Page 117 of Becoming Us
“How about pizza?” Atty was still scrolling through a menu.
I kissed his jaw. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
“Att, give me that,” Ezra called, holding out his hands. Atty tossed the phone his way and wrapped himself tighter around me.
“I like it here,” he said under his breath.
I smiled. “Yeah?” I reached back to run my fingers through his hair. He hummed in approval, and I turned in his arms, rising on my toes to kiss him.
“Yeah,” he said between soft presses of his lips.
I hesitated for a beat. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”
Lately, we’d either been sleeping apart or crashing at his place a few times a week. I knew he wasn’t comfortable at my old place, but now…
He smiled and nodded.
Things were different now. They were changing.
There was something about this place. It didn’t have an oceanfront view, but you could still glimpse the water from the backyard, peeking through the trees. The house was old but newly refurbished—wood-paneled outside, windows trimmed with care. It felt lived in already. Like a home.
The living room still smelled faintly of cardboard and lemon cleaner, the floor scattered with half-unpacked boxes and shoes kicked off in a hurry. Someone had left a hoodie draped over the back of the couch, and the throw pillows were already misaligned from people collapsing onto them. Music drifted from the patio—low and bass-heavy.
Colin and the others emerged from the spare rooms, waved goodbye to Jaz, and settled on the steps of the sunken living room. Colin walked out to the backyard and stole Sophia’s wineglass. Everyone laughed at something I couldn’t quite hear.
I immediately sought out Ezra. He still had my phone, but his attention was locked on the scene outside. His face was unreadable—stormy.
Just then, Paxton slipped into the kitchen beside him. That made me smile. Paxton was still a bit of a mystery, but he was a good guy. Even though he came across as confident, he wasn’tthe most outspoken. Watching him awkwardly try to approach Ezra in real time was…entertaining.
I wished I had thought to buy popcorn.
“Do you need a hand in here?” Paxton asked.
“Nah. Pick something to eat. My appetite’s gone,” Ezra said, pressing my phone into Paxton’s open palm.
Paxton looked down at it like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Hand me that,” I said, pulling away from Atty.
Ezra was poking through the fridge. “Got anything to drink here?”
“Not unless you went out and got something,” I replied, tapping a pizza to order. I caught Atty’s pleased eyebrow-raise and smiled.
“The guys brought beer,” Paxton offered.
“Cool. Want one?” Ezra grabbed two and offered him one.
Paxton shook his head. “I’m good,” he said, pressing his lips together in a tight smile.
That little tidbit I already knew. Since I didn’t make a habit of drinking, I rarely noticed when others didn’t either. It took me a while to realize Paxton didn’t drink—at all. I’m not one for making assumptions, but I asked him about it one night, just to be sure. And I was right. He was almost a year into his sobriety.
When I told him about mine, there was this quiet moment between us. A kind of mutual recognition. Like we both knew we had the same map out of hell. That we weren’t just compatible—we were safe. We could understand each other without performing. Without pretending. It meant something.
“Noah,” Brice called out, shaking me from the thought.
“Yeah?”
“The studio’s tight. We should play here too.”
