few things," Roland replies after a beat of silence.
"Then talk."
Roland grimaces and glances at the drinks waiting for us on the counter. "We can talk later, Trey. Right now I'm just trying to have a good time."
I raise my brows, unresponsive and unmoving. Roland purses his lips and runs his hands through his hair again, this time pulling at the ends in frustration.
"I mean. Fuck, Trey," he says, sputtering the words out in anger. "Do you think it's easy to see you look at me the way you do?"
I frown with confusion. Does he notice every time I stare at his lips? Can he feel my curiosity...my desire every time we lock eyes?
"You see the way I look at you?" I whisper.
Roland laughs derisively. "It's hard not to notice my best friend looking at me with disbelief and disgust."
My frown deepens. "What? No, Roland – "
"Trey, I get it," Roland says, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "After what happened with Annie, me telling you I'm gay, and then after I kissed you...I don't blame you for needing some space. But I just. I can't handle you looking at me like that anymore."
The mention of the kiss pulls my attention back to his lips for a split second. Is it possible that I've hidden my inner thoughts and emotions so well that Roland actually is confusing my desire with disgust? My head becomes fuzzy as the remnants of the last drink take their final plunge into my system.
"Would you take it back?" I ask.
Roland glances at me. "Which part?"
"Any of it? All of it?"
He turns away from me and picks up his drink, slowly bringing it to his lips. The liquid courage moves down his throat before he responds.
"I would take it all back...in order to do it all differently."
"Meaning?"
"I would have made sure what happened with Annie never happened at all. I wouldn't have waited so long to tell you I was gay."
"And the kiss?" I ask suddenly.
Roland's gaze flickers over to me, as if trying to gauge my emotions before responding. He thinks I'm disgusted by the kiss, but that couldn't be further from the truth. His gaze seems to devour me, pinning me into place without a single touch.
"Like I said," he whispers, "I would have taken it back...to do it differently."
My chest tightens with anticipation. Everything feels warm. My head spins with too many emotions, and I'm not sure which ones are real or which ones are alcohol induced. I take a step towards him again, and this time Roland doesn't counter it with a step back.
"How would you have done it differently?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain even.
Roland holds my gaze. Different emotions pass over his face – everything ranging from restraint to desire.
"I would have waited for the day you wanted a kiss from me," he answers with a deep voice.
My heart hammers against my chest. This isn't just about the kiss anymore, I realize. Roland's talking about more, something deeper. The kiss wasn't just to prove that he was gay. My best friend actually has feelings for me. Roland's expression becomes pleading and his shoulders sag with defeat.
"Annie didn't break up with you because she stopped loving you," he whispers. "She broke up with you because she knew about my....my feelings for you. And she believed somewhere inside her that you...that we..."
I think back to the conversation between Annie and Roland in the kitchen. The sudden realization is surreal. The moment of lust becomes lost, and this time I'm the one backing up a step.
"The 'we' you kept referring to when I overheard the two of you," I say in disbelief. "That wasn't you and Annie. You were talking about you and me?"
Guilt and shame consume Roland's features. And the truth of it all boils down to a simple fact. Annie broke up with me because she thought there was a chance I'd be happier having a future with Roland. My eyes widen. The past year suddenly makes complete sense.
"She broke my heart," I say. "Out of nowhere. She broke my heart and you let her. All because of what, Rolly? Because you were hoping that on the off chance I was into men that I'd be into you?"
My voice rises to a shout. The anger from my past jades my emotions. All I can think about is how the two of them played me. They played me without stopping to think about my feelings in all of this. I tighten my jaw and move away from Roland.
"Trey, please," Roland says softly. "This is why I didn't want to talk about this tonight."
I ignore his words and stomp into the living room. I'm already reaching into my pocket, pulling out my phone to find a ride home. The only person that comes to mind is Bennett, and in a moment of haste, I start dialing his number.
Roland watches me from across the room. He anxiously wrings his hands together. "Trey, I – "
"What?"
Bennett's cold voice rings through the phone. I should hang up. Or say it's a misdial. I know I should. I'm acting irrationally, and even if I want nothing to do with Roland right now, adding Bennett into the mix will only make things worse.
"Can you come get me?" I ask, my words slurring together.
There's silence on the other end, and for a second I wonder if Bennett hung up.
"Where are you?" he asks quietly.
"Roland's."
"I'll be there in ten."
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A/N: I mean, I can't say I blame Trey for being upset with Roland. But should he have called Bennett?
Also, thank you kindly for everyone leaving comments. I have been swamped lately and haven't had a chance to reply to your comments last chapter, but I wanted to let you know that I read each and every one of them and really appreciate the support from all of you! So thank you!