I crane my neck and can still hear the shower running. "Yeah. It is."
"Any update?"
I might not have said anything to Buzz about Zane's psychotic behavior, but that didn't stop me from confiding in Scooter. He's the same age as we all are, but he's light years ahead of me in both maturity and pragmatism. I can always count on him for giving good advice. "Nope. Haven't seen him since Bullshitkissgate. Happy to keep it that way, too."
"And things are good with you and Buzz?"
"Yeah. I mean, I would like to see some more of the guy. He's always at the station, I'm at the inn, we barely see each other."
"That's not ideal."
"Tell me about it. He said they’re hiring some new recruits in the new year, so his workload should ease up."
"Good. You need to make a move, man."
"I'm not so sure," I say.
Scooter's way too smart for me to play dumb with. He found out how I feel about Buzz years ago without me having to say a word. Sometimes, I think he wants us to get together more than I do.
Actually, no. That's impossible.
No onewants that more than I do.
And therein lies the crux of my problem. My feelings aren't reciprocated. Buzz may not be interested in Zane, but he's also not interested in me.
Cyrus returns, wearing a robe. "There. Better?"
"Much," Scooter and I reply at the same time.
"Sorry I'm late." Buzz rushes in, drying off his hair with a towel.
My gaze lingers on the sliver of smooth skin between his rumpled shirt and the waistband of his pajama pants, and I can’t help but wonder how it’d feel to run my fingertips over it.
"All good, man," Scooter tells him. "You guys will need to sit a little closer so we can see you."
I grin at the fucker. He never misses an opportunity. Not that I'm complaining.
Buzz tosses the towel onto the floor and settles in nice and close next to me, smelling like my body wash. He asked if he could use it since he prefers it to his, and I told him I didn't mind at all.
I hook my arm around his shoulder as we begin our annual holiday ritual with our closest friends.
25
Buzz
"It sucks that we never get to spend the holidays together," I say as I walk Court to his car, totally not pouting or sounding like a whining kidat all.
Growing up, our families were so close we'd always spend some of the holidays together. That used to be my favorite part…after scoring presents from Santa, naturally.
But ever sincethe thinghappened, the holidays feel fractured and awkward. Howie and I shuttle between our parents with their new families and step-kids who we're sort of, but not really, close to, and Court always spends it with his dad, Joan, and his step-siblings he's sort of, but not really, close to, either.
It's meant to be such a joyous time of year, all about family and people coming together, but it doesn't feel like that anymore.
Not for me, anyway.
Court lifts his suitcase and drops it into the trunk with a dull thud. He looks effortlessly polished as always. A forest-green merino wool sweater under a sharp but casual blazer-style coat, tan corduroy pants, and dark-brown bean boots.
"You okay, Buzz?"
