Page 52 of Exes That Puck
“Payton—”
“That TA from psych class. Or there’s this pre-med guy from intramurals who asked about you.”
“I can’t picture anyone else right now.” The admission comes out quiet, honest. Not combative.
She studies my face, then sighs. “Okay. Then promise me you’ll tell me before you see him. No secrets.”
I nod. “Promise.”
We hug across the space between our beds. When we pull apart, some of the tension that’s been sitting between us all day has dissolved.
By 11:37, the room is dark, and Payton’s breathing has evened out into sleep. But I’m wide awake, staring at my phone’s glow. Zeke’s message thread is open, cursor blinking in the empty text box.
My heart pounds as I stare at the screen. If he’s really changing, I’ll see it without asking. I don’t need to text him to find out.
At 11:58, I slip on sneakers and a hoodie, leaving a Post-it on Payton’s desk,Can’t sleep. I’ll be back soon.
The Uber is waiting for me outside. When I reach his house, I can see Westley through the living room window, headset on, controller in hand. I tap the glass gently.
He startles, then grins when he sees me. He unlocks the door and speaks in a whisper.
He jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “He’s asleep.”
Zeke’s door is cracked open, room dark except for the streetlight filtering through his window. He’s asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, looking younger in the dim light.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, just breathing him in. Then I sit carefully on the edge of his bed and brush a strand of hair from his forehead.
He stirs at the touch, catching my wrist in his sleep without opening his eyes.
“Kare?” he murmurs, tugging me down gently.
I let him pull me closer, and he wraps his arms around me, face buried in my hair.
“I love you, Kare,” he whispers against my neck, still half-asleep.
Hearing him say that when he’s not completely awake is like someone squeezing the hell out of my heart. I wish things were that easy, that loving someone means you’re good together, and everything will work out. But the reality is that we’ve done too much to each other, said too much, and now we’re both broken, trying to pick up each other’s pieces.
Life isn’t always fair, and that’s why I cry. Tears hit his pillow as I allow him to pull me in. As stupid as it is, I miss him. I need this from him, to feel like I matter, that I’m worth it because without it, I feel like I’m nothing.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
When the tears end, I don’t know if I can stop seeing him, even knowing how bad we are together. I want so badly for this to work.
I fall asleep tangled up in him, and I love it. I love the way he smells, the way he pulls me into him.
When I wake at 7:11, his arm is around my waist, and morning light streams through the window. He stirs when I move, immediately reaching for the flask on his nightstand.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks softly.
I look at him, wondering if he really means that. Real Zeke wouldn’t dare.
I give him eyes, knowing exactly what I’m doing. I readjust my sitting position and arch my back. I slowly shake my head, and I watch him gulp.
I point my finger at him and then ask him to come here. I grab his shirt and kiss him on the lips.
Between kisses, I say, “I don’t want to go.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “I’m not done with you.”
I pull him on top of me, feeling his hardness pressing through his clothes to my center.
