Page 33 of Home in Nevada

Brutally honest? Maybe. But she was doing a damn good job of making me the only bad guy, when she was the one getting dicked by some other dude in her dorm room the whole time I was gone.

The silence on her end stretches, and for a second, I think she might have hung up.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” she finally snaps, her voice shaking. “You don’t even know who you are. You’re just some confused little f—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off, my voice cold and steady. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

She huffs, her breath heavy through the line. “You’re pathetic, Jeff. Have fun chasing your gay little fantasy. Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.”

“I won’t.”

I hang up before she can say anything else, the sharp sound of the call ending filling the kitchen. The room feels too quiet now, except for the faint hum of the oven cooling down.

For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the pizza rolls, the smell of cheap pepperoni and fake cheese doing nothing for my appetite.

I grab my phone again, scrolling to Jamie’s name in my contacts. It’s late, but I don’t care. I need to hear his voice. I hit call and put it on speaker, leaning back against the counter as the phone rings.

Jamie answers almost immediately, his deep voice groggy but alert. “Hey.”

It’s just one word, but it hits me like a balm on raw skin, soothing the sting left by Tiffany’s tirade. I don’t even realize how tightly my chest has been wound until it starts to loosen, the sound of Jamie’s voice steadying me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

“Hey, Jamie.”

“How’d your day go, how’s your face? Did Tiffany call?”

His tone is casual, curious, like he’s asking about the weather, but it’s enough to pull me back from the edge. The storm from earlier starts to settle, just a little. Jamie’s voice has this way of grounding me, even from hundreds of miles away, like he’s steadying the chaos in my head without even trying.

I let out a humorless laugh, leaning against the counter. “Oh yeah, she called. She also texted me more times today than anyone ever has in my entire fucking life.”

“…Well?! What’d she say?”

“We’re over.”

“…Did she want you back?”

I laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Yeah, until I told her I wanted to fuck you.” I pause, my chest tightening with sudden nerves as I wait for Jamie’s reaction.

It feels strange—being this upfront with him. We’ve never talked about this stuff before. It’s always been an unspoken truth, buried under layers of guilt and denial. But after my talk with Lucy earlier, I feel lighter, like years of carrying that shit around is finally starting to lift. I’m done hiding.

Jamie’s soft, incredulous laugh comes through the phone, sending warmth down my spine. “You did not tell her that, Jeff…”

“Oh, I did,” I say, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

“Oh my God.”

“I think she was about to call me the f-word.”

“…She sounds lovely.”

“She’s a fucking hateful bitch, and all sorts of fake, and the only thing I’m mad about now is how I could have ever seen something longterm in her.”

Jamie laughs again, but it fades quickly, leaving a quiet stretch between us. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, almost hesitant. “…Hey, do you remember what you did to my neck?”

I smirk, the memory flooding back, vivid and dangerous. His skin was impossibly warm, his blonde hair slipping like silk through my fingers. The way he smelled—clean and fresh, that goddamn bar soap—still lingers in my mind, as intoxicating now as it was then. I can feel the thrum of his pulse beneath my tongue, syncing with the wild pounding of my own heart.

It’s just a memory that refuses to loosen its grip on me, but I need to stop thinking about itright now, because suddenly, I’ve got a problem in my pants. I adjust myself awkwardly, shifting the phone to my other hand as I start plating my pizza rolls.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I remember. Are you still pissed about that?”

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