Page 172 of Things Left Unsaid

“Technically, the guy you’re setting me up with did that,” I point out. “Callan’s making me feel more at home.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Callan? He’s in school?—”

“Nothim,” she hisses. “Colton!”

“He’s riding out of sight. Behind the house.”

“Follow him!”

“How?”

“Keep him in view!”

“Why?!”

“Because I have to live vicariously through you! Duh! Ugh, you’re so slow on these things sometimes.”

“Work.Workis what I’ve been doing.”

“Boring.”

“How’s the orchestra?”

“I hate it. Hate everyone. Hate New York.”

“Apart from the girl at the coffee shop.”

“Apart from her.”

Though Iamtraipsing through the house on the hunt for Colt, stalking him via the windows, I muse, “You’re not joking, are you?”

“About my sexuality?”

The trouble with knowing someone as long as you’ve known yourself is that you sense when there’s a joke beneath the truth and the truth beneath a joke.

“Yeah.”

She clears her throat. “No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I tut. “This isn’t something that happens overnight. You must have been feeling this way forever.”

“I didn’t want you to freak out. Think I was in love with you or something. I mean, I love you. But I’m not in love with you.”

“I’m not that self-centered that I think the world revolves around me, babe.”

“No, I know. I am, though,” she teases, sounding more like herself. “I dated some chicks behind your back?—”

“We weren’t dating so you weren’t technically?—”

“I think I’m holding out for Butch Cassidy.” My snort triggers a second sniff. “Where’s Colt?”

“Jesus, you’re worse than the FBI!” I harrumph as I make it upstairs, finally getting to the den where I know I’ll be able to see in which direction he headed. “Gotcha! He’s already a blip in the distance though.”

That’s when I notice…

“Huh.”

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