Page 7 of Me Three
“Uhm… but-but this can’t wait,” he says, his whole body shaking like he’s having a breakdown.
I look at my watch then back to him.
“It’s already twenty past twelve, so you better go and get us food or else, Mr. Walker.”
He takes a couple deep breaths, realizes that I’m not kidding, and turns on the spot heading right for the food counter.
It’s another ten minutes before he’s back, which means we now only have half an hour before we both need to go.
“And I think this is record time for you, Mr. Walker,” I tell him, glancing at my watch again when he finally sits down.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m always late. Whatever. We’ve got a far more pressing issue,” he says.
He passes me the tray with the lasagna, the Greek salad, and a Dr. Pepper, and I glare at him.
“You forgot the silverware, idiot,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond, just growls and stomps off to get the knives and forks.
“I can already tell you I didn’t miss the food here. Still the same shit like last semester,” I say when he returns.
“Well, not everyone can cook like you do,” he says, passing me the silverware.
“Obviously. I need to start cooking for us every day again.”
“Yeah, that’s great. You certainly do,” Carter snaps at me. “Now can I talk?”
I huff and lift my gaze to look at him.
“What?”
Carter clears his throat, then states, “they’re here. They’re… my student.”
I narrow my eyes and lift an eyebrow trying to solve his equation, but unlike him, I’m not a mathematician, and if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that sometimes you have to be one to learn to decipher Carter.
“Okay. Let’s take it from the top. With context this time,” I instruct him, and he shakes his head in frustration.
He takes it out on his lasagna, cutting a piece, then another, and another.
“Remember Tru?”
Do I? They’re all I’ve been able to think about every time I’m alone for two seconds. Or even when Carter and I have had our alone time like usual.
I’m not exactly sure why. We’ve had many threesomes together and with lots of gorgeous guys, but Tru? Fuck me senseless, they’ve left an imprint.
So much so that I’ve even contemplated asking Carter if he’d like to invite them over again. But Carter doesn’t do repeats with anyone. Just me. Which sounds a lot more romantic than it actually is. At least in my head.
Can anyone blame me for being hung up on my best friend since I was a teen? But it took a decade, some distance, and my fucking other guys to realize he’ll never feel the same way for me.
Ask me how I know.
Because he doesn’t do anniversaries or real talk. I’m supposed to be the introvert, yet ask Carter to talk about his feelings and he shuts down quicker than an unlubed asshole.
“Of course I remember them. What about them?” I say after a pause longer than necessary.
“They’re in my class,” he says.
“Oh really? Which one?” I ask him.
