Page 168 of Finding Delaware

With a snort, I drag my best friend back inside by the arm. “We both know Juanita lets me do whatever I want, anyway.”

“Don’t I fucking know it.”

The rest of the night has me in a better mood as I plan out what I’m going to do, and when I talk to Huck upon returninghome, I try to get as much information out of him as possible without making him suspicious.

Like what’s his schedule for the week? Where will he be? Who is he going to be with?

Somehow, I manage to gather as much information as possible without sounding like a jealous househusband, and the following morning, I’m filling up my gas tank to head out. As I return the pump, my fingers shake with nerves and anticipation.

After hanging up with Huck last night, I called Logan on a hunch. He wasn’t thrilled to get a call at two in the morning, but he did have the address to Huck’s apartment in Berkeley. Taking a deep breath, I plug the address into my phone’s GPS and start the long, lonely journey to surprise my boyfriend.

And I do mean long.

And lonely.

Three hours into it, I debate turning around to drag Salem with me, or at least Xed but decide against it because their lives and jobs aren’t as flexible as mine.

Five hours go by, and I’m so bored that I pick up a hitchhiker at a gas station, agreeing to take him as far as Carson City, Nevada. He’s a pretty chill older guy, kinda odd. We chat and jam to Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones for four hours. When I drop him off, he offers me a baggie of coke or a blowie for the ride, which I quickly decline but thank him anyway—what else do you say when someone offers you free drugs and a blowjob?

The next seven hours are pure torture. Just red dirt and cacti for miles. I call every person I know, even Huckslee’s dad, which made for a weird five-minute conversation. I asked howhe was; he said fine. He asked how I was; I said fine. When he offered to put Maisie on the phone, I quickly ended the call because nope. I’m good.

Only person I didn’t call was Huck since that would ruin the surprise.

By the time I pull into Berkeley, it’s night again, and I’m exhausted. My eyes are burning, my collarbone aches like a motherfucker from the gear shift, and there’s a cramp in my thigh. Road-tripping alone is not for the weak, and I won’t be doing it again. Zero out of ten stars; do not recommend.

Huck’s apartment complex is just a few blocks from his university, which honestly looks like an old cathedral, complete with pristine white columns and a steeple, the San Francisco Bay visible in the distance. The Bay is probably a breathtaking sight in daylight, but right now, I can only see dark, rippling water. As I step out of the truck and stretch, the smell of sea salt mixed with weed is so strong it nearly makes me cough. I’m hit with a bit of culture shock when I see a group of people lighting a bong in a nearby stairwell.

Right. Definitely not in Utah anymore.

Glancing down at the address Logan gave me, I wander around the complex, taking in the carefully landscaped rocks and tan stucco buildings until I find the one I’m looking for. His unit is on the second floor, and as I make my way up the stairs and down a breezeway, uncertainty starts to settle in. My breath comes out in short gasps when I find his door, and I raise my hand to knock.

Fuck, what if this is a mistake? What if he... isn’t alone?

The door swings open, and I blink at the guy on the other side. He’s a bit taller than I am, tan, with long blond wavestumbling over his shoulders. A loose button-up shirt reveals lean muscles, paired with board shorts—a typical surfer dude if I ever saw one. But damn, this guy is pretty. Big blue eyes and long lashes. From what I’ve been told, this must be Huck’s roommate, Shawn. I’m slightly jealous.

“Can I help you?” He asks with the voice of an angel, and I frown.

Okay, I’m more than slightly jealous.

“Uh, yeah.” Clearing my throat, I glance over his shoulder. “I’m looking for Huckslee Davis. Is he here?”

He eyes me cautiously, shaking his head. “Not currently. Sorry, man.”

Wait, what? Fuck. He told me he had no plans other than packing up his stuff tonight.

“Do you know how long he’ll be out?”

“Probably not until tomorrow, honestly.”

“Tomorrow?” My voice breaks with rising panic. “Are you sure?”

Hot surfer Shawn gives me a nod. “Yeah. He’s at Greg’s place.”

I stare at him, utterly baffled for a moment. “Who’s Greg?”

“His boyfriend.”

My heart drops so far into my stomach that I swear I feel it crack. The ground shifts beneath my feet, and I have to lean against the doorway to keep myself from tumbling over my unsteady feet.

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