Page 19 of Every Broken Thing

“Trust me, honey,” I purred, “performing has never been a problem.”

His cheeks flushed pink at the insinuation, and I refocused on my next shot with an air of triumph.

“Tell that to your cue stick,” he mumbled right as I hit the cue ball, and it careened off course.

“Adams!” I used my pool stick to smack him, but he danced out the way, giggling like a child caught red-handed doing something naughty.

Our banter was borderline flirting, but of course, he didn’t mean it that way. We were just two guys ribbing on each other. Right?

On my next turn, Ben took pity on me and rounded the table to stand at my side. He explained how to view the shot and something about angles, but I was quickly distracted by our closeness. His body radiated heat, and his mix of spring soap, subtle chlorine, and spearmint worked through my veins like a pleasant buzz. My heart sped and my blood warmed, and I inhaled sharply as, for the first time in almost a month, my body responded. If I didn’t get away from him soon, my jeans were going to be embarrassingly, uncomfortably tight.

“Silas?”

I blinked through the charged haze, my eyes dropping to his mouth for a second before I leaned away from him. I could not come on to a straight guy, especially the straight guy who witnessed me getting assaulted. Sure, he was funny and sweet and hot as a chili pepper, but it was a terrible idea all around.

Get it together, Silas, and stop thinking with your dick!

“Did you hear me?”

I nodded, though I couldn’t recall a word he’d said, too distracted by his sexy curls and adorable dimple. “Yeah, I gotit.” I cleared my throat when my voice cracked, and I forced my attention away from his mouth to the white cue ball.

“You’re still not holding it right.” He reached around my back to wrap his hand around mine on the pool stick, and I stiffened as he positioned himself partially behind me, his chest brushing against my back.

My arousal cooled to panic, my heart galloping with a confusing mix of desire and fright, and the cue stick clattered to the floor as I shoved away from Ben’s body violently. “Don’t touch me!” I wheezed as hysteria lapped at my chest.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” His hand hovered in the air between us, his blue eyes pained and full of pity, like he knew exactly why I retreated.

I held my panic attack at bay as I straightened my shirt and grimaced in apology. “It’s late. I should go.”

“No, wait—”

But I was already sprinting out the door and up the stairs, shoving my feet into my sneakers before fleeing the house. Ben followed because it was apparently impossible for him to let things be, and humiliation burned through my body like acid.

“Silas, wait.” His fingers grasped the door to my truck as I scrambled inside. “Just stop for a second.”

“I gotta go. Thanks for… everything,” I finished lamely.

“Stay.” I pretended not to hear his softly spoken plea. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Ignoring his comment, I steeled myself to meet his intense gaze with an apathetic one of my own. “I’m fine.” His face colored with disappointment and then irritation, and guilt crept in to take residence with the rest of my confusing emotions. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re friends.”

His head flew back like I’d slapped him, and he released my door. “Right. Not friends. Thanks for the reminder.”

The hurt in his eyes sent pain splintering through my chest, and I lowered my gaze to the collar of his shirt. “Thank your uncle for jumping my car and your aunt for dinner,” I mumbled. I wanted to say more, to explain, but my tongue failed. “I’m sorry.”

My whispered apology barely escaped before I slammed the truck door shut and backed out of Ben’s driveway. I replayed his hurt expression, and something heavy settled in my stomach. I wanted to take it back. I didn’t know why he wanted to be my friend, but the lonely, broken boy I pretended not to be wanted the same thing. But I was a coward.

Against my better judgment, I checked the rear-view mirror as I drove away. Ben stood where I left him, facing my fleeing truck. He didn’t move an inch. He didn’t look away until I was out of sight.

7

Penis Is Not a Sexy Word

I was late forschool, my alarm forgotten in the wake of the previous night’s disaster. I’d arrived home last night, my anxiety morphing with my guilt until I’d had to bend over and put my head between my knees to keep my vision from spotting. I’d never had panic attacks before, not really. I hated them more than anything.

Upon waking too late, I dressed sloppily and sprinted from the house, driving like mad to the school. I pulled into the parking lot like I was auditioning for the Indy 500 and parked Mabel by the gym. My rush was wasted, and I groaned in defeat as I entered the school at the exact moment the tardy bell rang.

With zero hope of making it to class, I strolled down the hall as I caught my breath and leisurely swapped my backpack for my economics book. By the time I made it to Econ, I received my detention slip from the hall patrol and a lecture over time management. Today was going to be a bad day, I could tell.

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