Junkie(78)

“Figured you were probably nervous about today, with your first interview and all. If they ask you a question and you don’t know the answer, just ask the eight.”

“What would Gamble say if he heard I was consulting an eight ball to answer my interview questions for a national magazine?” Drew cracked.

“Magic eight ball.” Drew spoke down to the black softball-sized toy in his hand like he was summoning a spirit.

It was highly amusing.

“Will I totally rock this interview today?” He gave it another small shake, then flipped it over to the bottom where the window was. I knew the triangle inside would float to the surface with his answer.

He glanced up.

“Well?” I asked. “What did it say?”

“All signs point to yes,” he read.

“See?” I spread my hands out in front of me. “It works.”

“Dude, you are lame.”

“I can take it back.” I stepped forward and reached for the gift.

He tucked it into his chest and gave me a hard look. “Get your own!”

I straightened away from the bed and left the toy in his arms.

“Hey, frat boy?”

“Yeah?” I raised my brows in response.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I went to the door quietly, and listened for anyone out in the hall.

“Did you ask it a question, T?” Drew asked.

I glanced back. He was in the center of the bed, the ball still in his hands. My heart constricted.

“No.” I lied.

He nodded. “I’ll be down in a few.”

Yeah. I lied.

Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth.





Drew

Being gay does not make you fashionable.

Just ask my sister.

I digress. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself gay. I wouldn’t say I wasn’t either. I just don’t want to be labeled.

Labels were for food, and while I’m mighty tasty, I did not qualify as food.

I never much thought about my clothing choices until I was standing in front of my closet, staring at its meager contents (because really, how many pairs of jeans does one guy need?) and realized I had no clue what to wear to my interview.

My sister told me more than once I needed to go shopping, but I never listened. Who the hell wanted to spend their free time at a mall?

Sure as hell not me. I had better things to do.

They’d have stylist people there. Right?

Trying to decide what to wear made me disgruntled. That and the fact I showered before I had my coffee.

Hell, if I hadn’t received a mind-blowing blowjob this morning, I’d probably be breathing fire right about now.

I was hoping he’d sneak in last night. When he didn’t, I tossed and turned more than usual. I told myself it was because I was anxious for today, but when my eyes kept wandering over to the blank space on T’s side of the bed, I couldn’t really keep telling myself it was the interview.

When he snuck in this morning, I’d known almost instantly. I might not be a morning person, but I was a Trent person. I’d always been kind of in tune with him, ever since we met. I credit that for the reason we became such fast friends. But it was different now. Deeper.

I felt him on a different level. I shied away from saying a soul-deep level even though that’s what I suspected. His energy charged mine. Kind of like a battery being plugged in. It was impossible not to feel his presence.

Giving up on the clothes, I pulled on a pair of ratty sweatpants and a T-shirt and left the bedroom barefoot. My hair was still wet and I hadn’t shaved.

I didn’t want to. Trent liked my scruff, so it was staying.

The voices and coffee in the kitchen drew me downstairs, and when I stepped into the room, all eyes turned on me.

My entire family was there. Romeo was at the island with Rimmel in his lap. Her hair was wet like mine, and I gave her a smile because that girl and I were kinda style soul mates. Neither of us cared.

Ivy was feeding Nova with a mug of coffee at her elbow, and Braeden was at the sliders, telling Prada to hurry up in the yard.

Even though my eyes swept over the fam, they only did so on their way to seek out Trent. Even though I’d seen him just a few minutes ago, I hadn’t really seen him.

He looked good in a pair of dark-colored Levis and a fitted grey sweater that made him look like he should be in a magazine instead of me. The sweater had navy trim on the hem and sleeves, which he had pushed up over his strong forearms. The neck of the sweater was in a V, also trimmed in navy, and there was this detail near the shoulders of navy trim with silver grommets or something studded along them. Beneath the sweater, he had on a collared polo in white, sticking out from beneath the V-neck.

At least he wasn’t wearing a tie and he’d paired it with jeans.