Read Online Gulliver Takes Five by Justin Luke Zirilli - Free Book Online
Authors: Justin Luke Zirilli
Ads: Link
Grant’s apartment.
This is too much. This is all too much and I can’t think straight and I can’t handle it.
“Check my phone if you want—Grant and I never hooked up, never talked about hooking up. I don’t even like the guy! Totally self-centered prick. I only talk to him because YOU like hanging out with him. I’ll delete that Broadway slut’s number from my phone, you can watch me!”
I’m shaking my head. While Christian’s proposed gesture might have worked this morning, now it’s much too late.
“I just...” he starts, then starts again. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I wanted to text you and apologize, but my phone’s been dead since this morning, and you have my charger. I ran into Grant earlier, which I guess you should know. He had my tie, and he offered to let me check my e-mail at his place so I could try and line up a gig for tonight. I almost e-mailed you then, but I thought that would be impersonal. Then I had to run to pick up this check so that I’d have enough money to—well, I was gonna go get you some flowers and then come by and see if you were home. I know it’s corny. But it IS our anniversary. Or, it was, anyway. Before we let that stupid fight ruin it.”
He’s rambling. It’s adorable. My heart is breaking.
I can’t tell him. I don’t want to tell him. And I won’t. He’ll hear it all from someone else—EVERYONE else, most likely. Surely someone managed to save that video I uploaded to Facebook, long before they yanked it down (and probably deleted my account for such an obscene violation). Even if he doesn’t lay eyes on it himself, by now I’m sure Christian’s entire circle of friends knows I fucked Grant Majors. A few of them know I beat up some random naked kid at a penthouse party on the Upper East Side. No doubt even more of them saw my ass getting handed to me by a drag queen in the West Village. The moment he finally fires up that phone of his, he’ll be bombarded with texts telling him what a freaky, fucked-up, vengeful loser I am. Then he’ll rightfully hate me for the same reasons I wrongfully hated him this entire evening.
Christian called it this morning: I’m crazy. A little crazy when I go after a boy I like. A LOT crazy when I go after a boy I hate.
Well, not just crazy—I’m psycho-fucking-bat-shit INSANE.
The good news is, I have succeeded in my goal to ruin a life tonight. The twist is, it’s mine instead of Christian’s.
I sniff. “You should probably go.”
“Planning on it. Are you...staying?”
Fuck, this is hard. Going from vigilante to villain. Is it possible to beat the living shit out of yourself?
“You should probably stop by my place first and grab your stuff, okay?”
“I’m sorry?”
“No. I’m sorry. Just. Get your stuff from my place, leave the key, and go home. And this time, don’t forget your charger.”
“Because I spun at a sex party? Because I got an unsolicited dick pic? What?”
I kiss his poor, confused face. I kiss it until my mouth hurts from stubble burn. “You just have to go, baby.”
“Are you fucking ON something? Nothing that happened today is a big deal, Brayden! I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since this morning! That means we have something here. That means we’re worth another shot!”
“I just...wish...you would’ve told me sooner.”
“So you came to a sex party. So what? You’re single. I don’t like it, but I can get over it. And we can talk about what kind of relationship this is...”
I’m silent. He studies me.
“Did you know I was gonna be here?”
I nod slowly.
“So you came here for me?”
I nod again. He reaches out for my hand, hope glistening in his eyes.
“So then what’s the problem, baby?”
“There’s no problem. I came here to get fucked. You’re welcome to stay and watch, if you like. I just figured you’d be tired.”
Christian Robert doesn’t cry. But tonight it looks like he just might. “Am I allowed to ask
This is too much. This is all too much and I can’t think straight and I can’t handle it.
“Check my phone if you want—Grant and I never hooked up, never talked about hooking up. I don’t even like the guy! Totally self-centered prick. I only talk to him because YOU like hanging out with him. I’ll delete that Broadway slut’s number from my phone, you can watch me!”
I’m shaking my head. While Christian’s proposed gesture might have worked this morning, now it’s much too late.
“I just...” he starts, then starts again. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I wanted to text you and apologize, but my phone’s been dead since this morning, and you have my charger. I ran into Grant earlier, which I guess you should know. He had my tie, and he offered to let me check my e-mail at his place so I could try and line up a gig for tonight. I almost e-mailed you then, but I thought that would be impersonal. Then I had to run to pick up this check so that I’d have enough money to—well, I was gonna go get you some flowers and then come by and see if you were home. I know it’s corny. But it IS our anniversary. Or, it was, anyway. Before we let that stupid fight ruin it.”
He’s rambling. It’s adorable. My heart is breaking.
I can’t tell him. I don’t want to tell him. And I won’t. He’ll hear it all from someone else—EVERYONE else, most likely. Surely someone managed to save that video I uploaded to Facebook, long before they yanked it down (and probably deleted my account for such an obscene violation). Even if he doesn’t lay eyes on it himself, by now I’m sure Christian’s entire circle of friends knows I fucked Grant Majors. A few of them know I beat up some random naked kid at a penthouse party on the Upper East Side. No doubt even more of them saw my ass getting handed to me by a drag queen in the West Village. The moment he finally fires up that phone of his, he’ll be bombarded with texts telling him what a freaky, fucked-up, vengeful loser I am. Then he’ll rightfully hate me for the same reasons I wrongfully hated him this entire evening.
Christian called it this morning: I’m crazy. A little crazy when I go after a boy I like. A LOT crazy when I go after a boy I hate.
Well, not just crazy—I’m psycho-fucking-bat-shit INSANE.
The good news is, I have succeeded in my goal to ruin a life tonight. The twist is, it’s mine instead of Christian’s.
I sniff. “You should probably go.”
“Planning on it. Are you...staying?”
Fuck, this is hard. Going from vigilante to villain. Is it possible to beat the living shit out of yourself?
“You should probably stop by my place first and grab your stuff, okay?”
“I’m sorry?”
“No. I’m sorry. Just. Get your stuff from my place, leave the key, and go home. And this time, don’t forget your charger.”
“Because I spun at a sex party? Because I got an unsolicited dick pic? What?”
I kiss his poor, confused face. I kiss it until my mouth hurts from stubble burn. “You just have to go, baby.”
“Are you fucking ON something? Nothing that happened today is a big deal, Brayden! I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since this morning! That means we have something here. That means we’re worth another shot!”
“I just...wish...you would’ve told me sooner.”
“So you came to a sex party. So what? You’re single. I don’t like it, but I can get over it. And we can talk about what kind of relationship this is...”
I’m silent. He studies me.
“Did you know I was gonna be here?”
I nod slowly.
“So you came here for me?”
I nod again. He reaches out for my hand, hope glistening in his eyes.
“So then what’s the problem, baby?”
“There’s no problem. I came here to get fucked. You’re welcome to stay and watch, if you like. I just figured you’d be tired.”
Christian Robert doesn’t cry. But tonight it looks like he just might. “Am I allowed to ask
Similar Books
