Serpentine Walls (29 page)

“I’m sorry for being a jerk.” He waited, but Jed didn’t respond. “Okay, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you.”

He left Jed’s dorm and started trudging home, still in shock at how Jed had reacted and wanting to hit himself for screwing up that conversation so completely. He had never seen nice, eager-to-please Jed so angry and remote, and he was the one who had made him feel that way. And then the thought struck him that he’d lost a video game buddy to boot, and he cursed himself for being sad about that, wondering how much more of a self-absorbed asshole he could be.

Sex sucks
, Pete thought.
Or not
, Matthew said in his mind, and he uttered a dark laugh. Maybe Matthew had the right idea after all. Sex wasn’t worth it when it led to shit like this.

He pulled out his phone and sent Matthew a text:
Gonna become a monk
.

Matthew’s response came as he was crossing Beta Bridge.
How come?

He texted back,
Becuz sex sucks.

Pete didn’t get an immediate response to that one. He was almost at his apartment by the time Matthew’s answer came through.
I don’t know. I think w/ the right person sex can be amazing.

Pete stared at the words, anger warring with lust as images arose of the amazing sex he could have with Matthew. He might get horny over Aidan, but it was Matthew he wanted. He knew without a doubt Matthew
was
the right person for him. Mr. Matthew “Celibate” Layton. Aidan’s voice chimed in:
Sometimes you find the right person, but it isn’t the right time.

Livid at the general fucked-up-ness of his life, Pete fought the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Instead, he turned it off as a safeguard against drunk texting. Because he was planning to go inside now and get very, very drunk.

B
AM
!
Bam! Bam!

Pete jerked awake and groaned as he turned over. He felt like shit.

“Pete! You in there? Open up.” That was Angie’s voice at his door. He ignored it, closing his eyes.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“Pete, you jerkwad, why’d you lock your door?”
John? What the fuck is he doing here?

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Pete rolled over, wincing as the daylight filtering through the blinds hit his eyes and his head began to pound.

“Pete!” John’s voice again, followed by more insistent banging.

“Okay, shut up! Coming.” Pete crawled out of bed and shuffled to his bedroom door, which was indeed locked from the inside. He didn’t remember doing that. He unlocked it and pulled the door open. John stood there, frowning, with Angie hovering behind him. “What?” Without waiting for an answer, he retraced his steps and fell back into bed.

“Why the hell did you lock the door?” John asked as he and Angie entered the room.

“We were worried,” Angie added.

Pete lay with his eyes closed, willing them to go away. “I dunno. I was drunk. I’m okay, so y’all can leave now and let me get some sleep.”

“Get some sleep? It’s three in the afternoon.” Pete felt the edge of his bed dip and opened his eyes to see John sitting next to him. He flicked Pete’s forehead lightly with his fingers. “Rise and shine, bucko.”

“Fuck you.” He turned his back on John and attempted to pull the cover over his head, but John held on to it.

“Come on, Pete,” he heard Angie saying. “Get up.”

He rolled onto his back and glared at them both. “Why the
fuck
does everyone want me to get up? Leave me alone. I want to sleep.”

“Because ever since you broke up with Jed, you’re getting totally wasted every night and sleeping all day, and I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Angie said.

“I didn’t break up with Jed,” Pete said in a bitchy tone. “We were never together. And so what? I can get wasted if I want.”

“True.” John glared back at him. “And you can screw up your classes and not finish your film and make your friends worried about you. Awesome life choices, dude.”

“I’m gonna finish the film.”

“You might want to tell Matthew that,” John said. “He’s been trying to reach you for days. He finally called Cleo to ask what’s up with you.”

“Nothing’s
up
with me,” Pete snapped. “And nothing’s going to be
up
with me. Didn’t I tell you? I’m becoming a monk. Matthew should know all about that.”

“Jesus Christ,” John snapped back, “would you stop focusing on your dick?”

“I’m going to get some coffee.” Angie left the room while John kept talking.

“So become a monk. Who the fuck cares? What I care about is that my best friend is getting trashed every night and spending the rest of the time hiding out in his bedroom. Drama queen.”

They stared daggers at each other, and then Pete sagged into himself and laughed weakly, rubbing his hand over his face. “Yeah, you’re right. Shit.”

“I mean, was telling Jed you’re not going to be fuck buddies
that
wrenching? Jesus.” John jostled him by the shoulder. “Get it together, boy.”

“Quit it.” Pete shrugged off John’s hand. “No. But it upset me because Jed took it so bad. And I had gotten totally horny over Aidan again, and then Matthew….” Pete trailed off because he finally heard himself—the whiny voice, the actual content of what he was saying—and he was appalled. He sounded like some junior-high girl with “boy problems.” Had he really just spent the last four days of his life in a total funk because of the status of his cock?

Angie returned with a cup of coffee, which she offered to him.

“God, thanks.” He shot her a grateful glance as he took it and sniffed the fragrant brew. “You guys are too good to me.”

“You got that right,” John began, but Angie spoke over him.

“We love you, dummy, and we don’t want you to take your life down the tubes.”

“I know. I’m over it.” Pete slurped his coffee, warming his hands around the mug.

“Over what?” John asked, getting up from the bed and walking over to the window to raise the blinds.

“Over letting my dick run my life. Over thinking I need sex every time I’m horny. Over being a drama queen.”

Angie giggled.

“What?” Pete asked.

“I don’t know. Up until this year, I would have said that you’re one of the least likely guys I know to be a drama queen. Along with John.”

“King of the laid-back right here,” John drawled.

“I know. This has been one weird year,” Pete said, remembering his screwed-up family situation with a twinge.

“It really has.” Angie sat in the rocking chair next to Pete’s dresser. “For you and me both.”

Pete nodded. “Fucking Professor R. I’m glad you ended up with Brian.”

Angie smiled. “When I said that this was the year we’d find The One, I sure wasn’t thinking of Brian.”

“Your premonition came half true, at least.”

“Oy, I’m going to check in with Cleo now that you guys are getting woo-woo.” John strolled out of the room.

“The year is far from over, Pete. Besides, I think you’ve found him.” Angie rocked a little harder in her chair and looked at him earnestly.

“If you’re talking about Matthew—”

“Who else would I be talking about? You should see you guys together. It’s obvious.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not interested in relationships, so it’s a moot point. And you know what?” Pete threw back his covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m over that too.”

“What?” Angie said with dismay.

“Oh, not over being his friend but just over all the drama.” He stood up. “Thanks, Ang. I’m going to take a shower now and then get going on all the stuff I’ve been letting slide for the last four days.”

“Sure. I’m making lasagna for dinner.”

“I love you.”

Angie laughed and got out of the rocking chair to give him a hug. “You dork. Want me to invite Matthew?”

“Yeah, if he’s available. Tell him I’m back from the dead.”

“On second thought, you invite him and you can tell him yourself,” she said, giving him an airy wave as she left the room.

Pete grabbed his phone from the dresser and turned it on for the first time in four days. Ignoring his twenty-three text messages, he went straight to Matthew’s name.

Back from the dead. Come over tonite for lasagna and film editing?

He was taking off his stale-smelling clothes when he heard his text tone.

Glad you’re resurrected. Sounds like a perfect evening. Later.

S
ITTING
at a small table in the McGregor Room, Pete leafed through a book until he found the passage he was looking for. He pulled out an index card and prepared to transcribe, feeling virtuous. Here he was on a Sunday afternoon, working in the library.
And sober
, he reminded himself. Not only that, he was going to meet John at the gym after this. It felt good to be focusing on the things that made a difference.

He’d been at it for about an hour when someone put their hand on the back of his neck. He knew that touch, and sure enough, when he looked up, there was Matthew grinning down at him, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Pete drank in the sight of him with his freckles and unruly reddish-brown hair he’d let grow this semester, and grinned back.

“Sorry,” Matthew said in a loud whisper. “I shouldn’t disturb the genius at work.”

“Right. Sit down.” Pete indicated the empty seat next to him.

Matthew eyeballed Pete’s pile of books and papers as he sat. “Someone’s working hard. Either that or just messy.”

“A little bit of both. Trying to get this paper written. What’re you doing here?”

“Checking out some books for my thesis.” He opened his backpack and pulled out a book. “Mind if I join you in studying?”

“Not at all. Just don’t distract me.” Pete glanced over at Matthew’s long legs in his jeans and let his eyes travel up his torso, ogling the snug fit of his dark-green Henley. When he reached his face, Matthew was regarding him with amusement.

“Do I distract you?”

“Yeah.”

“You do the same to me.”

Wish you’d do something about that
, Pete thought as their eyes held. Matthew lowered his first and started rummaging through his backpack.

“Hi, guys.” Aidan paused at their table, hair still dramatically black and white, coat on and a few books in his hand.

“Hey,” Pete said while Matthew raised his head and waved. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Just cruising through. Final performance of the play tonight.”

“Oh, crap,” Matthew said. “I better go. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You haven’t?” Pete asked. “Yeah, you better. It’s great.”

Aidan smiled at him and said to Matthew, “Pete’s my groupie. He’s been to a bunch of performances.”

“Yeah, I’m going to follow him around on his national tour,” Pete joked.

“I’ll try to make it tonight,” Matthew said. “An Aidan Emery performance is not to be missed.”

“Flatterer. See you later, guys. Don’t study too hard.”

“Adios, amigo.” Pete watched Aidan stride gracefully away.

“You want to come with me?”

“Huh?”

“To the play. You’re going, aren’t you?” Matthew sounded casual, but there was something off about his voice.

“I wasn’t planning to, actually. I’ve seen it a bunch, and I wanted to finish up the editing on the film.”

Matthew seemed to relax. “Okay. Yeah, you need to get that done. You have to turn it in to Rodney by Friday.”

“Don’t remind me. I want you to review it with me this week before I turn it in.”

“Yes, of course. And then we have to celebrate. Keep Thursday night open in your busy schedule.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m taking you to Coupe’s to celebrate the finishing of your film.”

Warm happiness spread from Pete’s core. “Correction. I’m taking
you
to Coupe’s to thank you for all your help.”

“Shhhhh!”

They started at the loud, angry whisper from someone at the next table.

“Sorry, dude.” Matthew settled back over his book.

They studied in silence for some time, the only sound the rustling of pages and the clicking of laptop keys as Pete started writing his rough draft. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket to check the display.

“I need to get this,” he whispered to Matthew. “It’s my dad.”

“Oh? That’s good.” Matthew nodded encouragingly.

Pressing
send
, Pete said in a low voice, “Dad? Hey, hold on for a minute.” He lowered the phone and murmured to Matthew, “I invited him.”

Matthew’s face brightened. “To the film fest? Awesome!”

Pete smiled as he stood up. Matthew had been bugging him to invite Dad, arguing that Pete couldn’t bitch about his dad not knowing who he was if he didn’t let him into his world.

“I’m going to go outside and talk to him. You staying?”

“Probably going to leave.” Matthew grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Talk to you later.”

Pete walked through the library, still feeling Matthew’s touch on his arm. He’d been touching Pete a lot lately. Not that Pete was complaining.

“Dad? You still there?” Pete pushed open the door to the outside.

“I’m here. Hey, I got your message. Nice to hear from you, buddy.”

“Yeah.” He sat on the library steps and gazed at the statue of Icarus that graced the landing across from him.
Kind of fitting
. “So, what do you think about coming to my film fest?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I want to see what my Echols Scholar son gets up to. It’s still kind of unclear to me what all you’re doing with that major of yours.”

Pete bit his lip to keep from saying something sarcastic. “Well, that’s why I want you to come.”

“I’m glad to do it. I’m not sure Mallory can make it—”

“About that,” Pete interrupted. “Mom is coming.”

Dad made an assenting noise, and it sounded like he was clearing his throat. Pete later thought it providential that this was the moment Matthew came out of the library, ruffled his hair as he walked by, and gave him a thumbs-up.