Chapter 267 - What Did You Mean?

Chapter 267: Chapter 267 - What Did You Mean?

By the time Zac’s shift finally ended, he was fucking exhausted.

He untied the apron around his waist, shoved it into his locker and pulled his hoodie over his head. A week into the job, his feet had mostly stopped hurting by the end of every shift, but spending hours dealing with customers was something he still had to get used to.

He had figured out most of the drinks by now. He knew where everything was, knew which machine made what annoying sound when something needed refilling, and could get through most orders without somebody standing over his shoulder correcting him.

The customers were still the worst part.

Zac shut his locker and rubbed a hand over his face.

"You’re here tomorrow, right?"

He looked over.

The girl who had been working the register beside him was leaning against the lockers while fixing her hair.

"Yeah."

"What time?"

"Three."

She smiled. "Me too."

Zac nodded and shoved his phone into his pocket.

"What are you doing after?"

"Probably sleeping."

She laughed.

Zac looked at her. Apparently, she thought he was joking. "I’m serious."

"You always go straight home after work?"

Home.

The word caught him for half a second.

"Pretty much."

"There’s a place a few blocks from here everybody goes sometimes."

"Cool."

"You could come tomorrow."

"Maybe."

She stared at him. "You say maybe like you mean no."

Zac pulled his bag onto one shoulder. "Then why’d you ask?"

She laughed again.

Zac had not even meant it as a joke.

"See you tomorrow, Prescott."

"Yeah."

He headed out before she could find another way to keep the conversation going.

It was not that there was anything wrong with her. She was pretty. Funny enough. She had been nice to him since he started working there, even when Zac fucked up an order during his second shift and nearly gave the wrong drink to somebody.

He just had absolutely no interest.

That part of his brain was still completely fucked.

Mostly because of Roxie.

Zac stepped outside and shoved both hands into the pocket of his hoodie before starting toward Dylan’s house.

Two days ago Roxie had walked into the coffee shop.

He still had no idea what the chances of that happening were.

She had stood at the counter staring at him in his apron like he had suddenly grown another fucking head, then spent the next hour sitting near the counter pretending she was interested in her phone while glaring every time a girl talked to him.

Zac had noticed.

Obviously.

He noticed basically everything Roxie did whether he wanted to or not.

Then she had gotten pissed and left, and Zac had followed her outside without even thinking about why.

That had gone well.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Three days ago had been worse.

The storage room.

Roxie kissing him.

The memory hit physically before Zac could stop it.

Her hands against his chest. Her fingers catching in his hoodie. The way she had looked at his mouth before pulling him toward her. The way his hand feels on his cock.

Fuck.

His stomach tightened as his brain supplied the rest far too easily.

He had tried to hold back for maybe two seconds before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her right back against him.

After that, everything had gone to shit.

Three days later, he could still remember exactly how she felt against him.

Zac exhaled hard and stared at the sidewalk.

That was the easy part to think about.

The harder part came afterward.

Going back to Dylan’s alone.

Lying in the basement with his phone beside him and wondering whether Roxie was going to message him.

She never did.

Neither did he.

He had opened their conversation more than once that night. Typed something. Deleted it. Put the phone away, then picked it up again ten minutes later like the answer might have changed.

It never did.

What Zac actually wanted that night had been embarrassingly simple.

He wanted to go home.

Except home no longer meant his parents’ house.

It meant Roxie’s bungalow.

Her bed.

Roxie curled against him while complaining he was taking up all the space even though she was usually the one halfway on top of him. Her stealing the blanket. Her cold feet finding his legs. Waking up because she was moving around beside him.

That hurt worse than remembering the kiss.

Zac shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie and kept walking.

Dylan lived only a few blocks from his parents, which meant the route home had started becoming its own kind of fucked up routine.

He knew exactly where he would turn if he wanted to go toward the Prescott house but he passed the street without stopping.

A week ago that would have made something tighten inside him.

Now, he just kept walking.

Apparently, even getting thrown out became normal eventually yet Zac was still not sure whether that was a good thing.

By the time he reached Dylan’s house, most of the lights upstairs were already off so he opened the front door quietly.

Helen was still in the kitchen in pajamas, covering a plate with plastic wrap.

She looked over. "There you are."

"Hey."

"There’s food in the fridge. Eat before you rest."

"I ate at work."

Helen gave him a look. "Coffee doesn’t count."

"I had actual food."

"What?"

"A sandwich."

"That’s dinner now?"

"It had chicken."

"Oh, well. Very nutritious."

Zac almost smiled.

Helen slid the plate into the refrigerator and yawned halfway through it.

"You can go to bed," Zac said. "You didn’t have to wait up."

"I wasn’t waiting."

"Sure."

"I was watching television."

Zac smiled. "Right."

Helen pointed toward the refrigerator. "Heat it up if you get hungry later."

"I will."

She walked past him and squeezed his shoulder. "Good night, Zac."

"Night."

He watched her head upstairs before opening the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

There was always food now.

Helen had stopped asking whether he needed towels and simply left clean ones downstairs. There was cereal he liked in the cabinet. Nobody asked how long he planned to stay or acted like his bag sitting in the basement was becoming a problem.

It was becoming normal.

Zac appreciated that more than he knew how to say. He also fucking hated needing it. He closed the refrigerator and headed toward the basement.

Footsteps came down the stairs behind him.

Zac turned.

Dylan.

For a second Zac assumed he was getting something from the kitchen before going back upstairs.

Dylan shoved his phone into his pocket. "Work suck?"

"Always."

"You’ve been there a week."

"Exactly. I’m qualified to hate it now."

Dylan smiled.

Zac looked toward the basement, then back at him. "You wanna play?"

Dylan paused.

Barely. But still enough for Zac to notice.

"Yeah."

Something in Zac’s chest loosened.

They went downstairs together.

Zac dropped his bag beside the couch while Dylan turned on the PlayStation. A few minutes later Mortal Kombat filled the television, and Zac settled into the chair he had basically claimed since moving in.

Dylan sat on the couch.

"How many people yelled at you today?" Dylan asked. "I heard people do that to servers."

"Only one."

"Improvement."

"She ordered something, then changed half of it after I already made it."

"And you didn’t kill her?"

"I need the job."

"Look at you. Growing."

"Fuck you."

Dylan laughed and picked his character.

Zac looked at the screen. "Some girl asked if I wanted to go out with everybody after work tomorrow."

Dylan glanced toward him. "You going?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I’m tired."

"You’re eighteen."

"So?"

Dylan stared at him. "Jesus Christ. Divorce really aged you."

Zac laughed despite himself. "Shut the fuck up."

"You used to leave football practice, party and still find energy to go see Roxie."

That name landed differently.

Dylan seemed to notice too because his attention went immediately back to the television.

Zac picked his character. "Yeah."

For the next fifteen minutes, everything almost felt normal.

Dylan talked shit every time Zac lost a round. Zac accused him of button mashing. Dylan called that loser talk. Zac threw a cushion at him after losing the second match, and Dylan threw it back hard enough to hit his controller.

Normal.

Thank fucking God.

Zac leaned farther into the chair.

He had already lost Roxie. He really did not need Dylan becoming weird too.

Then Zac looked down at where he was sitting.

His fingers slowed against the controller. They are in the same fucking chair, same places and same game.

He remembered that night, he broke up with Roxie. He’s been a mess but Dylan was right there with him.

He had been sitting right here.

Dylan had been on the couch.

Zac had been a complete mess over Roxie, talking about how other girls could throw themselves at him and he still would not give a shit.

Then Dylan had said it.

What about me?

At first Zac had thought he meant as his friend. He still remembered answering without even thinking about it.

"You’re my best friend. Obviously I care what you think."

Dylan had gone quiet.

"That’s not what I meant."

Zac had looked at him.

"What?"

Then Dylan said it.

"I like you."

Zac had almost answered automatically.

I like you too, asshole.

Normal.

Easy.

Except the way Dylan had looked at him stopped the words before they came out. There had been nothing normal about his face. In fact, it was an expression he never saw on him.

Zac’s character screamed from the television.

He blinked.

Dylan was beating the shit out of him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dylan asked.

Zac looked at the screen too late.

His character dropped.

Dylan glanced over. "Jesus Christ. Pussy."

Zac laughed. "Fuck you."

"Pay attention."

"Run it again."

Dylan restarted the match.

Zac adjusted his grip on the controller and tried to focus. He had spent the last few days refusing to think about that conversation.

Actually refusing.

Whenever it came back, Zac found something else.

Roxie had made that pretty fucking easy.

The storage room.

The coffee shop.

The argument outside.

Work.

Tennessee.

His family.

Anything was easier than figuring out what Dylan had meant.

At first Zac had told himself Dylan had been emotional. Maybe he was drunk enough to say something badly.

Maybe Zac misunderstood. Maybe it was one of those conversations that sounded stranger the next morning than it had actually been.

Except Zac was not stupid.

He knew what the words sounded like.

He remembered Dylan’s face.

That was harder to explain away.

Now his brain started dragging up things from years of friendship that had never seemed strange before. Dylan defending him. Dylan always showing up. Dylan being harder on Roxie than almost anybody once their relationship started getting bad.

Dylan letting Zac move into his basement like there had never been another option.

Zac immediately got irritated with himself.

That did not prove anything.

Dylan was his best friend.

Best friends did shit for each other.

Zac would have done the same for Dylan.

He looked over.

Dylan was focused on the game. Sitting at the far end of the couch.

Zac frowned.

Did Dylan usually sit there?

He could not remember.

Sometimes Dylan sat on the floor. Sometimes right beside him. Sometimes he stole the controller out of Zac’s hand when Zac started winning and claimed the game had glitched.

Tonight there was space between them.

Had Dylan put it there deliberately?

Or had Zac only started noticing because now he was being fucking weird?

Dylan shifted.

Zac immediately looked back at the television.

Great.

Now he was definitely the problem.

"You suck tonight," Dylan said.

"I worked all day."

"You work every day now."

"Exactly. I’m permanently exhausted."

Dylan laughed. "You make coffee. The football practice is harder."

"Try smiling at idiots for hours."

"I smile at you all the time."

"Fuck off."

Dylan laughed again.

For another few minutes Zac managed to focus.

Then Dylan asked casually, "You see Roxie today?"

Zac’s attention moved toward him immediately.

"Yeah."

Dylan looked at him.

Zac waited for the rest.

There was none.

Dylan nodded once. "Okay."

Then he went back to the game.

Zac frowned.

That was weird too.

Normally Dylan would ask what happened. Whether Roxie had done something. Whether Zac had done something stupid.

Especially after the last few days.

Now he was careful whenever her name came up. Maybe because Zac had spent enough time crying over her. Or maybe because of what Dylan had said.

Zac looked at him again.

Dylan caught it.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop staring at me."

"I wasn’t."

"You were."

Zac looked back at the screen. "You wish."

Dylan laughed quietly.

The game continued.

Zac lasted another two minutes before he stopped giving a shit about winning.

This was ridiculous.

He was watching where Dylan sat. How Dylan talked. Whether he asked about Roxie. Every fucking thing Dylan did suddenly felt like it might mean something.

Zac hated it.

The round ended, and Dylan moved toward the menu.

"Again?"

Zac stared at him.

Dylan noticed.

"What?"

Zac almost let it go.

For the first time in days they had managed to hang out without everything feeling completely fucked.

He could keep pretending.

Then Dylan shifted the controller in his hands, and Zac remembered his face that night again.

"That night."

Dylan’s thumb stopped.

The change in him was immediate enough that Zac knew exactly which night he meant.

"What about it?"

Zac leaned back in the chair. "When you said you liked me."

Dylan looked away.

"Forget it."

Zac let out a breath. "I tried."

"Then keep trying."

"That’s not an answer."

Dylan tossed the controller beside him. "Why does it matter?"

Zac stared at him. "I don’t know."

"Then leave it alone."

"That makes no fucking sense."

"Why?"

"Because you said it."

"And?"

"And now I don’t know what the fuck you meant."

Dylan looked at him. "I told you what I meant."

"No. You said you liked me, then acted like I was supposed to magically understand everything."

Dylan rubbed both hands over his face. "This is exactly why I told you to forget it."

Zac leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees.

For a few seconds the only sound between them came from the television.

"I’m trying to figure out if you’re acting weird now."

Dylan stared at him. "I’m acting weird?"

"Yes."

"You’ve been watching me like a fucking serial killer for the last twenty minutes."

"Because you’re acting different."

"How?"

Zac gestured toward the couch. "You’re sitting all the way over there."

Dylan looked down at where he was sitting and then back at Zac.

"Are you seriously keeping track of where I sit now?"

"I’m just saying."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"This is why this conversation was a bad fucking idea."

Zac rubbed his palms against his jeans.

Maybe Dylan was right.

Maybe Zac was taking one sentence and retroactively making their entire friendship weird because his brain already had enough shit going on.

But leaving it alone had clearly failed.

"I just want to know what you meant."

Dylan’s jaw tightened. "I told you."

"No. You really didn’t."

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I don’t fucking know. Something."

Dylan looked toward the television again.

Zac watched him.

There were questions sitting in his head now that he had never expected to ask his best friend.

How long?

Was it recent?

Had Dylan felt like this while Zac was dating Roxie?

Was that why he hated their relationship so much?

Zac immediately pushed that one away.

Dylan had plenty of legitimate reasons to hate what Zac and Roxie had become. Pretending all of it came from jealousy would be fucking insulting.

Still, the questions were there.

Dylan reached for the controller. "Can we just play?"

Zac watched his hand close around it.

"No."

Dylan looked at him. "No?"

"No. Because then I’m going to sit here thinking about it anyway."

"That sounds like a you problem."

Zac almost laughed. Apparently Roxie was not the only person using that line on him now.

Dylan turned toward the television again and Zac stared at the side of his face.

He had spent days pretending he did not understand. He was tired of pretending.

"Do you like me?"

Dylan’s hands stopped on the controller.