14
BEVAN
“Do you think six books is too many to send with Gannon when he goes back to LA?”
Amelie poses the question as I take a skillet out of a lower cabinet.
“The guy barely reads his DMs, are you sure he’s actually going to read a book?” I laugh.
“He promised he’d try some of my favorites. It’s this thing we’re doing.” She smiles to herself, and it’s a little naughty.
“Ew. You’re totally giving him blow jobs for reading Austen, aren’t you?” I grimace, going to the fridge to grab the defrosting chicken I’d put in there.
Amelie, always the shyer of us, blushes a bright red. “It’s not like that … sort of.”
I sigh in jealousy while going to my designated cabinet. Each of us has one, where we put our most coveted items so they won’t be stolen or eaten in drunken hunger. Mine is usually filled with protein bars and nuts because my level of cooking is kindergarten at best. But tonight, I felt like one of the only meals my mom ever cooked just for me: chicken cutlets and yellow rice. So that’s what I’m doing.
“It’s okay. I’d be happy if you were. Jealous, but happy. Some of us are just not getting laid like we used to.”
And right on cue, at the most awkward moment possible because the universe hates me, Callum walks into the kitchen.
“Oh, sorry … I was, uh … just coming in to make my dinner.”
Mortified is an understatement. I think my entire body is scarlet, that’s how embarrassed I am, because who the hell wants their ex hearing that they’re a barren wasteland. I want him to think I’m fucking the entire campus, not on a dry spell of epic proportions.
Of course, this is happening to me. It’s been a hell of a week already and it’s only Wednesday. Between the torture that is LSAT prepping and the rest of my responsibilities, I’m basically just keeping my head above water at this point. So add Callum discovering my lack of activity in the bedroom and I’m going to go under.
“No, I was just leaving actually. Gannon and I are going to …” Amelie trails off.
“We all know you go to the airport together to watch planes take off. It’s not a secret even if you two think it is.” I roll my eyes. “Have fun fucking to the sounds of jet engines.”
That makes Callum snort, and Am goes bright red. “Bevan, do you always have to?”
“Yes.” I shrug, not feeling guilty in the least.
She exits stage left and then it’s just the two of us, making dinners at the same time that we’ll eat separately after they’re done.
“Is everyone else out for the night?” he asks.
I nod. “Think so.”
I wonder if he hates being alone with me.
“You’re cooking? Wow, people really do change.” Callum’s tone holds only amusement, no bitterness or anger.
I shrug with my supplies in hand. “I figure someone is going to have to feed me, and I might as well learn. Plus, I’m making my favorite.”
“Chicken cutlets and yellow rice?” He nods at the ingredients I’ve set out.
“Yeah.” I gulp, because of course, he remembers my favorite home-cooked meal. How many times have he and his mother prepared this for me on special occasions?
An ache fills my gut because I miss his family. For a while there, I thought they were going to be mine, too.
“How about you, what’re you making?” I try to swallow past the stark longing.
Callum bends into the fridge, giving me the perfect view of his perfect ass. “Don’t know. I’ll probably whip up an omelet or something.”
“Omelet or something,” I mimic quietly at the exact same time he says it.
Straightening with a smile on his face, he has the egg carton in his hands. “I’m predictable, huh?”
“I always used to like that.” I shrug. “But physical education, never saw that coming. Not that it doesn’t make sense.”
I’m attempting to be jovial, to not make things weird or stunted as we cook dinner side by side. I coat my pan with oil; he reaches for another one under the cabinet. I season my chicken and then mix up the batter to dunk it in; he breaks his eggs and adds milk to them. There is such contentment in just being next to him, doing menial tasks alongside each other. This is what I used to dream about when I thought about us after graduation, starting real life together.
“I love it, honestly. You know me, no real path, or drive.” The way he says it makes it seem like I used to taunt him about that.
But it was true, to an extent. Part of the reason we used to fight is that I couldn’t understand his laid-back attitude. I was driven to succeed in all arenas, to the point where I’d die trying. I could not grasp his laziness.
“You just needed to find your thing.” I smile, and deep down, I’d always believed he would.
“The kids are awesome and I have a lot of fun coming up with lesson plans. It doesn’t even feel like work.”
Funny, I have no idea what that’s like. I’ve always picked law and sports because I’m exceptionally good in those two areas. They’re the ones that could potentially make me the most money. Unfortunately, I’ve never been in the position to choose options in my life based on how fun they are or how they make me feel.
I’m about to turn on my burner as Callum turns to grab a handful of cheese from a bag he set down on the counter, and our hips brush. Instantly, I still, oxygen leaving my lungs in a speedy fashion. Suspended in time, we just idle there, neither of us moving. My God, if he turned even an inch, we’d be face-to-face. My hands itch to touch him, my knees shaking like I might be swept off my feet right here.
“How is your class load?” he chokes out, quickly turning away from me.
I have to take three measured breaths before I can answer or my voice will be too raspy. “I just cannot get a grasp on this sports psychology class I’m taking. You’d think, because I was an athlete, that it would make total sense. But I never had that kind of fear in my way. We’re doing a project about overcoming it, about therapy techniques, and I just can’t get my head around it.”
“That’s because you’ve never been afraid of anything.” Callum chuckles. “Something is in your way and you just bulldoze it, no fear.”
“That’s not true. I’ve been afraid of things. Maybe not sports, but I have felt fear,” I say this cryptically, but we both know what I mean.
“Like what? Your neighbor’s cat?” he jokes, breaking the tension.
I’m usually blunt about all things. I’m usually the one who points out what everyone else is thinking but afraid to say. But with Callum, I’m tiptoeing around trying not to make either of us uncomfortable. I’d be doing a disservice to my therapy, though, if I wasn’t honest at this moment. If I just glazed over it and let Callum crack another joke, I’d play right into the person he thought I was.
Dr. Miranda has been telling me that avoidance and bitterness are my crutches, that I use them instead of actually talking about what’s going on.
“Actually, I was always, and still am, afraid of being abandoned. You know, since my dad left my mom and me frequently. I was always afraid that one day you’d see my ugliness and leave me, too. Guess I was right on that count.”