Equilibrium

Katey Hawthorne

www.loose-id.com

Equilibrium
Copyright © August 2011 by Katey Hawthorne
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Dedication

For Tara, with more love than I can fit on the page.

Chapter One

I first met Sam when I caught him trying to blow up a toaster in the cafeteria.

Well, he wasn’t trying, but he almost did it anyhow. Not the kind of guy I normally

would’ve spoken to—standing there at seven a.m. in shin guards and knee socks

with one of those beat-up “Property of Falls State University” T-shirts hugging

broad shoulders. The kind of guy I would’ve looked at long and hard when he had

his back turned, sure, but not spoken to.

But I saw that unmistakable blue light spark at his fingertips, heard him

sputter, “Dammit!” And then the toaster he’d been wrangling started smoking,

sending the smell of burning plastic up to the negligent cafeteria gods.

He flushed hard under that mess of shiny strawberry-blond hair. I would’ve

felt bad for him even if he weren’t hot, but it didn’t hurt, not gonna lie. “It happens,”

I said, attention back on my cinnamon toast preparation. “I melted the coffeepot

once when I was having a shitty morning.”

I felt him look at me, but he didn’t say anything. When I finally looked up to

see if he was pissed, he was just staring at me, openmouthed and wide-eyed.

It was a good look for him.

“You…?” he finally said. Or almost said, I guess.

“Yeah, but you electric types get it worse when it comes to appliances. Can be

a real motherfucker, huh?”

“Oh my god. You mean…?” He looked around, like he was afraid someone was

listening, but the place was nearly empty that early in the morning. Just some

nerds like me with eight a.m. classes and no social life to keep them up at night,

and a few hard drinkers who hadn’t been to bed yet.

Katey Hawthorne

“Uh, they have no idea what we’re talking about,” I said. And if they did, well,

then odds were they were awakened too.

“How do you—I mean…?”

I was starting to think the guy was a few bricks shy. Then again, it would’ve

been unfair if he was smart and hot. Hard not to focus on his mouth, the way it was

still hanging open like that—straight white teeth, sensitive-looking lips, probably

tasted like strawberries—

I shifted, leaning against the counter, and forced myself to focus. “I just

watched you fry a toaster. They”—I nodded at the lethargic breakfast kids—

“wouldn’t know, but to someone who’s awakened, it’s pretty obvious.”

He fluttered his pale eyelashes. “I have no idea what that means. I mean, I

think I do, but—”

It took that long for me to realize what was going on with him. So he wasn’t

the stupid one. I was, apparently. Great. “You don’t know any others?”

He shook his head. “I just thought…”

“Holy shit, man. How long?”

“Like, five years or something.”

Ouch. “Your parents…?”

“I’m adopted.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

“It’s cool, man. No big deal. Well, except, you know.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

He held out one hand. “Sam MacLeod.”

I shook it. “Hansen Marks.”

“Can we, like, talk or something? I mean, I have to go to practice, or I’m

benched for the next game, but after?”

And that’s how we ended up being roommates a few years later, I guess.

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* * *

Well, that and we were both poor as hell after graduation. I started my econ

MS, and since he had no idea what he wanted to be when he grew up, he joined a

local consulting firm taking advantage of suburban tax incentives. After a few

months he could’ve afforded his own place, but the idea of living alone seemed to

horrify him.

I wasn’t complaining. Well, not most of the time.

“Sammy, put some pants on.” I didn’t even look up from the book—the flash of

way too much skin was obvious as he wandered across the living room and into the

open kitchen.

And, of course, his reaction was to stick a hand down the front of his shorts

and adjust something. “Pants are overrated. Are we out of milk?” He pulled open

the fridge and shoved his head in. Thankfully he was mostly hidden from view by

the counter at that point.

I leaned an elbow on the dining-room table, covered in books and papers and

other things that were driving me bat-shit insane that day. “The hell would I

know?”

“Yeah, yeah.” His head reappeared, shaggy hair more rumpled than usual

from the pillow, eyes bleary with sleep. He had apparently found what he wanted—

nasty-ass whole milk, though I’d finally convinced him to spring for the non-BGH

kind, at least—and started chugging it out of the carton.

I rolled my eyes and focused on the book again. Game theory. Roughly

1/1000th as interesting as half-naked Sam.

Yeah, it had become apparent about twenty-four hours after agreeing to this

situation that it was a little bit stupid, but I was hoping for inoculation. Eventually

it would get old, and I’d get over it. It wasn’t like I was in love with him, just in lust;

he was a good roommate and a better friend. He only got on my nerves when I

needed to concentrate and he needed to be naked.

Happened more than you’d think, though.

Katey Hawthorne

He came around the counter, still toting the milk, and sat across the table

from me. I looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of his white boxer-briefs—the

really short and tight ones, naturally. Goddammit, that was at least half a morning

wood in there.

“Could you at least wear boxers?” I asked, miserable.

He smirked and had at the milk again. “Prude.”

I let my gaze drop to his broad chest, the trail of pale hair that led down to his

belly. I couldn’t get as far down as that—but it was enough. The party in my pants

had begun.

Bastard.

I took a sip of my coffee to avoid the sight of him, but it was cold. I made a face.

“I am not. I’m just not as in touch with nature.”

“You’re vegan. That’s like being a nudist already.”

“How do you figure?” I stuck my finger into the coffee and turned on the heat.

For thermal types, whether we swing to hot or cold, it’s really just about generating

and manipulating electromagnetic fields to affect how fast the molecules in

something vibrate—thermal energy being a subset of kinetics. There’s this long,

involved explanation about photons and EMFs, but scientists don’t even get it all,

and it changes every three years or so. I just know that if I get caught on IR camera,

it’ll be obvious I’m doing something Not Quite Human.

But yeah, more vibrations equals more heat, which is what I do. Makes for a

mess when it gets out of hand, but I can’t really use it on anything big enough to,

say, cause the end of the world. Lucky for the world.

“Go with me on this.” But then his face went serious. “Man, I jacked up my

keyboard last night.”

Now he had my attention properly—I hardly had to fight to keep my eyes on

his. Coffee was warmed up anyhow. “What happened?”

“Well, I went to watch some porn after Nessa fell asleep.”

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There were so many things wrong with that sentence, I didn’t even know

where to start. “Skip to the jacking part.” I flushed. “I mean, uh—”

He giggled and set the milk down. “Lucky I never did get to that, because I

was just typing some shit, and it started sparking. Shit, good thing you put the

Faraday cage around the tower.” His shoulders slumped. “Second time it’s happened

this week. I fucked up the microwave too.”

Explained why my breakfast burrito had been a wash. “That’s what

happened?”

He looked up at me through his bangs. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Electric types are wired differently, but we all have that little organ buried in

our torsos that can generate EMF well beyond that of a normal human being’s; I’ve

been known to make a TV go a little wonky now and then. Just, thermals don’t have

the power to fry things like that—we tend to melt or freeze, depending.

“Want me to call my mom?” I asked.

He bit his lip some more.

Of course I stared, fascinated. My whole thing with loving his mouth hadn’t

gotten any better since that first meeting, and he was constantly doing shit like

that. Drove me nuts.

I sighed. “Yes or no?”

He winced.

Ah fuck. “I didn’t—”

He went back to chewing his lip.

I tried again. “You know I understand.”

“No, you don’t. You turn it on and off whenever you want.”

“Everyone’s different. Some people get another spurt in their twenties. It’s

normal. I’ve been trained for it my whole—”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” He sat up straight, looked me in the

eye. “I’m not an idiot, Hansen. Don’t talk to me like I’m five.”

Katey Hawthorne

“Sam, come on—”

But another figure appeared in the hall—Nessa in the bathrobe Sam never

used, her long dark hair a mess. Gorgeous thing that she was. “Hey, guys, can I get

a shower?”

Sam waved her off, in a full-on sulk.

I said, “Let me in there real quick. I gotta go soon.”

Sam shot me a wounded look and went back to his milk.

I got up to hit the bathroom. When I passed Vanessa, she said, “Everyone’s

going to the Pits tonight. You coming?”

She didn’t sound annoyed. Sometimes I got the feeling she was, though I never

let Sam drag me along if it was going to be just the two of them. And yes, he tried,

especially when she threatened him with Let’s Discuss Our Relationship Night. I

said, “If I’m invited.”

She smiled a sleepy morning smile, and I guessed she’d meant it.

I ducked into the bathroom. When I came out, Sam was back in his room with

the door shut, and Nessa was waiting with a towel in her hands.

Coffee was cold again too.

* * *

I almost didn’t go to the Pits that night, but it was two-dollar Honeyed Fox

draughts, and one of the bartenders was a cute college guy who clearly swung my

way, so what the hell. The place was crushed, as usual, but I wove my way to the

back and found Nessa and Sam shoved into a booth with some of the old soccer

team—the ones who hadn’t left Marietta Falls after graduation.

Sam grinned when he saw me, and I suddenly felt like shit all over again. He

waved and scooted closer to Vanessa, making room. I slid in next to him, said my

hellos, and shared his beer until my favorite bartender came.

I still thought of Sam’s crowd by position, mostly because that’s how he’d

introduced them back in the day. Trent was a stopper, known for playing up and

Equilibrium

aggressive and the slide tackling from behind red card. The mean rep on the field

didn’t just stay there, either; he was always looking around like he expected

someone to try to get past him, but one of those guys you’re glad is on your side, as

he watched out for his own. Daly played midfield, center to Sam’s outside, and the

two of them used to give each other mad service—hence them racking up more goals

than most strikers. He had the easiest laugh of anyone I’d ever met and always

looked half asleep, which was weird because he could run like the devil. The last

one was a striker called Jarrett, who was the prettiest guy in town; his father had

been a college basketball star until he hurt himself somehow, and his mother was

some Spanish supermodel. He had his mother’s cheekbones and his father’s build.

I wasn’t into him or anything, but eye candy is eye candy.

Vanessa and Trent got up to play darts, and we watched that for a while.

Hilarious because Trent threw the things like it was an assassination attempt, and

Vanessa lofted them easily—and kicked his ass. Eventually Sam dragged me to the

jukebox. I thought he just wanted my advice—the guy didn’t own anything but

Johnny Cash and techno, and no, I can’t explain that combination to this day—but

when we got to the box, he put an arm over my shoulders and said into my ear,

“Sorry about this morning.”

I stood hunched under his arm awkwardly for a second before I finally put

mine around him in return, behind his back and bent at the elbow, so my hand was

on his near shoulder. He loved soft T-shirts, which didn’t do much to save me from

feeling the smooth, tight motion of his delt when he adjusted his stance. “My fault,”

I said. “Game theory paper’s making me into an even bigger prick than usual.”

“Pfft. I’m just a little…stressed.”

“I called Mom. She says she’ll come down Monday night.”

He squeezed me and turned his eyes on the flashing jukebox, but he wasn’t

looking at it so much as through it. “Shit, if it weren’t for you guys—”

“Forget it. You okay?”

Katey Hawthorne

“Yeah. Just—Like, you ever date someone for a while, and then realize you

don’t…like them the way you thought you did?”

Whoa. Missed a left turn at Albuquerque there, buddy. “Uh…”

“Like, Nessa’s great. But I don’t know. Not much there now that the hormones

have burned out on it.” He let go of me and started pushing buttons on the box,

flipping the pages of CDs on the inside one after the other.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Sam?”

He snorted. “She’s hot, but whatever. And she’s definitely not interested

anymore, but girls never care about that shit. She thinks she knows me”—he rolled

his eyes—“so we have some connection.”

“So, connection, but no sex. You’re in the friend zone…with your girlfriend?”

Served the bastard right, but I bit my lip before I could say anything else. Took a

step away while I was at it.

“But what I’m saying is that I don’t even care. This morning, she—”

A bright blue flash—his fingers lit up, clothed in tiny leaping strings of white-

hot lightning. It raced to his fingertips all at once and arced to the jukebox, like he

was shooting it on purpose, like he’d practiced and refined it to an art form.

There was a mad electrical pop, audible even over the buzz and music, and the

thing burst into flames. I didn’t even think; my body just reacted—I shoved my

hand into the fire, sensing the vibrations and focusing hard. It was hot, yeah, but I

could do hot so long as I was ready for it—it’s hard to burn a thermal manipulator

alive without a chemical additive. Lucky for me I hadn’t had enough beer to dull my

abilities. A lifetime of training rushed at me, the old tactic Mom had drilled into me

back in my Little League days. I visualized the vibrating atoms in the air and

plastic like tiny baseballs, but instead of trying to knock them out of the park—

adding more energy, as was my natural instinct, no metaphor required—it was like

bunting, removing the energy, slowing them down. I can’t get things actually cool to

the touch, but I can work within a certain heat range, enough to stifle some of it

before the flame got too far.

Equilibrium

My head swam with the exertion, since reversal is hard as hell unless you’re a

real badass, but I stayed on my feet. I looked to Sam finally. He was frozen, dark

eyes wide and horrified, mouth open.

“Sam.” Unthinking, I put a hand—the one that had just been in the fire—on

his arm. It was still hot enough that he jumped and looked down in surprise, but

not enough that he pulled away.

It woke him out of his stupor, though. “Shit. What the shit was that?”

“It’s okay.” I hoped it sounded more confident than it felt. I’d had no idea he

could arc like that. Uncle Kristoff could do it, but that was what his looked like after

forty years of practice. Uncle Neil—well, Mom said he used to do it naturally.

Wasn’t what had gotten him killed, not directly. But close enough, seeing as

we were in a public place. I hoped to Christ no one had seen, but first things first.

“Don’t worry about it. Just an accident.”

He shook his head so his hair flopped into his eyes. His arm tensed, his entire

body pulling in on itself.

I moved closer, both hands on his shoulders and using my best serene voice.

“Sammy, calm down, okay? Just relax. They’ll just think it was an electrical fire.”

“It was a fucking—”

Movement caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I looked to our

right, away from the box.

Vanessa and Trent were there, watching. Nessa’s eyes were wide, her face

pale. Trent looked confused and angry, but that was his normal state of being, and I

was almost sure he was tanked.

Sam had seen them too. Must’ve been why he cut himself off.

Nessa kind of shook herself and came to us. “You okay, Sam?”

He shook his head but said, “Yeah. Yeah, fine.”

I let him go and tried to step back, but he grabbed my arm and held me there.

“That looked…kind of scary,” Nessa said.

Katey Hawthorne

Trent ambled up behind her, eyeing the jukebox with extreme suspicion. Then

eyeing me, and I didn’t like the way his mouth twisted up—though, again, not

really extraordinary for Trent.

But Sam was looking at me too, and the panic in his eyes took precedence. If

he was flipping arcs when he was calm, what the hell would happen when he

panicked?

“Yeah, crazy fucking jukebox exploded. Almost killed him,” I said. “Dude, you

wanna get out of this death trap? Go home, relax?”

“Yeah. Good idea. Look, Ness, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded dumbly, and I felt her eyes on us the whole time we were making

our way out.

Please, please don’t let them have seen.

* * *

“What the fuck!” he said the minute we were outside.

“Okay, seriously, you have to calm down,” I said.

“Easy for you to fucking say. You didn’t almost blow up a bar full of people.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“What if you hadn’t been there? Someone could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Well, I was there, so let’s just—”

“What, I’m supposed to cart you around as my own personal fire-safety guy?”

On the one hand, this was some melodrama. On the other, I would’ve been

melodramatic in the circumstances too. All I could think to say was, “Well, I come

cheap.”

He stopped walking, stared at me for a long minute. And then burst out

laughing. “You’re a fucker, Hansen. You know that?”

I shrugged. “That costs you more.”

Equilibrium

He threw his arm over my shoulders, pulled me hard against his side, and

started toward our apartment. His face went serious again, but it had worked—he

wasn’t panicking anymore. The night was cool, midspring, and even in the middle of

town, the crickets were loud.

Good time and place for a nice, soothing pep talk. “The thing is to stay calm.

When awakened people panic, bad things happen. That’s the first thing my parents

taught me. Were you pissed off when you were telling me about Nessa?”

“I’d have to care to be pissed off. Or at least think she cared.”

“That what happened with the microwave too?”

He bit his lip.

Dammit. He could’ve told me he was arcing. I’d thought he was just sparking

and shorting things out, like he used to. “I’ll call Mom again. She’ll probably come

tomorrow.”

He squeezed me hard, and I was momentarily buried in the smell of his

laundry detergent and sweat.

Again, not complaining.

“Shit, man. Even when I almost cause a natural fucking disaster, you calm me

down. The fuck do you do that?”

By knowing every in and out of your ridiculous little brain, Sammy.

But all I said was, “Told you, I come cheap.”

* * *

We watched A Clockwork Orange in silence, drinking beer and eating junk

food. Jiffy Pop—popped it with my hand since the microwave wasn’t exactly in

service, which always cracked him up. We also demolished the last of my

gingersnaps. They hardly ever made the vegan kind at the bakery down the street,

so I usually had to settle for peanut butter or no-bakes, but gingersnaps, man.

Nothing like them in the world.

Katey Hawthorne

About halfway through the movie and junk food, he was slumped down into

the couch like he’d never get out of it again, melded to the cushions. His long legs

sprawled out in front of him, taking up three times as much space a guy his size

should’ve, one bare foot on the cluttered coffee table, the other hanging out

somewhere below, one hand permanently in the popcorn, the other propping up his

shaggy head against the arm.

Normal-like. I hadn’t realized how tense I was until I finally saw him relaxed.

I pulled my legs up under me and started to get comfortable at last.

Suddenly he said, “Maybe I do need to get laid.”

I looked up. “What?”

“Maybe I’m frustrated and it’s giving me control issues. I mean, since Nessa

and I aren’t really—”

“Right. Got more information on the subject than I want already, thanks.”

He flipped me off. “Can’t all be monks and philosophers, Hansen. Us lowly

mortals need love.”

I made a face. “Is this another of your weird vegan myths?”

“When was your last date?”

Only then did I realize I’d just stepped in it. “Not a lot of options in this town.”

“Gimme a break. There’s a whole university.”

“Nash Equilibrium’s a cast-iron bitch.”

He stared.

“Sorry. Nerd moment.”

“Yeah.” He grinned and turned to face me, shoving more popcorn into his

mouth. “So explain, smart guy.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no point—he knew I couldn’t resist. “You see A

Beautiful Mind?”

“No.”

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“Well, they kinda fucked it up anyhow. The idea is that everyone has a

strategy to achieve a certain goal. In the movie, he’s in a bar with a bunch of guys,

and there are a bunch of women nearby. One of them is super hot; the others are

average. If all the guys go after the super-hot woman, then most of them will end up

with nothing—no woman would want to be their second choice. But if they all know

the strategies of the others, it becomes obvious that it’d be smarter for the guys,

who don’t have any immediate advantage over each other, to hit on the average

women instead. That way they score, even if it’s not the hottest woman. They all

end up with something.”

“Okay. But what if the women aren’t interested?”

“Yeah, Nash was kind of a dick, so the movie doesn’t really go there. Anyhow,

that’d get into the whole series thing; it’s beyond the scope of the example. The

point is that when everyone’s strategies are in a place where it doesn’t benefit

anyone to change them, you have equilibrium. And if you think about it, most

relationships happen that way. You bet on the horse most likely to win for you, not

necessarily the one you really want to bet on at first.”

He furrowed his brow, but not out of confusion. “So how is doing nothing even

a strategy?”

“Well, that’s what I mean. If I wanted to, I’d have to go for someone likely to go

for me. All relationships are in Nash Equilibrium, really—good or bad, people stay

in them because it’s the best option available to both of them. Risk vs. reward sucks

on any move they could make. They keep what they have because otherwise they

lose everything. But I can’t be bothered to live like that. It’s not even game theory;

it’s just…no game.”

He laughed. “You got game. Rhonda was all over you last…what, Saturday?”

“Like I say, I’m not about letting the equilibrium dictate taste.”

“She’s cute.”

“Super cute. And hey, after this conversation, let’s do each other’s hair and

paint our fingernails.”

Katey Hawthorne

“You into someone else?”

My heart convulsed unpleasantly. “Uh, no.”

“Who is it? Come on, even if you’re a snob, you could still get laid. You’re either

dead, a monk, or your hand is worn to shit; I’ve known you forever, and you never,

ever date.”

I tried not to smile but failed.

“Okay, fine.” He blew upward so his bangs flew out of his face. “Pretend for a

second that you have sinful thoughts like the rest of us. You don’t think there’s

something to this frustration theory?”

“No.” I paused, thinking of those all-too-recent teenage years of misery—not to

mention chasing away the current crop of really, really sinful thoughts. Hell, I kind

of felt like I was going to burn myself down right then. “Well, maybe. But even if

you’re getting another power surge, it’s not going to be like puberty all over again.

Your body’s, er, grown up already, so it can’t be that bad.

“Plus, implying causality is always a bad idea. Hate to break your heart, but

just because you think the world revolves around your dick doesn’t mean it actually

does.”

“Try telling him that.” He helpfully indicated the object in question with both

hands.

I tried not to look, but what can you do? It was a great cock too, at least eight

inches when it was up, and that was just what I could tell from—“Did you just say

‘him’?”

He practically cackled.

I feigned disgust—not hard, since I was already grimacing. “Change the

subject, or I’ll have to kill you. Mrs. Pendergast is old, but I think she’d notice a

fresh grave out back next time she’s watering her daisies.”

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More cackling, but hell, I didn’t even mind. I couldn’t help remembering that

look of shock and fear and guilt he’d worn just a few hours ago, and be grateful for

anything else. Even if it was just him screwing with me.

I’m a nice guy that way.

* * *

Mom agreed to come Sunday night instead when she heard what happened.

Her voice got all tight, like it did when she thought I was starving or working too

hard, or when my brain first awakened and we figured out I could use fire like Dad.

Her family had the electricity buffs in it, though mom was a sort of more badass

thermal manipulator, herself. She could amp the molecular vibrations and then

instantly reduce them again, both hot and cold. We tend to think of it like being

ambidextrous, but it’s more like bunting and hitting a homer at the same time.

Before awakened scientists finally got a basic grip on how it worked about a decade

ago, it looked like people like Mom just went around breaking the laws of

thermodynamics at will. As it is, it makes materials super brittle, like superheating

something and then dunking it into liquid nitrogen; I’ve seen her shatter solid steel

like crystal just by touching it.

Yeah, my mom’s a little scary. In an awesome way.

I was coming out to clean up the living room in honor of her impending visit

when I realized Nessa was there. And she sounded pissed.

“I don’t know what it was, but I saw something.”

My heart sank into my feet. We’d avoided the subject last night—or I’d avoided

it and he’d let me, but I’d known he didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t handle it

just then.

And neither could I, in truth. The last person I knew who’d been found out…

Yeah. Uncle Neil. I was four years old at the time, but I still remembered the way

he used to fill up a room with his laugh.

Katey Hawthorne

Not that Vanessa was capable of vigilante witch-hunt killings. Just that…

Jesus. Worst nightmare.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must’ve—”

“It was all over your skin, Sam. I saw it, so don’t fuck with me.”

“You were drunk.”

“I had one beer.”

I knew I should turn around and go back into my room, but my legs were

frozen. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, listening to the heavy silence

and trying not to breathe too loud. I knew what he’d look like now, his huge brown

eyes all scared and sad. It made my heart hurt, so I was glad I couldn’t actually see.

“This isn’t working,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

“When’s the last time you actually wanted to fuck me, Ness?”

“That’s not what this—”

“Seriously. Do you even think about it anymore?”

A pause. “Do you?”

“Yeah. But mostly that it’d be easier not to bother. That pretty much makes us

just friends, if anything, yeah?”

Pissed again, and who could blame her? “You’re being a dick because you don’t

want to answer me. What the hell happened to—”

“Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

“How can I forget that? It jumped out of you, and Hansen put his hand right

into that fire like a crazy goddamn—”

He lowered his voice, but I could still hear it, near as I was. “Not another

fucking word about Hansen. Say whatever you want about me, but leave him out of

it.”

“Sam, I’m just—”

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“You’re scared. And I get it, Nessa; I really do, but I can’t handle it. So…let’s

just use it as an excuse to forget the whole thing.” She started to speak, but he cut

her off. “I don’t mean the other night. I mean the whole thing. You and me.”

If she was angry before, she was seething now. Something crept into her voice,

like vitriol in audio form. “How dare you? How fucking dare you, when I’m trying

to—”

“Forget it.” There was something dead and final about it that time.

“Fuck you, Sam. You fucking freak.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

Footsteps, the door opening and then banging shut.

And this is why we shouldn’t date sleepers.

I pushed off the wall, finally trying to drag myself back to my room. Praying to

God that she wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d seen. Odds were she wouldn’t, and

unless she told the right person, they’d never believe—

But there was a loud bang, a crash, and a heart-wrenching electrical pop from

the living room.

I backtracked. When I stumbled in, there was Sam, head hanging, standing in

front of our ancient CRT TV. Or what was left of it. The screen had shattered at his

feet, and a tiny flame flickered inside it, the smell of burning plastic and hot metal

heavy all the way across the room.

If it had been me, I would’ve cracked some awkward joke about how we

should’ve put a Faraday cage around the TV too. But it was him. And all I could

think to say was, “Jesus, Sam.”

He looked up, but his eyes were a little misty, so I shut my mouth. I put out

the fire as fast as I could, and he never moved except to turn his head to watch me,

looking pretty wretched in general. It made me even sicker than I thought it would

to see him like that. “Shit. I’m—I’m so sorry, man,” was all I could say when I got

back to my feet.

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He sniffled and looked away, trying to hide behind his hair. “Sorry about the

TV.”

“Wanted to melt the thing for years.” I shook out my hand while it cooled

down.

He looked up. His shoulders were all curved inward, caving in his broad chest.

His eyes had dark rings under them. He looked like someone had kicked his ass and

left him for dead.

I swallowed hard. “You want a hug or something?”

He barked out a laugh and bear-hugged me so fast I hardly had time to react.

At first I didn’t really think about it, just sort of patted his back and let him put his

head on my shoulder, which was weird since he had an inch or two on me. Then I

realized that sticky feeling wasn’t just sweat—he was crying on me. Not sobbing,

but his eyes were definitely leaking.

I’d seen him break his wrist on the field junior year. He hadn’t even cried then.

But we’d been standing there long enough that it was hard not to notice that

this wasn’t a man-hug—there was no careful separation of crotch areas, no holding

your ass out or keeping a certain distance so you didn’t have to feel each other

breathing. His breath was hot on my neck, and his stomach was tight against mine.

His arms—Jesus, he was strong—held me close.

Shit. Possibly my best friend in the world, crying because his girlfriend—ex-

girlfriend—had just called him a freak, the one thing she could’ve said to destroy

him completely, and here I was getting excited.

I was officially the scum of the earth.

“She said…”

I patted his back again. “I heard. Sorry. I was in the hall.”

He sniffled.

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“She didn’t mean it. She didn’t know what she was saying.” I hated her for it,

but fair was fair. It wasn’t their fault—sleepers all reacted like that. That was why

we kept them from finding out.

He picked his head up, untangling one arm from around me to swipe at his

eyes with the back of his hand. Not much damage, but his face was bright pink.

I wondered if I should back away. I wanted to, because god knew when my

traitorous prick would make itself too obvious for him not to feel it. Any second now.

But he still held on to me, his other hand clutching at my shirt. “I’m so fucking

lame.”

“Yeah, look who you’re talking to. I use game theory to excuse my lack of a love

life.”

He laughed, halfhearted but genuine, and put his arm around me again. I

thought that’d be the end of it, another quick hug and out, but instead he put his

forehead against mine and took a deep breath. We were just barely touching,

hanging on to each other. Him breathing on my lips.

I closed my eyes. My heart thudded, deafening in my own ears. I was sure he’d

hear it, feel it. I tried to think of anything, everything except the moment I was in,

but there was no room for anything else in my world.

“I’d be dead without you,” he said.

“Don’t say that shit.” I pulled back out of pure shock, opening my eyes again.

He put a hand on either side of my face and held me there. He looked at me,

really looked hard at me, just held me like that for a second that wouldn’t end.

I had a couple of wild, warring impulses right about then. Shove him away.

Kiss him.

Either would’ve fucked me, so I just stood there, staring, aching.

“You saved my life.”

“It was just an accident—”

“Not last night. The toaster in the cafeteria. You remember?”

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I tried to nod, but he held me fast.

He put his forehead back on mine, moved closer.

I winced, burning with mortification. He had to feel it, my cock growing heavy

against my fly, into the right leg of my jeans. Hard to miss when we were so close.

“I was so scared.”

“I know, but—”

“Even when things fuck up now, I never stay scared.”

I put my hands on his forearms and pulled him off me, stepping away. It was

either that or jump him, and—so wrong in so many ways. “You shouldn’t. We’ll fix

everything, okay?”

The look he gave me proved that I had not known everything that went on in

Sam’s ridiculous little brain after all. That he wasn’t exaggerating. That before he’d

known me, he’d really had some awful, awful thoughts.

I wanted to kiss him until he couldn’t think anymore. I could almost imagine

he wanted me to, the way he was looking at me.

But not because he wanted me. I wasn’t going to be that guy, falling for a

straight boy, convincing myself he wanted me until he found some girl he couldn’t

resist, and left. I wasn’t going to break my own heart any more than I had to.

I choked on the words but got them out: “Mom’s coming in a few hours. We

better clean up, huh?”

He hesitated. When I let his hands go, they fell to his sides. I could’ve sworn he

looked disappointed.

I turned away, ostensibly to tidy up the coffee table. Fuck breaking my own

heart—his was already shattered, and I wasn’t going to take advantage of it.

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Chapter Two

Mom gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and breezed right by to Sam. He got a

hug—also quick—and a pat on the cheek. He’d barely managed a “Thanks, Mrs.

Marks” when Mom insisted he sit on the couch and tell her everything.

That sounds like she was being sweet, but my mother isn’t the, er, motherly

kind. She’s pretty businesslike about her affection, which is just another reason to

adore her.

I tried to work on my paper at the table while they talked, since I got the

feeling Sam didn’t want me to leave. Had to give it up after a few minutes, though,

when Mom said, “Maybe you could track down your biological parents. You’re old

enough that the state will tell you.”

I looked up.

Sam was shaking his head. “What’s the difference?”

“They might be helpful with your control issues; power levels are hereditary.

My family has experience with this, but you’ll probably end up more powerful than

any of us that are still around.”

She said it easily because she wasn’t the kind to bottle things up. When Neil

died, she’d let herself be sad. Now she could talk about him, alluding like that or

overtly. But considering the way shit had gone down today with Nessa, it made my

heart skip a few beats.

Sam sighed. “They could be dead for all I know. And…I’d really rather not. I

mean, I’m totally not bitter, but I already have parents. Really don’t need any

more.”

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Mom nodded and smoothed back her hair—blond virtually indistinguishable

from the silver threading through it, a preview of what mine would look like in

twenty or thirty years. “I’m sure we can manage. Let’s try some exercises.”

He set his jaw and agreed, and I tried to go back to my paper. I got about

halfway through but nowhere near where I needed to be, seeing as it was due at

noon the next day.

Didn’t seem all that important at the moment, somehow.

* * *

Mom left us with an expensive bottle of pinot grigio and a promise to do some

research for Sam. I walked her out to the car to get her alone for a second. “I think

his ex saw us at the bar, with the fire. They had a big fight over it earlier.”

“He denied it all?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She nodded. “She’ll forget about it eventually. They always do.”

“This other guy might’ve seen too.”

“Deny, deny, deny.”

“You don’t think it’s a big deal?” I tried to make the words weighty so I didn’t

have to be explicit.

“Hansen, the odds of either of these kids being witch hunters are extremely

slim. Neil was in over his head, and he knew it at the time.” She kissed my cheek.

“Don’t worry, hon.”

If Mom could suck it up like that, I sure as hell could.

She opened her car door and ducked inside. “Get him to take a week off work

and come up to the lake. We’ll be in Charleston for the next few days, but anytime

after that. Grandma can help. She worked with Neil when he got his second spurt.”

I promised I would, and by the time she pulled out and I got inside, Sam had

already popped the cork out of the bottle and was in the process of pouring two

glasses—screw that whole chilling-first thing. He stuck the rest of it in the fridge.

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“Think you’re supposed to let it breathe.”

He handed me a glass over the counter. “It can breathe in the glass. Cheers.”

I clinked with him and took a sip. And had to admit that if I had to drink this

Mom crap, she’d picked a pretty good one.

Be better cold, though.

“I need this,” he said. “I need, like, three bottles of it. She wore me out.”

“It’s what she does.” And I told him what she’d said about coming up to the

lake.

“I’d love to get out of that fucking office for a week. Got the vacation days for it

too. Maybe next month?”

“Whenever. She works from home, so it’s no big deal. They only hit the city

when Dad can’t avoid it.”

“You’re coming, right?”

“Uh, I could probably get out of class for a week. If you want.”

“I’m not spending a week with the superpowered ladies alone, man, no matter

how cool they are.” He took a thoughtful sip. “Think she was annoyed that I didn’t

want to look up my bio parents?”

“Nah, she just always looks annoyed.”

“You think I’m being dumb?”

I shook my head. “You have a family; you love them. Why fuck with a perfect

thing?”

“Exactly. I don’t care whose genes I have, and I don’t want Mom and Dad to

think I do. That was part of why I was so fucked up before.” He gestured with his

glass, which somehow managed to allude to that nebulous time before our

friendship. “I couldn’t take it if they found out.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I took another drink to think it over. I’d only met

them for big games or on moving day, but Sam talked about them all the time.

Seemed like down-to-earth, loving parent types. And they couldn’t be all bad if

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they’d ended up raising a kid like him. Finally I came up with the brilliant, “I’m

sure they’d be cool.”

“But it’d have to mess with their heads.” A pause, another drink. “And they

probably wouldn’t, but part of me thinks…you know. They’d regret it. Me.”

“They wouldn’t.” How could anyone in their right mind regret you? “People

have kids that are different from them all the time—biological or not.”

“Yeah. Some people regret that too.”

“But then, they’re just dickheads either way. Same responsibility however you

get the kid, right?”

He smiled and took another drink. “See, you’re rational, Hansen. That’s why

you calm me the fuck down. Rational and way too nice for your own good.”

I took a drink to hide my flush.

“But that was what I thought when it happened at first. That they’d be sorry.

That’s part of why I was so fucked up, apart from the freak self-loathing.”

“Any kid would think that stuff if they weren’t ready for it.” And in truth, that

was why I doubted Sam had living bio parents at all. No awakened would leave

their kid in the hands of the state, knowing what’d happen when they got to the

teenage years and woke up themselves, stuck in some sleeper family.

He finished off his glass and retrieved the wine again. While pouring us both

more, even though I hadn’t finished, he said, “Guess it’d be wrong to drop in an ice

cube, huh?”

“You’re a sick bastard, Sammy.”

He grinned, the pink tip of his tongue poking through his teeth.

“Really, really sick.”

* * *

We moved on to cheap beer after we finished the wine, nestled into our

respective couch corners and not paying attention to Barry Lyndon on the tiny-ass

TV we’d imported from my room.

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He had the whole Kubrick collection, is the thing. Clockwork Orange was his

favorite, yeah, but I liked Barry Lyndon.

He wandered out to piss and stopped by the fridge on his way back. He handed

me a beer and threw himself at the couch—but not on his side. Right next to me. As

in, his thigh was touching mine.

I grinned and popped open my beer. I wasn’t reading into it; he was an

affectionate drunk. I never met anyone who wasn’t, including me.

Once again, not complaining. Way better than finishing some stupid paper,

right?

“Level with me,” he said.

“Right. Level.”

“Who is it?”

“Who is…?”

“It’s a guy, right?”

I nearly choked on my beer.

“You’re not a monk. You’re totally into dudes. I knew it.”

I finally swallowed, my face blazing, but somehow I was laughing. “What?”

“That guy last year, that friend of yours you just stopped talking to—”

I grimaced. “Justin.”

“You were fucking him. I totally knew it, but you never said anything.”

I did realize it was a good thing I was drunk too, or I would’ve been incredibly

paranoid just then. It wasn’t that I’d actively hidden it from him… Well, okay, I

had, but there had never been all that much to hide, and it wasn’t like I’d outright

lied.

Fuck it, anyhow. “Yeah.”

He cackled and chugged about half of his beer.

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“He wasn’t very good, either,” I admitted. “How the hell do you make a blowjob

boring?”

More cackling, and he smacked me on the thigh. “Holy shit, I figured it out!”

“Only took you—what? Four years, I’ve known you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a fuckbox of dumb.”

“You have your moments.”

“That why you don’t like me?”

I nearly choked again. “You’re, like, my best friend!”

He shot me a sideways look.

My cheeks just about caught fire. I was not drunk enough to start down that

path. Wasn’t sure I ever could be. I backtracked. “You are kind of dumb, though.

You just figured this out?”

“Just today for sure.”

“How?”

“You didn’t want to hug me.”

I paused. “But I offered.”

“You were uncomfortable.”

“I was not. Well, a little, but a straight guy would’ve been more

uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, but a straight guy wouldn’t hug like that.”

“But you said that’s how you—”

“You didn’t want to kiss me.”

My mouth snapped shut.

“Look, I’m just saying, you were thinking about it; I was thinking about it—”

So, right, there was Sam’s limit, half a bottle of wine and a six-pack. Got it.

“Sam, I love you, man. You know that. But you’re fucked up. You’re drunk and

brokenhearted, and we should really not talk about this right now.”

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He thought about this, little concentration lines appearing on his forehead.

I had to laugh.

“I wouldn’t have been brave enough to say it if I wasn’t drunk. And I wanted to

say it. So yeah, we should.”

“Broken heart.”

“Not from Nessa. Just…in general. It’s different.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“So, I imagined that weird moment we had this afternoon. Nothing to do with

us, maybe, like, being kinda hot for each other.”

I took another drink. This was not happening. Could not fucking be happening.

He put down his beer, then took mine from me and did the same. He turned to

face me.

This was so, so bad, in every possible way. He couldn’t hold it together; I

needed to do it for both of us. I had to. It was my duty as an honest and loyal

friend—

“You know how you always tell me to put some pants on?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I started doing that shit on purpose after the first time. Got me hard that you

even noticed.”

My mouth fell open. Not that it was a special accomplishment to get him hard,

but—

“That’s why I fuck with you all the time too. Like, that started ages ago, but I

didn’t really think about why until we moved in.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward. “I thought you were just squirming because you

were embarrassed. But, dude, today…”

So, so busted. I knew he’d felt it. I knew it. I closed my eyes.

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“Jesus, Hansen, I get it now.”

He put his hand on my face, and I sighed, leaned into it, and practically purred

it felt so good.

“Come on. Just kiss me.”

I opened my eyes. “This is not fair.”

He paused, his face just inches from mine. He narrowed his dark eyes. His

chest rose and fell, pressed against my arm tight. Fuck, the smell of him was

unbelievable—my head was spinning with it. I said, “Not fair to you.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” He grinned.

I’d probably known it was over long before that, but that was the moment I

gave up.

I leaned forward and kissed him, and all I could think of was that first moment

with the exploded toaster and how I thought he’d taste like strawberries. He

didn’t—it was alcohol and spit, and it was fucking great. He pushed in on me with

his whole body, pinning me to the arm of the couch and parting his lips, licking the

back of my teeth and the roof of my mouth, sucking on my tongue. His hand slipped

under my T-shirt, palm flat and warm against my stomach, and I tangled one hand

in the hair at his nape. It was silky and knotted and gorgeous between my fingers.

Four years. Four fucking years wondering what it would be like, and here it

was, and I’d never even come close to imagining it right. I wanted it all right then,

in that exact moment, but I wanted it to slow down so I could enjoy it, feel it, revel

in it forever.

So it never had to end, and end badly, like I already knew it would.

He pushed my shirt up and started tugging at it, making a sort of impatient

sound into my mouth.

I somehow interpreted this as “take your shirt off,” so I did, and he did, and

this time he buried me under him completely. We stretched out slowly, unrolling to

cover the couch and tangling up in each other’s legs, pressing our stomachs and hips

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into each other and trying to be covert about rubbing off. His erection pushed next

to mine, and every time I got a thrill from this sly game of ours, I knew he felt it

too—sometimes he growled deep in his throat to prove it.

He situated one of his hard, sculpted thighs between mine, let his weight bear

down on me. I slipped my hand into the back of his pants, under those shorts of his

that had driven me crazy for so long, grabbed his ass like I could pull it closer. His

cock swelled; I felt it move against me when I did it. He pulled his mouth off mine

and attached it to my neck, sucking and working me over with his tongue. He hit

the spot where my neck met my shoulder, the dip in my collarbone, and I almost

growled, grinding up into his thigh to intensify the jolt of heat that tore through me.

I could do things with him, things I could never do with anyone else. He was

awakened. I could use my hands, my heat, to make him feel the most incredible—

His teeth scraped at my neck, biting just enough to hurt a little. The thrill tore

through me again, ending in my cock—a faint wetness in my shorts, not the end,

but begging for it. I ran my other hand down the long line of his back, then dug my

nails in.

“Mmm, fuck.” He sighed into my neck.

I hadn’t really thought about it; I hadn’t expected him to like it or dislike it.

But Christ, he liked it, and his ass was muscled enough just to be dented on the

sides, and fuck, man, soccer truly was the beautiful game—

He lifted himself up with one arm and went straight for my fly with the other

hand, tearing at the button and unzipping me. It was the only thing that would’ve

gotten my hand out of his shorts: undoing them. He wedged himself between me

and the back of the couch so we could wriggle out of our pants, and we kicked them

off and came back together on our sides. I couldn’t resist—I kept one hand between

us and felt him up through his shorts, down his eager cock to the wet spot at its fat

head, then back down again. Way to not disappoint expectations, Sam.

He bit at my neck again, then my ear.

Yeah. Vanessa Mansfield was an idiot. It was official.

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I tugged at his shorts until they were down over his ass. His dick stood

straight, the head pressing into my stomach. I cupped his balls, heavy and hot and

pulled up tight—unh, my mouth watered for him. He pushed against me, trapping

my hand between us, then gasped and pulled back. When I felt him up again, he

was leaking.

I wanted to warm my hands up, to run them all over him, to drive him fucking

crazy before I got down to it. But I didn’t have any control; I just wanted to give him

what he needed. I wrapped my hand around him and started jerking him off slow—

at an awkward angle, but the way he groaned into me told me it didn’t matter. He

pulled his mouth off me and gasped for air and licked his swollen lips, panting.

That fucking mouth. It was wrong that he should do this to me. It was wrong

that I should feel like this and know it would be the death of me. But all that

mattered was his erection getting hotter and fatter in my hand, his slim hips

pushing up and into it, trying to fuck something that wasn’t there.

He buried his face in my neck again and bit at me just before it happened. I

could feel his cock changing, tightening, getting ready. The thrusting of his hips

becoming frantic, insensible, his tongue hot and wet against my neck, forgetting

what it was doing there.

He came in my hand, a warm and sticky rush against my stomach, fingers

digging into my ass.

A few seconds later, he said, “Fuck,” again.

I rolled over onto my back, shorts around my thighs, cock standing up

desperately. He was all over me, clear-white stickiness in the pale trail below my

navel. I still wasn’t thinking—I was buzzing on alcohol and him and no blood to the

brain. I ran my fingers through the mess, collected some, and brought it back up to

my mouth to taste.

Fuck, I could do with more of that.

He just watched, mouth open, still breathing hard with his shorts half down.

I closed my eyes and smiled, fingers still in my mouth.

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He dragged his fingers over my belly where the mess was thickest, like he

didn’t recognize his own sex. I took his hand, guided it to my mouth, and sucked

him in. I started the tip of my tongue at that sensitive spot between the fingers,

pushing it between his first and second, then second and third, licking off the sticky

leftovers. Then I curved my tongue around and ran it up, up, toward the

hypersensitive fingertips, sliding his fingers out of my mouth as I went.

He readjusted so he could take my dick in his free hand, sighing something

that sounded like my name. But what was the difference? A few good jerks, and I’d

be done for, and nothing else mattered. A few more seconds with him, and it’d be

over, and I’d better fucking enjoy it.

And I did. In that crazy-hot-confused moment, the only thing that could’ve

made me come harder would’ve been him inside me—and I wasn’t sure I would’ve

survived that, because damn, that rocked me.

Guess that’s what four years of waiting for something will do to you, though.

* * *

When I woke, it was because my head teetered on the verge of explosion. I

squeezed my eyes shut tighter against the morning sunshine, feeling my way over

the nappy cushions—couch, I was on the couch, right—and then the blanket.

Blanket. Where the hell had a blanket come from? Wait, we were on the couch.

Wine, beer, Barry Lyndon… Oh god, Sam’s mouth—

“Rise and shine, Hansen.”

I let my eyes flutter open.

Sam was leaning over the back of the couch, looking down on me. His hair

hung wetly all around his face, but he had on a jacket and tie. He grinned. “You got

class this morning?”

I rubbed my eyes and turned my head to see the clock under the substitute

TV—8:30 a.m. Monday morning. “Hell.”

“Thought so.” He laughed. “I’m already late. See you later.”

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I tried to push myself up to sitting, but my head throbbed dangerously. I made

a sound that was supposed to stay internal, but damn.

He laughed again from the front door. “I know, right?”

“Jesus. What did we drink?”

“Everything. But hey.”

I turned my head to look at him, slowly realizing just how perilous the

situation was. He seemed pretty proud of himself, but—

“It was worth it.” He raised one eyebrow, which turned the statement into a

question.

My stomach still felt sticky. He must’ve put the blanket over me sometime

during the night, or maybe when he got up for work. I had underwear on, but that

was it, and I was thirsty as hell.

Yeah, that was—“So fucking worth it.”

He smiled so brightly it almost hurt my hangover head, and he was out the

door.

And I had a paper on Nash Equilibrium due in under four hours.

Yep. Worth it.

* * *

Things were tentative for a few days. I was guilty and a little scared, and I

could tell he didn’t want to push me, so we kind of danced around it. I know he saw

how I looked at him, and I definitely saw how he looked at me. But he had business

dinners, and I had departmental bullshit; he had to work out, and I had to grade

papers; and we managed to keep things pretty cool for a few days. The one evening

we spent together, we mostly worked on the exercises Mom had shown him,

building up the charge around his hands and getting rid of it safely. He was getting

pretty good, and he hadn’t shorted anything out on accident in a while. He’d even

been back to his chipper self most of the time and credited the exercises with that

too.

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The only problem was that he chewed his lip to shit when he did them. And I,

of course, couldn’t help but watch.

He was throwing tiny arcs from hand to hand after we finished, just screwing

around within a safe distance from all major kitchen appliances, when he caught

me at it. Totally not fair because it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when

someone’s shooting cool blue lightning out of their fingers twenty feet away from

you.

Okay, he wasn’t shooting it from his lips. Just saying, it made him even hotter.

He asked, “What?”

I turned my attention to the books I was pretending to organize, thereby

potentially unearthing our dining table. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Something.”

I made a face. “Easy on the English language, Sammy. It’s not much, but it’s

all we have.”

He closed the distance between the kitchen counter and the table in record

time. “Oh. So, like, you weren’t looking at me?”

“What’s up, Narcissus?” But of course I smiled, ruining the act completely. Not

that I was trying that hard, especially now that he was near enough that I could

smell him, that clean detergent scent mixed up with a faint crackle of ozone from

the lightning. My blood heated just from proximity—worse (better) now than it had

been before.

Now that I knew what he tasted like too.

“I was looking at you,” he said.

“No, you weren’t.”

He came closer still, so the table behind me dug into my ass, and there were

about three inches between my front and his. That familiar sensation, the one

where I was in danger of burning myself down, but loving it, raged through me.

He said, “If you’d been looking at my eyes, you woulda noticed—”

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I laughed. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You first.” He tilted his head, and mine tilted to match it, and then we had

our arms around each other and our tongues in each other’s mouths.

For all it happened suddenly, there was something hesitant in it too. I tucked

my fingers into his belt loops, and he used his to brush my hair out of my face, tuck

it behind my ear. He licked at the backs of my teeth, pinned my ass to the table, but

there was something in the tenseness of his shoulders, his belly. Maybe in mine too.

He felt so good, though. So hard and warm, so willing. I pictured all sorts of

things. Hopping up on the table and wrapping my legs around him. Tearing off his

shirt and licking him until he screamed.

You know. As you do.

But that knot of doubt sat heavy in my belly even as my body responded to his.

His hips aligned with mine, his cock swelling against my leg, him twirling my hair

around his finger and smiling, his mouth warm and wet and… Guh. I pulled back,

took a deep breath, and he put his forehead to mine like he had that day.

After he’d had that fight. With his ex-girlfriend.

My stomach flipped over.

“Was starting to think you wouldn’t kiss me again.” He smiled—I heard it in

his voice.

I tugged at his belt loops. “Uh, no chance.”

“You’ve been kind of weird. Like, stressed.”

I sighed and leaned into him; his arm slipped around my waist as if to hold me

up. I said, “Yeah.”

No point denying it. Maybe he knew it was all about him, or maybe he thought

Dr. Ferrara’s course load was finally dragging me down. I didn’t know.

Didn’t really matter just then.

“I got something for that.” He kissed me, quick and close-lipped. “You doing

something right now?”

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“Apart from this?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Even if I had been, I wouldn’t have been able to recall it just then. So, “No.”

“Come watch a movie?”

“Just to be clear, do you mean that in the high school code sense? Like, ‘let’s go

make out on the couch’ movie watching?”

“I’m subtle like a ninja, right?”

“Right.”

We fell into the couch, our legs tangled up, thighs and hips pressed together

strategically in that repressed-desperation way, not so covertly dry humping when

the kisses went especially deep. We kissed until the taste of him seemed to become

my own, though I’d never lose the fascination with the way his lips attached to

mine, the feeling of his clever tongue against my teeth, the warmth of his breath. I

sucked at his tongue, nibbled at his bottom lip, kissed his face, his ear, his neck, his

hair, appreciating, wanting, worshipping. Our hands moved over the clothes, under

the clothes, but either he felt my hesitation to undo his pants, or he felt the same

way; neither of us went there, though we were both hot and hard through our jeans.

I told myself it was weird. The high school code thing had been a joke, but

seriously, what the hell were we doing making out like we were afraid our

parents—or his girlfriend—would walk in and catch us at it?

I don’t know, but I liked it. And when we finally pried ourselves apart to gulp

glasses of water, my lips feeling bruised and his puffy and pink, we both had smiles

on our faces.

* * *

Thursday just before five, he called and asked if I wanted to hit happy hour at

the Pits.

I asked if he was sure.

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He said yeah. He needed to get back on the horse, and he couldn’t do it unless I

was there.

So, of course, I went.

He was already there with Daly and Jarrett when I arrived. Trent was

conspicuously absent, which brought back all the nervousness I’d managed to forget

during the week. I slipped into the booth to a high five from Daly and a stunning

grin from Jarrett, and everything seemed cool.

And then Nessa showed up. She came and leaned on our table, did the cursory

hello thing—well, she smiled at Jarrett, but I never met a straight girl who didn’t

smile at Jarrett—and then, “Sam, can we talk?”

His hand found my thigh under the table.

I tried not to look how I felt, patted his hand, then slid out of his way. When

she pulled him into a corner, I tried not to watch.

“The hell happened there?” Daly asked.

I wondered how much they knew. Had Vanessa said anything that night? Had

Trent really seen as much as she had, or had he been too plastered to know the

difference? In retrospect, it didn’t seem possible that he could miss me sticking my

hand into an electrical fire and coming out okay, but stranger things had happened.

Like me sticking my hand into an electrical fire and coming out okay, for

example.

I said, “They broke up.”

“Permanently?” Jarrett asked, raising an eyebrow.

Not really the reaction I’d been hoping for. There was a dark spiral of never-

ending suck opening up in my stomach, and it didn’t need any help, thanks. “He

seems to think so.”

Enough to make out with me all night on our couch. Repeatedly. Gives a decent

handjob too, by the way.

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Right. Not a helpful thought. I buried it in my beer and engaged in a

conversation on the subject of whether the LA Galaxy were the Yankees of MLS as

soon as possible.

* * *

Daly dropped us off. The second we got inside, Sam threw his jacket at the

closet, tore off his tie, and said, “She just wanted to say she was sorry. You were

right—she didn’t mean it. I mean, she doesn’t know she was right, exactly, but she

didn’t mean to call me that. I said I was sorry too—just for being a total dick about

the whole thing.”

“Oh.” I turned my back, thinking he was more likely to believe I hadn’t been

desperate to know that if he couldn’t see the look on my face. “That’s good.”

“I think she expected me to take it back.”

“What?”

“That it was over.”

I swallowed hard. The way he’d phrased it already told me he had not taken it

back. But I’d spent all that time at the bar wallowing in my own stupidity, laughing

at myself, all my resolutions not to fall for the straight boy, not to take advantage of

his pain, not to fuck myself and him over like this, and here I was—

“I didn’t. I mean, obviously, right?”

I wandered into the kitchen, mostly just so I could turn my back on him.

“Yeah. So, you don’t think she’ll say anything, do you?”

“No. She still thinks she saw something weird, and I’m sure I haven’t heard

the end of that. But she’s cool.”

“Right.”

“Hansen.”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

I did, over the counter.

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He had his shirt halfway unbuttoned, showing the white tank underneath, and

the belt was already out of his pinstripes. He examined me—I mean, looked at me

really, really long and hard. “You’re glad I told her I wasn’t taking it back, right? I

wouldn’t anyhow, but—”

I mean, what could I say but, “Don’t be a jackass.”

He set his jaw and threw his shoulders back. Like he was ready for a fight. I’d

seen him look at defenders across the field like that a hundred times, maybe a

thousand. Weird how easy it was to forget he could be scary when he wanted.

I said. “Don’t get pissed. Just—I’m glad. Yeah.”

His shoulders slumped, and he leaned on the counter, laying his belt on top of

the latest pile of junk mail.

I took the excuse to change the subject. Anything to prolong the pleasure, the

pain of this unspoken arrangement of ours. Stupid, yes, but I was living in fear.

“How’s it feeling today?”

“Crackly,” he admitted. “Sent a little shock into the car this afternoon, but

nothing bad.”

“Lemme see it.”

He pulled off his button-down and put it next to his belt, and I watched with a

lump in my throat. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Once he was bare-armed in his

undershirt, he held his hands out, splayed wide between us. His eyes fixed on them,

narrowed, lashes fluttering. The little strings of lightning started seconds after,

flashing from fingertip to first knuckle, then down and over his large, fine hands.

The hands of an artist or a poet. Maybe that was why he was so utterly

indifferent to his job. Meant for something else entirely, wasn’t he?

“Feels okay,” he said.

I watched the blue-white arcs flash up and down his skin like magical veins.

And maybe they were—maybe this was what he was made of, made for. Maybe our

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minds awoke to whatever was inside us. And maybe Sam was pure electric, just like

this. “It’s beautiful.”

When I raised my eyes, he was smiling at me lopsidedly. “Think so?”

“Can I touch it?”

He winced, and the electricity died down, just one or two strands arcing

around the fingers of each hand. “I don’t know…”

I held out my hands. “Just give it a little juice. Like that.”

He concentrated on it again, held it steady. The two little arcs swirled and

bolted around his fingers like strange fairies.

I touched his right index finger with my left and felt a tiny jolt, almost like a

tickle. It raced over my finger and then back down his and started all over his hand

again.

“Whoa,” I said, the aftermath dancing all through my hand, then down my arm

until it died.

“Did it hurt?”

“No. Felt awesome.”

It hit me again, danced up my finger, then back again. That time I laughed.

He did too and pulled his hands back, letting it all go. The lightning

disappeared. “How’d you know it could do that?”

I eyed him up over the counter, considering.

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Wanna take your shirt off?”

* * *

“It’s called the trapezius, Mr. Athlete.” I concentrated on my hands, let the air

around them, my skin itself, speed up, then ran my thumbs down the long, tight

muscle of his neck, into his shoulders. “And it’s a motherfucker when it gets knotted

up like this.”

Katey Hawthorne

He sighed into the bedspread, and half the tension in him left with it. I sat just

below his fine ass, straddling the backs of his thighs, and pulled downward, heating

my hands up slowly as I went.

He had beautiful skin, clear with a healthy pink undertone that would bake

into an effortless, gorgeous brown in the summer months. Under the increasing

heat it flushed pinker, and the muscles, hardened by years of conditioning, seemed

to melt. I worked that one for a while, until he opened his eyes again. He said,

“Goddamn. I never thought of using it like this.”

“Everything’s been done. Just maybe not by you. Yet.”

He shifted beneath me, a familiar snaking of his hips. “Unh. Hang on.”

I sat up on my knees, grinning. No illusions—we’d both been hard from the

second he’d hopped out of his clothes and right onto his bed.

Pretty obedient, Sam. Who’d have thought?

He adjusted his equipment beneath him and resettled, making a face that

suggested that felt pretty good too. He closed his eyes.

I leaned forward again, maybe a little more than I needed to for the thrill of it.

That ass was right there, and he wasn’t exactly complaining about my rubbing up

on it. Another thing I’d wanted for ages: Sam between my legs. I could be forgiven

for enjoying it, I figured.

“What other tricks you got?” he asked.

I laughed, sinking into the feeling of him again, starting near his neck and

pulling down, down.

“Unnnh.” His hips executed another snaky movement.

“Well, guess I can make you fuck the bed, for one.”

“You got a better idea?”

I had this incredible urge to smack his ass but somehow restrained myself.

Instead I let the heat fade a little, slowed the vibrations, and nudged his shoulder

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until he flipped over. He was already unbuttoning my pants before I settled back

down, so I got off him and undressed.

He watched. I looked over my shoulder and caught him staring, but not at my

face. If I hadn’t been desperate for him, I probably would’ve been embarrassed, but

instead I just wanted to eat his face off. So I crawled back on top of him and started

in on that idea, keeping my hands just warm enough that it’d heighten the feeling of

them against his skin. At first I kept my ass above his hips, drinking in the taste of

his mouth, playing with his tongue. His hands were all over me—my legs, my

crotch, my chest, my hair. When he got to my ass, he shoved my shorts upward and

put his hands underneath them, lingered there like he’d found what he wanted. I

felt his shoulders and chest all over, making him squirm, then moved one hand

down to his hard pink nipple. I pinched and held it there between warm fingers.

He groaned into my mouth, hips bucking.

I slid downward, straddling his hips so I could feel his stiff cock between my

legs, then sat down. We panted almost in synch as I snaked my hips forward,

lowering my front onto his. His hands grabbed at my ass again, squeezed, and

pulled me into him so it made me dizzy. I pulled my lips away from his and moved

downward, kissing his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder. All while holding his

nipple between my hot thumb and forefinger, cutting off the blood flow, but gently.

Down and down, until I had my face buried in the pale hair on his chest, my legs

around his upper thighs, him hard against my belly.

I licked the other nipple once, then kissed, sucked at it. His hips bucked into

me, one of his hands now in my hair, the other one clutching at my back. If he’d had

nails, they would’ve been digging in. I pushed into his leg in reply, hummed when

that hot feeling tore through me.

I stopped pinching.

He sighed.

Katey Hawthorne

I licked the abused nipple, closed my lips around it, sucked just hard enough

that the new flush of blood would be sped up. I flicked at it with my tongue, making

the most of the moment of heightened sensation.

He arched his back hard, gasping several inventive swear words and clutching

at me.

Before the flush could end, I slipped my hand between us and rubbed at him

through his shorts—fucking obscene how they were stretched out trying to hold that

cock back. He jerked into my hand, saying, “Ah, fuck, yeah.” His voice rose at the

end, making it a question, or at least a request. There was something sweetly

pleading in it that excited, confused me.

I’d meant to take it slow for real this time, but the appeal was way too

articulate. I moved down farther and yanked his shorts off; he lifted his ass off the

bed to let me, then kicked them away. I crouched between his legs and licked his

flat, hard belly, following the trail of hair below his navel and cupping his balls in

one hand—not much heat now, but still a little for an extra kick. I licked his hip

bone, followed the downward angle of it until it got too close, then did the other one.

Shame I couldn’t heat my tongue up. I’d heard it was possible, but I just didn’t

have the chops for it.

Guess everyone needs goals, though.

Then I slipped down farther still and licked the head of his raging erection

clean.

He growled when I hit the spot just under it, then ran my tongue back up to

the tip. I stopped, let it rest against my cheek, my hair while I went down. Then I

wrapped my hand around it and licked his balls, taking one in my mouth, then the

other. I was considering slipping down lower, but he bucked hard into my hand, and

the sound he made—shit, I didn’t think he had much left in him.

I kept a hand on his sac, rubbing the spit all over him, then back toward his

asshole—never quite at it—and finally put him in my mouth. I choked on it, got it

wet, used both hands, played with him, worked it over like I’d never worked a cock

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in my life. He spread his legs and just let me go, breathing hard, sometimes jerking

into my mouth when he couldn’t help it.

Didn’t take long. He came down my throat, saying, “Ah, fuck me,” and some

other words that didn’t really exist. He shot a lot off, and I swallowed it all like I

was fucking starving. I almost came in my shorts just tasting him, listening to him,

and, honestly, fucking the bed a little.

When I finished, I threw myself down beside him, feeling pretty goddamn

proud. I expected he’d want a second to catch his breath, and hell, for all I knew he

wasn’t even interested in returning the favor in the same way—not that it’d take

much.

He attacked me, pinning me to the bed and kissing me long and hard, getting a

good taste of himself on my tongue before he finally pulled back and sucked in air

again. “Can I try?”

“Sam, that is officially the stupidest question ever.”

He kissed me again, and I bit down lightly on his sweet bottom lip. He

hummed deep in his chest and pulled at my shorts with one hand, sitting up on the

other elbow. “Will you help?”

I was too busy wriggling out of my underwear to understand. “Help?”

His lips were still near to mine, his breath warm against them. “Tell me what

you like and—You know. Stuff. How to.”

I smiled and kissed him while I kicked those goddamn shorts off at last. His

hand strayed from my thigh until it flattened at my hip, as if to hold me in position.

I couldn’t help rolling against him, pressing my cock into the long flat of his belly,

the lingering stickiness of my spit between his legs, the feeling of him lazy and half

deflated against my leg. When that kiss ended in another bite from me and another

sigh from Sam, I said, “It’s not rocket science. You just kind of…do what you’d

want.”

Katey Hawthorne

He brought his hand up to brush long strands of hair from my cheek, his chest

rising and falling slowly against me. His big brown eyes might’ve been liquid. “I

want to do what you want.”

Even through the haze of sex and sweat and hunger, a certain stuttering of my

heart was evident. I nudged his shoulder until he moved off, resting completely on

his elbow, and took his hand from my face. I placed it, palm flat, just above my

navel.

He spread his fingers wide, watching openmouthed. Waiting.

“Let me feel it again,” I said.

He swallowed visibly, attention still on his hand against my stomach.

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Did it feel good when I did it?”

“Well, yeah. But…” He caught my gaze again. “It’s different.”

I grinned. “That’s the idea.”

The battle played out behind his eyes, might as well have been written on the

wall behind him. He looked so tormented, I almost gave in and said he didn’t have

to, but he finally asked, “You really want me to?”

I nodded.

He pressed his hot hand into me, and my skin buzzed to life, a prickling static

charge that stood my arm hair on end. My nipples hardened so that it almost hurt;

my balls tightened. I wound my fingers tighter in his hair and pulled him down for

another kiss.

I dipped my tongue into his mouth, sinking into the wetness and the yielding

softness of his lips, arching at the continued charge racing over my skin. His kiss

was hesitant, barely there, but it was enough. When it ended, I was panting. He let

the charge die quickly and bit at his lip.

“It’s good, Sam.” Maybe something more articulate would’ve been better.

Something about how what I wanted was him, and that was what he felt like. I

thought about it even as the lingering electric thrill faded from my skin, leaving me

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harder and hotter than ever. But I didn’t have the words to make it acceptable. To

make it safe, for both of us.

His hand slid upward, fingers finding the barely there fringe of pale hair in the

center of my chest. He worried that bottom lip.

I had to say something, but all I had was, “Really fucking good.”

It must’ve sounded believable enough, because one corner of his lips pulled up.

I just had time to see it, to smile in reply, before he buried his face in my neck and

started kissing, sucking at it. He got up on all fours, lips making their way over my

collarbone, and I readjusted beneath him so he fit between my thighs. As his mouth

moved down my chest, his hands were everywhere; though I knew he’d cut the

electricity, I could’ve sworn there was some lingering current in them. They were

hot and careful and curious, tracing the curve of my rib cage and my stiff nipples

and the trail between my navel and my dripping cock. I wanted the electricity,

wanted more of him.

But it’d wait.

When he licked just where my thigh met my crotch, I arched again, gave an

accidental hum of anticipation. He looked up through his bangs, fingers tickling the

inside of my thigh. He cocked his head as if asking a question.

I didn’t know if I wanted to grab him and guide him toward my cock—he was

practically begging for it—or grab him and pull him up for another kiss. I let my

legs fall farther apart and rolled my hips, and it was enough to refocus him. He

opened his mouth—oh god, god, it was fucking gorgeous—and flicked his tongue

over the head.

I propped myself on up my elbows and bit back a groan, not wanting to freak

him out. Christ, even with that little interlude, I was about to go off.

He pulled his legs up under him, readjusted, and wrapped one hand around

me. The kick was massive, but I didn’t have time to react before he started licking

me again, up the shaft and over the head. He cleaned it off like I had done to him

moments ago, and it leaked some more; he moved faster, his hand tightening

Katey Hawthorne

around me, his tongue working, slipping back into his mouth to taste, then

reappearing.

I tried to close my eyes and think unsexy thoughts, bite down hard and bunch

the sheets up in white-knuckled fists. Let him explore, let him get used to it, enjoy

it. While his sense of humor would appreciate an accidental face shot, I’d rather not

go for it the first time.

He kissed me, opening his mouth just enough to suck at the tip. His free hand

cupped my balls, all warm, thumb stroking me gently. I jerked into his hand, pulled

my knees up so they were even farther apart, and moaned for it.

For someone who claimed he needed direction, he could read a sign pretty well.

He opened his mouth and took me in all at once, hand holding me steady at the

base. I gasped at the sudden wet charge as he went down, paused, then back up,

jerky and uncertain.

It felt like heaven, but surely not for him. I managed to say, “Breathe out

when—unh—when you go down.”

He hummed around me, and the vibration made the ceiling start to spin. He

went down farther, burying me in him, then back up, and again, again. My cock

pulsed with the slow motion of his mouth, with his hand guiding me in and out of

him. I stared, panting, even as the edges of my vision went fuzzy and my thighs

started to quiver, as far apart as they could get without him bending me up in some

fantastic position.

Just…that mouth. That goddamn gorgeous mouth. Oh god, Sam, you’re

beautiful. You’re so fucking—

Maybe emulating me again, maybe picking up on that whole “when Hansen

opens up his legs, he wants to get fucked” thing, his fingertips crept backward,

rubbing at my taint. The pulse wasn’t just in my cock now; it rocked everything

between my legs, and my asshole ached for it. I shifted, grinding down on him until

his finger found the right spot. Dry and rough, but I wanted it enough that it didn’t

matter.

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His hair was in his face, so I couldn’t see his eyes. I reached down, brushed it

to the side, and fingered it, soft and red-gold. He let go my cock and took my hand.

Our fingers twisted up, his sticky with spit, mine hot and dry, and our palms

flattened against my belly. As if to make up for the loss of his hand, he aligned his

breathing and motion to go down faster, coming back up and sucking harder at the

head.

There were no more individual sensations after that. His finger pushing at my

ass and his mouth taking my cock, all that spit dripping between my legs. Just a

wash of pure pleasure, like my fire lit up my veins. I watched his mouth growing

pinker and pinker, squeezed his fingers tight to tell him it was good, so fucking

good, felt him squeezing back as if to say he thought so too.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. He went down one more time, and I

couldn’t—didn’t want to—hold back. I was thinking his name over and over again;

maybe I said it somewhere in the sigh that escaped as I came into him. The moment

of bliss from the other night was nothing; his mouth was so willing, so sweet, so

warm, that the perfection lasted longer than ever.

When I remembered how to breathe again, I fell back into the pillow, still

clutching his hand.

He eased me out of his mouth and started to sit up. I was looking around for

something for him to spit into, but he swallowed and pressed his swollen, wet lips

into my belly, then into my side, then my neck. He stretched out beside me and

finally kissed my fingers, still held tight between his. His cock stood thick again,

and he aligned his hips so it pressed into my thigh.

That dull, satisfied ache in me began to turn, to open up into a kind of physical

emptiness. To remind me that I was a silly prick who wanted more, always more of

him, the more he gave.

Not cool. For so many reasons, so very not cool.

Katey Hawthorne

I meant to tell him he’d done good, but didn’t have the air in me. He said, lips

still brushing my fingers, “You don’t even know how many nights I laid here

thinking about that.”

I know I opened my mouth, but, I mean, what do you say to that from anyone,

let alone a guy you’ve spent the last couple of years jerking off to and feeling like a

complete shit for it?

Instead, I kissed him and pulled him hard against me, and we started all over

again.

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Chapter Three

He curled up to me before I was quite awake the next morning, naked front to

back, and arranged his wood in the split of my ass. I pressed back into him, and he

sighed and pulled me closer with one arm around my middle. His hand flattened,

warm and comfortable, just over my heart. He kissed my neck and said, “You up?”

I arched my back to give him a thrill. Maybe he didn’t mean it like that, but I

did. Definitely up.

“You like this?” he asked.

Goose bumps everywhere from his hot breath in my ear. “Yeah.”

“No, I mean…this. Me.”

“Again with the stupid questions.”

He flattened his hand against my hip—the side of my ass, really—then

smacked at it gently.

I arched again. Now I was awake.

“Oh. That’s how it is?” He kissed my neck.

“Mmm-hmm. Definitely.”

“Seriously, you’re not dicking around?”

Okay, maybe not that awake. “What?”

“I’m not playing.” His breath tickled my nape. “I can’t be just your friend

anymore.”

I pulled away and rolled onto my back so I could look him in the eye. I had no

idea how to feel—I knew how he meant it, but it still stung. And seriously, how was

it fair wake me up like that and then start…talking? “I am your friend.”

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“That what you want?”

I sighed.

“You are hot as hell, Hansen. I want to do shit to you that—I don’t even think

some of it is physically possible.”

I eyed his cock, still up and ready to go, like it was waiting for me to climb on.

“But I’m too fucked up to play around. Not with you.”

I met his eyes, and my heart lodged in my throat. They were huge and brown

and way too sincere for a guy sporting an erection that size. It was just absurd

and—

And kind of heartbreaking.

I licked my lips, mouth dry. I couldn’t lie. But I didn’t want to be in love with

him because, “It’s not that easy, Sammy. You like girls. That makes you a serious

fucking risk.”

He set his jaw and looked hard at the ceiling, putting both hands beneath his

head. He was already deflating.

Waste of a perfect erection. Guys always complain about girls doing it, but I

have news: guys have moments when their brains overcome their libidos too. And

god, it’s irritating.

“Your goddamn risk and reward.” He stuck out his bottom lip—also not fair. “I

guess you don’t think we’re in equilibrium or something.”

“Well, no—but now that you mention it, we’re not. You’re the hot chick.”

He glared.

“In the example, I mean.”

He very nearly smiled, though I could tell it was in spite of himself.

“And I’ve got nothing. I want”— you, I want you, I want you so bad, so much,

always have, always will—“one thing, and you want something else. So when new

choices present themselves, staying where you are isn’t going to look like the best

option to you, and—”

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He’d stopped smiling. “You seriously think that?”

“It’s not a judgment, Sam. Just, you like pussy. That’s a fact.”

He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “There’s no law that says

you can’t like it both ways. That makes me a liar?”

“Don’t be like that. It just means, um, you’re straight.”

“Oh, thank god. Because yesterday I kept imagining bending you over my

desk, and I got jack shit done at work. Almost thought I wanted to fuck a guy, for a

second there. But no, I’m straight, so that’s crazy talk.”

Okay, no one could survive that much porn without inventing a few fantasies.

But still, it was so not fair to say that when he was in the act of getting out of bed.

Blue balls: awesome way to start the morning. “Sammy—”

He stood, which left me watching an ass straight off of Michelangelo’s David as

he collected his scattered clothes off the floor. “You think you’re real fucking smart

with your fancy game theory, but it’s not that complicated. The whole concept

hinges on successfully calculating the risk and reward for everyone involved so you

know what their smartest move is. If you can’t do that, you have no idea when

you’re actually in equilibrium, and you make a bad call. Then you lose everything.”

That…was perfectly accurate, yes. I pushed myself up to sitting.

He pulled on his shorts and straightened his pants and undershirt over his

arm. “So maybe you should ask what I want and what I’m putting on the line before

you make any calls.”

“Sometimes people don’t even know what they want—”

“It’s not a fucking game. It’s not business or politics or any of this pointless

bullshit you throw up around yourself to make you feel safe. This is not a

competition. We’re on the same side. We were always on the same side, Hansen.”

I closed my mouth with a click—almost bit my tongue in half too.

He looked down at me, standing there all gorgeous and angry with his hair

fucked up from last night’s adventures. And then he smiled, suddenly and

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brilliantly. As if to tell me that I would be forgiven, but I would pay for it first.

“Think about that while you’re beating off in the shower this morning, huh?

Because you almost didn’t have to, but you made the wrong call, Mr. Smart-Ass

Know-It-All Economist.”

And he was out the door.

I fell back into the pillow. Yawned.

I could calculate risk and reward fine, thanks—just a little bit too late.

* * *

Happy hour at the Pits again—and I knew goddamn well he did it just so I’d

have to wait longer to grovel. I got there before him and found Daly in the usual

spot, but with Vanessa and her friend Rhonda.

Great.

Nessa eyed me. I said hello, having trouble holding her gaze. It was like being

caught out twice: once with my hand in the fire and once with it in, well, her ex-

boyfriend. Not that she knew about the latter, and she was supposedly not sure

about the former, but—

“Hey, Hansen. How’s things?” she asked.

Daly scooted over to make room for me. “Yeah, man, how’s tricks?”

“I’m raking it in,” I said, taking the seat. Maybe my smile was a little smug,

because Daly made an O with his lips, and Rhonda giggled across the table. “What’s

up?” I directed at Nessa.

Yeah, not awkward at all. Jesus.

“Hoped you’d be here tonight.”

Oh shit. I waved for the cute bartender. The fucker winked at me as he

scurried across the room with a full tray of shots for some lucky table.

No, just bring ’em over here, man. Gonna need those myself.

Nessa went on. “Wanted to talk to you about the other night—and I think you

know what I mean.”

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I feigned placid interest.

“I know Sam told you. He tells you every—”

“Told him what?” Sam appeared, like the devil who’d heard his name, and

shoved me closer to Daly so he could swing in beside me. He passed around his

hellos and hung his jacket on the side of the booth.

Nessa clammed up, thank god, and a few minutes later, she dragged Rhonda

away with her.

Sam went around to the other side of the table and pulled me with him. If this

confused Daly, he gave no indication. “The hell did you do to that girl?”

“She thinks I got a bad shock from that jukebox and it melted my brain. Why

else would I break up with her?”

Daly wrinkled up his nose. “She is kinda vain.”

“Yeah, well, hot people can get away with it.” I kicked Sam under the table

when I said it. If he wasn’t giving me a chance to apologize, I was at least going to

try and flatter him into letting me touch him again. It was agony not to be able to

say anything, and the bastard knew it.

“Your brain was melted before I ever met you, anyhow,” Daly said. He looked

up and—

Trent. He came to the end of the table, looked each of us in the eye in turn, and

slipped into the seat Sam and I had just vacated.

Sam slouched, trying to look nonchalant. Everyone else probably thought he

really was, but I saw the muscle in his jaw twitch. “Where you been, man?”

“Around. How about you?” There was something in Trent’s eyes—a pale blue

that reminded me vaguely of Sam’s electrical current—that I didn’t like when he

fixed on us. It faded when he turned to Daly, but not enough to let me forget.

I exchanged a glance with Sam, former agony forgotten.

Trent had seen it too. No doubt about it.

And still no bartender. God. Dammit.

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Small talk passed, the disturbing look in Trent’s eye remained level when he

fixed it on us, and Daly remained oblivious and started ranting about the kids’ team

he was coaching. This went on for several minutes until Trent finally, visibly, made

a decision. He leaned forward, fixed on me, and said, “I know what you are.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Sam raised an eyebrow. He sat up and forward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m gonna tell everyone.”

“And you think that’d bother us?”

I looked at Sam, my heart in my throat. I mean, he had a point—no one would

care, but only because no one would believe him. Still, with Nessa in the know—or

almost in the know—and maybe nursing a grudge against him, now was really not

the time to play chicken with the crazy-sleeper contingent.

Especially considering the potentially deadly current that liked to leap out of

Sam’s fingers when he wasn’t paying attention.

“The fuck?” Daly had come up to speed by this time and was looking at all

three of us like we were speaking Klingon.

Trent ignored him. “It should bother you. What do you think will happen when

everyone in town finds out, huh? You ever hear of the Salem witch trials?”

“Uh, Trent—” Daly tried to interrupt again.

Sam said, “This is not the seventeenth century, my friend. No one cares about

that shit anymore.”

Trent stared. Hell, so did I. It was either an outright, stupid-ass bluff, or—

I had no idea what he was talking about. But at least he didn’t look like he was

about to start arcing. Farthest thing from it, really.

“And personally”—Sam loosened his tie—“I’m a little surprised you do. Never

pegged you for a gossip. Or a closeted self-loather.”

Trent growled. “The hell are you talking about?”

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“Me and Hansen,” Sam said, throwing an arm over my shoulder. He planted a

huge, wet kiss on my cheek. “There, now everyone can see. So tell ’em, tough guy.

Announce that there are homos in the bar. Hell, I’ll stand up on the table and do it

myself if it’ll make you feel better. See who gives a fuck.”

I burst out laughing. It was part sheer relief and part, just, wow. Wow, he was

fucking awesome. “Oh god.” I tried to catch my breath. Daly was in pretty much the

same state across from him, laughing his ass off. “Sam, I love you.”

“I know.” He grabbed me and kissed me full on the mouth. I mean, really

kissed me. His tongue tangled up with mine, tasting like spearmint and spit, and he

even put a hand on my cheek for good measure. I melted fast, my blood pumping

hard enough that I felt the color returning to my face. When he pulled back, he said,

quietly, “But you still owe me from this morning.”

“Glad to hear it,” I managed.

“Fuckin’ A.”

Daly waved his hands like he was batting away an irritating bug. “This is

getting a little gross with the PDA. What the fuck, you guys—when did this

happen?”

Trent was frozen stiff, staring pink-faced at us groping each other in the booth.

Sam shrugged, looking straight at him across the table while he answered

Daly. “Last week.”

“You know, I’m kind of surprised it didn’t happen sooner, now I think about it.”

But Trent was getting pinker and pinker. Red, actually. He slammed a hand

on the table, making Daly’s beer jump. “Nessa knows too.”

Sam said, “Leave her alone, Trent; that’s my advice. She thinks you’re a raging

prick, and I should’ve listened to her.”

“You’re fucked,” Trent said, apparently trying to be ominous. He made with

the big huffy exit.

“Thought I was supposed to be the queen,” I said.

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Daly and Sam lost it again.

* * *

Even after we finally got our drinks, the whole thing didn’t sit right. Why,

when Nessa was so obviously uncertain, did Trent seem to actually know what he

was talking about? The way he’d looked right through me and said, “I know what

you are…”

It was possible that he’d run into another of us. People got discovered—like my

uncle and, well, us. And some of awakened didn’t follow the rules and got

themselves found out on purpose. Some of the badass ones acted like superheroes.

Where do you think the idea came from? You could get away with being a firefighter

or going into law enforcement or intelligence if you were really good, but it was still

risky.

And some of them acted like, well, villains. They never thought they were

villains; the bad guys are always trying to do right by someone. Even if it’s only

themselves.

It was a real nightmare for the rest of us either way, and again, part of the

reason we didn’t have any formal organization, any lists of names and addresses.

Information was power, and the less we had to give the sleeper majority, the safer

we were.

But being in the minority meant we were never safe, not really. And Trent was

a big old ball of the ignorance and fear that was the biggest threat to our

comfortable anonymity.

On the way home, Sam grabbed my hand. He’d left his car at the apartment as

usual before coming to the Pits, so we were wandering through the darkened little

town, ignoring the clumps of oblivious college kids and young families. We were on

the edge of the business district—all of two blocks of head shops, art galleries, and

all-night breakfast places—anyhow, so there wasn’t much of a crowd to speak of.

“Thought I still owed you,” I said.

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“Yeah, but that’s no reason to torture myself.”

I smirked.

He grinned. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“You were pretty cool in there with Trent.”

His brow furrowed. “The witch trials were seventeenth century, right?”

I laughed. “Uh, I think so. Either way, you made your point.”

The furrow deepened. His shoulders were already tensed, had been all night,

but he stood up straighter now. “Think he’ll be trouble?”

“Yeah. I do.” I considered telling him about Uncle Neil but, like always,

decided not to. No point in freaking him out. He had enough on his mind, and it

wouldn’t make it any easier to avoid. Later, when he had his shit together, I’d lay it

on him. “How’s the lightning?”

“Fucked up my iPod today. ’S okay, I needed a new one anyhow. It’s just…hard

to be on all the time, you know? Easy to remember when I’m close to people, but

when I’m on my own, eh. Just need practice.”

“Anything else we can do?”

A new voice intruded on our conversation. “Go to hell.”

I guessed that was supposed to be clever. We turned together, letting our

hands drop, and faced Trent.

Yeah, I was scared. There was this weird little knot of panic quivering down

deep in my belly, for sure. But it was almost like I’d expected this exact thing to

happen—like I’d known he’d follow us, known he wasn’t finished.

Assholes never gave up that easily, did they?

I said, “Are you stalking us?”

He leaned forward, like an angry pit bull at the end of his chain. “Couple of

freaks made me look like a real douche today.”

“Yeah, you didn’t need us freaks for that,” Sam said.

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I was proud of him—the word didn’t make him flinch at all.

Trent came closer, but he was obviously holding himself back. “I’m just giving

you a warning, is all. I know what you did. You get the fuck out of this town, away

from my family, or—”

“Or what?” I asked, surprising myself. It was weird—the fear had taken over

back there at the bar. But now I realized it hadn’t been about what I thought. It had

been about Sam and his lightning.

He’d been okay, though. He’d been great. And out here, what difference did it

make? The nearest bystanders were all the way down the block, and anyhow, what

was going to happen? Was he going to blast a tree? I half hoped he would, since

there was no point hiding it now. Maybe it’d put the fear of god into this ass-clown.

“What can you do to us, man? Everyone will just call you a nut job.”

Trent’s eyes narrowed, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Sam said, “Ness won’t back you up.”

“She saw it,” he snarled. “If I tell her what I know, she will. Believe me.”

“All she wants is the truth,” Sam said to me. “If we tell her, she’ll be cool.”

“Wake the fuck up, MacLeod. You think she’s going to protect her ex and the

arsonist queer he ditched her for?”

Sam’s full lips thinned into a white line, and the muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Keep it together,” I said. Then I stepped up between them. “Trent, go home.

You’re not going to start a fight, so just forget it.”

“I know what you did, Marks. I saw you. You think you scare me, prick?”

I met those shocking eyes of his head on, thinking of Sam fuming behind me. I

wasn’t sure what Trent thought he’d seen me do, but it was hard to give a shit.

“Yeah, I do. I think you know you should be scared, too. So go and tell everyone you

meet, but just…go.”

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“Can’t believe you’re walking around free. You should have to register with the

police.” He curled his upper lip and took a step closer, so I could smell the beer on

his breath. “Go around knocking on doors and telling all your neighbors that you’re

a fucking menace. That if they don’t keep an eye on you, you might burn down their

house on accident.” Another step, closer now. “See how long it is before someone

sneaks into your room at night and—”

I didn’t realize my hands were squeezing into fists the whole time he was

talking. I didn’t realize my face was turning red or that the shit he was spewing was

actually getting to me. I didn’t realize anything until my fist hit his mouth and sent

his head flying backward, lip spurting blood.

Shit, that hurt. Cut my hand on his teeth, and the impact jolted up my arm,

vibrating.

Trent reeled, hand flying to his mouth, and I shook my aching fist out, getting

ready to do it all over again.

Sam grabbed my other arm and pulled me back. His touch crackled like static.

That forced the sick realization that I’d just made the whole situation a lot

more dangerous than it had to be. I turned to him. “Sam, watch your current—”

But he was looking behind me, teeth bared. He let me go and dodged around

me. It all happened so fast, just a few seconds, but it stretched out in this awful

slow-motion tableau there on the deserted sidewalk. Trent was lunging at me, lip

streaming blood, swinging wildly, and Sam was going for him with his right hand

pulled back in a fist.

I tried to get between them, but my second of hesitation to check on Sam left

me out of it. They slammed together like the proverbial unstoppable force and

immovable object. Someone hit someone else—maybe both of them did—and the air

lit up between them, flashing white-blue and jagged like the inside of a storm cloud.

The smell of it wrapped all three of us up, pure electricity all over my skin, and I

wasn’t even touching Sam.

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Trent was, though. His body went stiff, then crumpled. He hit the grass, arms

and legs twitching for a split second, a burn brown mark on his shirt, right at his

navel.

Sam slumped on his feet, rocked forward unsteadily. His eyes closed. He

opened his mouth, tried to say something.

I caught him just before he hit the ground, landing under him in a pile. Trying

to hold him up, so much dead weight—though god, thank god, he was breathing. A

dry sob caught in my throat as I settled him gently on the grass and scrambled to

check on Trent, digging frantically for my cell phone.

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Chapter Four

Uncle Kristoff had his arm around Trent’s mother, patting her on the back and

telling her that her son would be okay. I stood down the hall, head hanging,

hugging myself.

Sam was asleep and getting a constant drip of fluids, vitamins, and everything

else the electrical freak-out had sucked out of him. But he was okay too.

I kept saying it over and over again to myself, but I wouldn’t really believe it

until I could talk to him. The whole world felt like some cold slow-motion dream:

people’s words reached me in little bubbles, took too long to get there, and my arms

and legs were heavy and uncooperative. I just stood there and stared.

Eventually, Kristoff came and sat down on the chair that was meant for me.

His little nametag glinted in the crappy fluorescent light: Dr. K. Hansen.

“How bad are the burns?” I asked.

I didn’t ask how he’d gotten out of cardiology to follow the case up here. I

probably didn’t want to know. We cleaned up after our own, when things got ugly—

we had to. Kristoff of all people knew.

“Minor. If it hadn’t started at his stomach, it’d be easy to pass off as a normal

lightning strike.”

“Did it fuck up his electrical system?”

“There won’t be any long-term damage. It was high voltage, but the current

was low. Painful but relatively harmless.”

I buried my face in my hands. “His brain?”

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“There’s some amnesia, but that’s normal after a lightning strike, and his

heart is strong. He’s young; he’ll heal.”

Something swelled in my throat.

“I called your mother.”

“She’ll freak.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Bridget hasn’t freaked since she was ten

years old.”

“It was my fault.”

He didn’t reply.

“I hit him first. He was saying—He said we should have to register with the

police. And if people knew about us, they’d come into our houses at night…” I looked

up.

His face, a harder, more angular version of my mother’s, softened in a way

hers never could. “And you thought of Neil.”

“I didn’t think of anything,” I admitted. “Not consciously. But before that it

was all talk. I started the fight, even though I—I knew Sam couldn’t control it.”

He stood and patted me on the shoulder. “I wish Neil was here to help your

friend.”

“I just remember his laugh,” I said, feeling like a jackass. How do you talk to

your uncle about his murdered brother and not feel like a jackass?

He smiled, though. “Me too. I’ll let you know when Sam’s awake. His parents

should be here in a few hours.”

“Thanks.”

He patted my cheek like Grandpa Hansen used to do, and I thought he’d leave.

But he paused and said, “I don’t want to make this harder on you…but you can

decide whether Sam needs to know or not: Trenton Langley has a record of

supposed mental illness.”

“Supposed?”

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“Some of it might be real. Hard to say since his doctor was a sleeper. His

family lost their home when he was in high school. The official report was arson, but

Trent claimed that he saw the man who did it. Said the fire jumped out of his

hands, no matches, no nothing, and grew when he told it to. No one believed him.

The official diagnosis is paranoid schizophrenia. It’s…probably not, though.”

I tried to swallow that damn lump, but it wouldn’t budge.

“They brought the man in after he lit up a few more houses. He was awakened.

Off his rocker, but awakened.”

I closed my eyes. Explained why Trent had fixated on the arsonist queer, I

guessed. The queer part had seemed pretty tacked on even at the time, but now that

was confirmed.

“And I never told you that. Because I’d be fired if I did.”

I listened to the sound of him walking back down the hall, to deal with the

Langleys in the waiting room.

* * *

When I was allowed into his room an hour later, Sam was pulling the IV out of

his arm. He dropped it, then raised his eyes to mine.

He at least had the sense to look ashamed. “Thing fucking hurts.”

I closed the door behind me. “It’s gonna hurt a lot more if you don’t let them do

their job. Uncle Kristoff’s your doctor, and he’ll kick your ass.”

“Thought he was a cardiologist. Nurse said I was fine.”

“That’s not why he’s your doctor.”

He was already pale, but he went paler, to the lips. “Trent’s okay, though?”

I nodded and came to the bedside. My hands were shaking, and I didn’t want

to think about why. I fumbled over the blankets until I found his hand, and his

fingers tangled up with mine. The other hand had fucked-up knuckles from Trent’s

teeth, and I stuffed it into my pocket.

“You okay?”

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I laughed. “Me?”

Quiet then, watching each other. Still slow and cold, the air too thick.

“I could’ve killed him,” he said finally.

“It was my fault.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I knew you were freaking out, and I—”

“You tried to calm me down, and I wouldn’t listen—”

“I didn’t even know I was getting that pissed, I didn’t mean to hit him—”

“But he was coming at you and—”

“Just, I had this other uncle, Neil, and—”

We both stopped. He nodded and held my hand tighter.

“He was murdered. Not in his bed, but close enough.”

“Because he got found out.”

I nodded. “I couldn’t stop myself.” I didn’t tell him it was because I’d been

scared shitless for weeks now that he’d end up the same way. Definitely couldn’t—

maybe not ever, now.

“I couldn’t either. But I have to.”

I dragged the back of my free hand over my eyes to stop them burning. The

cuts pulled, made me wince.

He moved over. “Come here.”

“Your parents are driving down from Wheeling. They’ll be here soon.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but—”

“My parents are not going to be worried about whether or not I’m sucking cock,

trust me. Please, come here.”

I did. He slipped down against the raised back of the hospital bed so he could

rest his head on my shoulder, and I put my arm around him. His hair still smelled

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like that blue shampoo he used, and it was shiny even in the fluorescent light,

throwing copper and gold everywhere. I buried my face in it and took a deep breath,

then kissed it. “Kristoff will kick your ass for that IV.”

“Can’t they just bring me some Gatorade?”

I almost argued that Gatorade really wasn’t going to do the trick, seeing as it

was pretty short on the sugar and ions his poor body needed. But he looked pretty

good, and he was warm and comfortable and, you know. Fuck it. “You’re such a jock,

Sammy.”

“Yeah, you like it.”

Yeah. I did.

* * *

I guess I fell asleep, because I just remember a few minutes of sleepy

conversation and then opening my eyes to a knock on the door. Before I could do

more than realize my arm was asleep, it opened, and Linda MacLeod came through.

We looked at each other. She opened her mouth but apparently forgot what

she’d wanted to say. Then she looked at Sam, whose long, pale eyelashes were

starting to flutter.

Then came Harry MacLeod after his wife. He stopped in the doorway,

eyebrows shooting upward.

“Uh, hi, Mr. and Mrs. MacLeod,” I said. I was sure my face was on fire, but I

couldn’t move my arm to shake Sam off, and he didn’t seem inclined to help.

“Hey,” he mumbled. He must’ve been really out; his eyes were all cloudy like

they were really early in the morning. “You guys didn’t have to come. I’m good.”

I got out of the bed as fast as I could without hurting someone. “I’ll just, uh,

go—”

“No, stay,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes.

Oh, you adorable bastard. “I’ll get you something to drink. What do you want?”

“Gatorade.”

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“Right, the blue kind.” I turned—and there were the parents. “Uh, can I get

you anything?”

Mrs. MacLeod’s mouth was pressed into a little line. At first I thought she was

pissed, but then I realized she was trying not to laugh.

Now my face was definitely on fire.

Mr. MacLeod said, “No, thanks, Hansen.” He wasn’t laughing, but he at least

gathered himself up pretty well. He came in and shook my hand, and I slipped out

as fast as was polite.

I took my time, you’d better believe, and slowed down in the waiting room to

see if I could hear anything about Trent, but Kristoff and the Langleys were gone.

Eventually I couldn’t avoid delivering Sam’s beloved blue Gatorade any longer. The

door to his room was still open, and I could hear their voices, so I slipped in, trying

to be inconspicuous.

The atmosphere was noticeably less awkward. Mr. MacLeod sat on the

windowsill with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling at his son. Freakishly

enough, when he smiled, it made him look a lot like Sam.

I handed off the drink.

Sam tore the cap off and started gulping.

“He took out his IV,” I explained.

“Samuel.” His mother pursed her lips like—well, like a mom.

I snorted.

“I’m fine,” he said, making a face at me before turning back to them. “I’m out of

here in, like, an hour. I just passed out. I’ll take a few days off work and relax, no

big deal.”

“We were going to stay the night,” Harry said. “Holiday Inn.”

“Yeah, guess it’s too late to drive back. I mean, I’m glad you’re here, anyhow.”

A pause. Then, “It’s my turn to buy dinner. How about that steakhouse?”

His mother beamed at him.

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Yeah. Totally a mama’s boy.

Harry stood, looking first at me, then at his son, and said, “Sure. But we’ll go

to the store for you boys, first. What do you need?”

“Beer,” Sam said immediately. “We’re out of Honeyed Fox.”

Linda rolled her eyes.

“Gatorade,” I said.

Sam rolled his eyes.

The MacLeods filed toward the door, smiling, but Linda stopped just before

they reached it. She put a hand on my arm, leaned close, and said, “Thanks for

taking care of him, Hansen.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. I couldn’t speak.

Yeah. Nice work on that one, Hansen. Fucking bang-up job.

* * *

He gave them the official story: an argument, a freak lightning storm, the

usual shit anyone could figure out was totally inaccurate by clicking on

weather.com. They went to dinner with us—steakhouses always have the best

baked potatoes—and then he hit the bed at eight p.m. and slept like the dead.

They came again to say good-bye in the morning and seemed to at least believe

Sam wasn’t going to drop into a coma. His mom spent a lot of time smiling at me

and telling me how nice it was that she didn’t have to leave him alone. Not sure if

his dad was just glossing over the whole thing or what, but after that initial speed

bump, he just went along for the ride. Also talked to me a lot about the Economist.

I could definitely see why he didn’t want to know who his bio parents were. We

should all be so lucky.

He slept almost the whole day again, and I made my calls. Mom and Dad were

just leaving Charleston and said to get him up to the lake immediately. Kristoff said

Trent had been released, and he hadn’t heard anything about him pressing

charges—at least against me, since officially I was the only one who’d touched him.

Katey Hawthorne

I let Dr. Ferrara know about an unavoidable “family emergency,” apologized for

taking a week off, and promised I’d grade all the papers I had before I left.

By the time I got all our shit together, it was early evening, and Sam was

rattling around in the bathroom. The shower started, so I poked my head inside to

ask, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Come on in.”

I tried to think of something brilliant and funny to say. We hadn’t had a

chance to talk about anything after those first moments in the hospital, and now it

all seemed like a screwed-up, impossible blur. I just stood there watching myself in

the mirror and hoping to god his natural buoyancy would keep him afloat, because

wow, I was worthless.

“Will you hand me a new soap when you’re done?” he asked.

Seeing as I wasn’t doing anything in the first place, I did, then poked my head

into the shower. I meant just to make sure he wasn’t in there crying or slitting his

wrists or something.

He wasn’t. He was fucking magnificent, was what he was, hot water bouncing

off his scrubbed pink skin, hugging the long lines of his hard body in rivers,

dripping from his clingy wet hair.

Probably should’ve seen that coming, but I was a little distracted. The word

“damn” escaped me.

He smiled, but it was a little sad. “I’d invite you in, but electricity and water,

you know.”

There was only one way to answer that. I made a face, closed the shower

curtain, and immediately peeled off all my clothes.

I climbed in, and he stood there, looking miserable and gorgeous and guilty.

And wet.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him openmouthed and hard.

At first he went slow—he kissed me back, wrapped his arms around me, grabbed

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my ass, and tangled his hand in my hair. His cock swelled, but he didn’t make

another move, just held me and kissed me and let me get drenched with him, all hot

water and sensation.

Eventually he closed it off and said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“When are you more aware than right now?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his chest and stomach rising and

falling against mine.

I kissed his lips quickly, tasting water from the showerhead and him. “Don’t

bother with the whole noble act. You can’t chase me away.”

“You saved me again.”

“We walked into that one together.”

He kissed me again, this time hungry and deep, pulling me tight against him

so I almost couldn’t breathe.

There were worse ways to go. After a few seconds of that, once we were both

breathing hard, I pulled away enough to grab the soap and start lathering up my

hands.

“You don’t owe me anymore,” he said. He looked a little less dismal, but his

mouth still had that downturn I didn’t much like.

“Yeah, I do, but you can collect later. This is for me.”

“Wha—”

But I took his cock in one soapy hand and slicked it up, and he gasped instead

of finishing whatever he’d been about to say.

Thinking of that morning we’d argued—felt like a year ago—and his

daydreaming about bending me over his desk, I turned my back, faced the wall. A

little more soap, and I put my ass against his hips and his erection between my legs,

held up high. He wrapped both arms around me, one hand going straight for the

soap, the other pulling me tight against him. Experimentally, he pushed forward.

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His cock slid between my thighs; I sighed at the way it rubbed at me, sank lower in

an instinctive urge to feel him against my asshole too.

His hand was lathered by then, and he wrapped it around my dick. His pretty

hands, the hot water, his body against mine, him hot between the soft parts of my

thighs, slippery with soap and just near enough to all those sweet spots to drive me

fucking nuts.

If this couldn’t make him forget for five minutes, I was out of tricks.

He fell into a rhythm quickly, his hips shoving me forward, his free arm

holding me back. I braced myself against the wall with my forearm, lost in it. After

a few seconds, he readjusted the angle of his hips so he teased my ass like I wanted.

The extra push was all I needed—I had to bite my lip to keep from telling him to

fuck me for real.

“Goddamn,” he said, his voice low and hot. His free hand moved down to my

hip, half holding me in place, half caressing my ass while he slammed against it.

That was what I wanted him to say, to feel. That, nothing else, just for a little

while. I arched and angled upward. Now I could only feel him against my asshole

when he slammed in close, but it was worth it for the sound he made, for what the

position suggested.

His thrusting went erratic, little double takes and hesitations and harder than

before, so my feet slipped forward. The soap had washed away enough that it was a

little bit rough—both him between my legs and him jerking me off—and that did me

in. I arched my back hard when I felt it coming, let myself groan at that moment,

the moment where you know it’s inevitable and can’t feel anything but that

beautiful black ecstasy about to wash over you. When nothing else exists in the

world but that.

He said something like, “Come on, baby.”

All that feeling converged between my legs; my whole body shuddered; my cock

spasmed long and hard in his hand. I came all over the shower wall, my lips

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forming all kinds of words I couldn’t say, hot water running into my mouth, stars

behind my eyes.

He kept at me, more frantic than before. I squeezed my legs together, and he

growled, then let go of my cock; my pulse still pounded in it as my vision returned to

normal. He held me hard against him with both hands. I suddenly heard the sound

of the shower again, the sound of him smacking against my ass and the backs of my

thighs. I arched hard against him, let him see me ready to take it—

“That ass is so fucking hot.” He pulled his cock out and planted the head of it

in the top of my crack, then started beating it slow and long. His free hand smacked

my right cheek, just enough to sting, and I gave a little “Mmm…” and looked over

my shoulder.

He was staring down at his dick and my ass, mouth wide open. He closed his

eyes for just a second, but mostly he watched himself shoot all over me, panting.

When he finished, he grabbed me again with both hands, pulled me upright,

and flattened my back against his front, burying his face in my neck. His hands

went everywhere except between my legs, just running up and down my body like

he’d never felt it before.

I wriggled to get another sigh out of him.

“You are out of your fucking mind, Hansen,” he muttered into my neck.

“Gonna take me there too.”

“Thought I was a prude.”

“Mmm, yeah. Almost had me fooled.” He peeled himself off me, smacked my

ass again for good measure, and handed me the shampoo.

* * *

A few hours later, we piled into his car with minimal luggage. When he got in

on the driver’s side, he had a little white box under his arm. He dropped it in my

lap.

I looked up. “What’s this?”

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“Gingersnaps.”

I swear to god, I almost teared up. Pathetic, maybe, but considering the week

we were having, I let myself off the hook. “Jesus, Sam.”

“Checked the bakery while you were taking Dr. Ferrara her papers. Meant to

be, I guess.”

“I think you might like me after all.”

“Glad you finally caught up with the rest of the class, Hansen. Risk and

reward, my blindingly white ass.”

We devoured the whole dozen on the drive up to Lake March.

Dinner is overrated. It’s all about dessert.

* * *

The lake stretched out in front of us like some watery childhood memory I

could smell, taste, touch, feel. The place I’d spent all my summers, the place they’d

taught me how to be what I was, how to use the heat, respect it. The place I’d

learned who I was and how to live in the sleeper world without hating it. Loving it,

even.

Sam skipped a rock—four times, a new record—and turned puppy-dog eyes on

the blue foothills beyond the far shore. A long, hard week for him had only just

begun. The setting sun behind us cast bright spots on his hair where it filtered

through the treetops. I thought of the hospital and the fluorescent lights and how

he’d thrown copper and gold even then. I thought life would be perfect if we could

stay here forever, just like this, skipping flat rocks and ignoring the rest of the

world.

Okay, it would’ve made both of us miserable after a few weeks. But I was tired

and worried and in a fuck-the-world kind of mood.

Finally I said, “Trent still hasn’t pressed charges.”

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He was quiet for a while, watching the far shore. “I knew there was something

fucked up with him. Just…thought he had family issues or something. Felt bad for

him, you know?”

“Marietta Falls is way too small for us to avoid him forever. Hell, West

Virginia is too small.”

“Maybe we could—” He stopped talking but came to sit next to me on the

grass. “Nah. Wasn’t thinking.”

I knew what he’d been about to say, and I knew why he’d stopped. “Running

away would just look like we were guilty.”

“I am, though.”

“We both are. So’s Trent. None of us had our heads on straight.”

His gaze dropped again. “I guess.” A pause. “Can we talk about it later? I’m

kind of—”

“Yeah,” I said, flushing. “Yeah, sure, man.”

He shot me a grateful look, then went into hiding behind the curtain of his

overgrown hair. Just when I was starting to feel like a world-class asshole, he took

my hand, started playing with my fingers like he’d never seen anything so

fascinating.

Better, anyhow. Enough that I could change the subject. “I saw what you did

today, with the electricity.” I didn’t think I’d ever forget it, either. I’d wandered

outside, thinking I’d just take a walk and think shit over while he was busy with

Grandma. He was standing there in a pair of shorts, face turned skyward, jagged

thin lines of electricity racing back and forth over his arms, legs, torso.

Weird, how easy it was to take it for granted, all this…magic, I guess. I could

do it with fire too, but seeing it like that, seeing him like that, I suddenly

understood Kantian aesthetic theory. Plenty of things were beautiful. But a few, a

very few things in the world, were beyond that, beyond just one person. That was a

force of nature he was wearing. That was sublime.

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“How’d it feel?” I asked.

“Amazing,” he said, like he was making a confession. He sat next to me on the

grass and leaned back on his elbows. “And I was tired after, but in a good way. Like

I just worked out really hard, but without being sore.”

I didn’t have enough power in me to get to that point, but I knew what he

meant all the same. I smiled.

“She said that’s how…her son got it out of him when he felt it building up too

much. They had some friend of theirs teach them how to do it. Only problem is that

you have to stay grounded—gotta do it outside, and there’s not exactly room behind

the apartments.”

“Maybe we should move after all,” I said, smile going lopsided.

“What, buy a house?” He smiled back. “Nice yard for me to go electric and a

dog to run around. White picket fence. Hi, honey, I’m home.”

“Only if you’re ‘honey’—”

But he shut me up with his mouth, bringing his far hand over to hold my chin

up, then run it through my hair while he kissed me. Weirdly gentle, but deep and

warm. “I don’t care where I live. I’ll move to fucking Siberia if you want.”

“Sure, Siberia. I like snow.”

He held my face in both hands, like he had that day in the living room, right

after he’d blown up the ancient TV. Stared at me long and hard, until I forgot

everything but his impossibly sincere eyes.

Bastard.

“You’re so fucking stupid, for a smart guy,” he said. And then he burst into

that blinding grin of his.

I was willing to believe him, but if I was stupid just then, it was his fault. Him

and his pretty lips and brown eyes and shiny hair and perfect thighs. “Uh, am I

being insulted or complimented?”

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He kissed me again, this time more quickly. “Yeah.” Then he looked over my

shoulder, through the woods toward the cabin. “Better get up there. Your grandma

threatened me with no dinner if we were late.”

Something felt off—like there had been a conversation that was supposed to

take place there. But since he was suddenly in such a good mood, I figured I’d let it

go. We got to our feet, brushed off, and started back toward the house. But just after

we stepped onto the grassy trail, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the trees,

like he had somewhere to be.

Seeing as we were sporting bare feet, this didn’t seem like the best plan to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just come here.”

“But—”

He turned around, put me against a tree, and pretty much threw himself at

me. He kissed me—that kiss that meant he was hoping for something more—and

didn’t waste any time unzipping my fly.

“Sam—”

“Fuck dinner,” he said, yanking on my pants and kissing my neck.

Sound argument. He had his hand down the front of my shorts already, and I

was half tempted to step out of my pants so I could ease my legs apart and get him

between—

He bit at my neck and wrapped his hand around my cock at the same time,

and anything resembling a thought disappeared right quick. I arched my back

against the tree. It scraped through my T-shirt, and even that felt good. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah?” He bit down on my earlobe.

“Yeah.”

He tucked my hair behind my ear with his free hand. “I really, really”—a little

breath there, like a stutter or a wince—“want you.”

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I cleared my throat to push out, “You got me.” Always have, always fucking

will.

He kissed my cheek, the corner of my lips, feeling me up through my

underwear. I clutched at him and swallowed a growl, bark digging in hard.

“Can I suck your cock?” he asked.

This time, it wasn’t a dumb question. This time, it was fun. I smirked. “Uh, let

me think about it.”

I felt him smile, heard it in his whispered, “Come on. Please?”

Before I could answer, he was on his knees, pulling down my shorts.

The first thing he did was spit on his hand. That was when I decided to

definitely step out of my pants, at least with one foot. He kissed my belly, let me feel

him getting closer and closer, brushing my cock against his cheek, his hair,

goddamn, his gorgeous fucking pink lips. The back of his hand, the dry part, slipped

up the inside of my thigh, and I moved them farther apart, bending my knees a

little. His hand slipped behind my sac, and his wet fingers pressed up, then back, to

tease my ass.

I barely resisted an urge to fuck myself on him.

He smiled up at me and cocked his head.

Took me a second to figure out what the fuck he was waiting for. “Oh. Yeah, go

for it.”

Who was I to deny him, right?

He opened his mouth and ran his tongue over the head of my cock, kissing

here and there.

I pushed my hips forward, and instead of pulling back, he opened wider and

took me in. The hot, wet sensation of his tongue pushing upward, his lips closing

around me, made me so dizzy at first I had to close my eyes. I panted something

unintelligible even to me, and he pushed up with his fingers again, just barely

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stretching my asshole around the tip of his finger, then circling it with maddening

slowness.

Yeah, he’d figured some shit out, all right.

“Unh, that’s good.”

He made this sound, like he was laughing. By then he’d started sucking me off

for real, back and forth slowly, too slowly on purpose. What he lacked in natural

ability and experience, he made up for with shameless enthusiasm and attention to

detail, that was for goddamn sure. I tangled my fingers in his soft hair, and he

made that sound, pushed up inside me just barely again.

Once the stars stopped popping behind my eyes and I was sure my knees

wouldn’t turn to water, I realized that he liked it. I tightened my grip, and he

smiled around my cock, then sped up.

Still not enough.

I laughed—well, as much as it was possible in the circumstances—and tugged

at his hair.

He rubbed my ass like some crazy reward. Unthinking, I pushed forward into

his wet, hungry mouth, causing another minor explosion behind my eyes. I pulled

back, and my ass scraped against the tree.

Fuck, that was gonna leave a mark. And I really, really did not care.

I sank lower so he pushed up inside me once more. I gave his hair another tug;

he went faster. I watched that gorgeous, hot mouth I’d wanted for as long as I’d

known him, couldn’t take my eyes off it. He pulled out, then pushed back in, spit

drying, fingers sticky. He didn’t quite hit the spot, but he was so fucking close when

he went up like that.

Faster, and the waves of heat and pure pleasure—almost electric, like they

came from inside him somewhere—got closer and closer together. I pushed into him,

then down on him, then did it all over again, catching his rhythm. He used his free

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hand to grab my cock, so all of it was covered. The center of the world became his

mouth, harder, faster.

“Holy fuck, don’t stop, don’t—”

I didn’t even realize I was holding him there until the explosion was over. His

hair was wrapped up tight in my fist, and while he could’ve gotten out of it with the

slightest jerk, he didn’t. He held me in his mouth and licked me while I rode it out

to the end.

I let him go, that after-orgasm moment of clarity finally letting me wonder if

I’d gone over the line.

But when he sat back on his heels and smiled up at me, licking at red lips, he

was grinning bigger than I’d ever seen before.

I pulled him to his feet and kissed him, tasting myself on his tongue, all that

spit still on his lips, mixing up with me. His lips were hot and puffy, and he kissed

desperately. My ass scraped against bark yet again when he pinned me to the tree.

Nope, still didn’t care.

At least it was an oak. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a pine tree.

* * *

My whole family lived in the lake house almost full-time now. God knew Mom

and Dad were glad to get out of Charleston. Pretty sure they only stayed as long as

they did so I could graduate from the same school I started in. But the lake was the

ideal place to unwind, and I’d never been so glad to be there. With him and,

honestly, with my family. Hadn’t spent so much time with them in a while, and I’d

kind of forgotten how much fun they could be. Sam fit right in too. I think he

reminded Grandma of Uncle Neil just because of the electrical thing, so she was

going to love him anyhow. But he talked with Dad about college basketball and

helped Mom carry groceries, all that good son stuff, until it became the joke that

next time he should just come alone, because who needs Hansen?

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But they were always up to something—long walks or shut up in their offices

or bird-watching or some outdoorsy shit—and Grandma was even busier when she

wasn’t with Sam. We had the place to ourselves half the time. Happy as I was to see

them, I was just as happy to be alone with Sam more often than not.

Not that he was much more communicative. At least verbally.

One evening just around dusk, I found him on the back porch in an Adirondack

lounger with a beer and a graphic novel abandoned against his thigh, watching

little strings of white lightning flicker around the fingers of his right hand.

When he noticed my presence, he sat up straight, threw his legs over either

side of the lounger, and put his oversize comic book aside. He crooked a finger at

me.

I padded across the deck barefoot and sat near his knee, leaning back on my

hands and examining his face. His eyes were sunken brown circles like fading

bruises under them after a long day of working with his current. He should’ve

smiled or laughed or said something funny, but only one corner of his lips quirked

upward. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for you.” I raised my eyebrows. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Finally, he smiled. It almost made him look like himself. Don’t get me wrong—

he was hot as fuck, sitting there all shaggy and contemplative and sleepy.

Just…still wasn’t Sam. Not completely.

He leaned back and held out a hand. I looked him over once more, this time

the sagging broad shoulders, how his soft T-shirt and shiny soccer shorts hugged all

those flat planes and lines.

Yep. Still hot. And just about the last thing his worn-out body needed was me

sniffing around looking for sex.

I crawled nearer and sat my ass between his legs, leaning my back into his

chest, my head against his shoulder. He put his arms around my middle and

adjusted his legs so the insides of his thighs pressed tightly to my hips, his crotch to

my backside. His long fingers wove together tight at my belly, and I covered his

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hands with one of mine, resting the other on his leg. Once we were comfortable,

fitted together in that way that makes you feel like you were made for it, his chest

rose and fell in a long sigh.

I couldn’t help it; I did the same and melted into him. All close like this, I

sensed the tension in his arms, his legs—easy to miss when he looked like he just

needed to sleep for a week. In spite of the effect being wrapped up in him like this

had on my libido, I wasn’t self-centered enough to think his weird mood had

anything to do with me.

He’d said we’d talk about the blowup with Trent later. We hadn’t so much as

mentioned it, or anything from Marietta Falls, even.

It was dusk, that creepy but pretty nothing-time when the trees trick your

eyes and bats and birds do that disappearing thing that freaks me out. West

Virginia summers are loud too, with the crickets and the frogs and the occasional

deer crashing through the underbrush. We just sat and listened until his breathing

slowed and I could feel every beat of his heart. I had this stupid-ass romantic idea

that mine matched it, and rolled my eyes at myself.

He kissed my hair and sighed into my ear.

It gave me goose bumps—and the courage, or whatever, to ask, “Okay?”

“A half hour ago, maybe not.” Another kiss, and the sound of a smile, always

obvious in his voice, crept in. “Right now, never fucking better.”

My blood all rushed to my middle, filling out the semi I’d been sporting since

he first touched me. I sat up a little, fitting myself into him tighter still. He was

hard, but in a sort of lazy way. He shifted but held me right where I was.

Maybe because we were, you know, outdoors. Where my parents could stumble

over us at any given moment. I was pretty sure they at least suspected I had a thing

for him, but now wasn’t the time for explanations. Or traumatizing them.

I kind of doubted that was all, though. I got it; this was heavy shit he was

dealing with—someone had almost died, and he blamed himself, right or wrong. I

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sometimes got nervous that he wouldn’t talk, for selfish, insecure, jerk-off reasons.

But at that moment, not so much.

I said, “That’s what I’m here for, Sammy.”

He kissed my hair and squeezed me. “Sorry for being an emo kid.”

I flattened my palm against his thigh and ran it up and down the length,

absentmindedly enjoying him. “Nah, it’s hot. Kind of mysterious and poetic.”

“Ugh.”

We laughed and sat there until it grew dark and the mosquitoes came out with

a vengeance.

And that’s pretty much how things went between us while he was attending

Grandma’s Electric Clinic. No more desperate blowjobs in the woods—maybe one or

two elsewhere, and the occasional make-out session, all of them geared like that. I

started thinking of it as a reminder, like me making sure he knew I was there. I

guessed he meant it the same way. I mean, what else can you do, if you don’t want

to talk about it? Seemed to work, though. By the end of our stay, he was still looking

worn out, but more like Sam.

But we had to pack up the car finally. Mom and Dad waved from the window

and then went about their business, having given hugs and handshakes inside, but

Grandma followed us out to the driveway. She was about five-two, a hundred-

nothing pounds, so seeing her hug Sam was a funny experience. His six feet plus

made her seem to disappear in his arms. Then it was my turn, and that probably

didn’t look much less hilarious.

She patted my cheek and said, “He’s a keeper.”

Whoa. What?

I mean, Grandma is cool. But I didn’t exactly give her the whole “So, I like

guys” talk I’d given my parents. (Believe it or not, the vegan thing went down

harder—they were both convinced I would die of malnutrition in a month.) I figured

she knew—she was sharp as hell, and Mom probably mentioned it offhand. But still,

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we didn’t usually talk about that kind of stuff. My parents hadn’t even said

anything.

I said, “Uh, yeah. He is.”

“I just hope you’re being safe.”

“Grandma!”

“Well, you’re both nice boys, but—”

My face was burning up, but I was laughing too. “I am. I promise.”

Sam stood five feet away, cracking up silently behind his hand.

I pulled Grandma into another hug, a lot bigger, and said, “You’re the best.”

When we got into the car and Grandma disappeared into the house, we

must’ve laughed for a good five minutes before we could start driving.

“Your family rocks,” he said, once he could finally get enough air to speak

again. Then he put it in drive.

“We should be safer, though,” I said.

He shot me a sideways look. It had been established, via the proper medical

channels, that we were as safe as it gets.

So I explained, “I’m still picking splinters out of my ass from that tree.”

“My pleasure, honey.”

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Chapter Five

Marietta Falls felt gloomy after the sunshine and freedom of the lake. Maybe it

was the dark cloud of the clusterfuck we’d left behind when we bailed. Neither of us

had any illusions: this was going to suck. We had explaining to do. We even talked

about it a little, for the first time ever, on the way home.

Sam had spoken to Vanessa a few times while we were at the lake, and he’d

promised to tell her everything when we got back. I still wasn’t so sure it was a good

plan—neither was my mother—but Sam insisted Nessa could handle it.

I was still a little biased from that whole thing where she’d been fucking the

guy I wanted to fuck, so his judgment was probably more accurate; I was willing to

rely on it. Just, I didn’t expect her to call the very night we got back and invite

herself over.

I offered her a beer, and she accepted. I brought it to her on the couch and sat

down at the dining table, but facing her.

She popped it open and took a drink, then stared me down across the room.

“Was he cheating on me with you?”

I’m not sure why I didn’t expect the question. I was sure she’d have heard by

now, but I hadn’t considered that she’d care. Maybe because she’d seen me play

with fire and Sam shoot lightning out of his fingers, and I figured that’d take

precedence. Call me crazy, but there it was.

But then I realized she was right: it was actually the first order of business.

Because how she reacted to the rest of what we had to say—how she treated us—

rightfully hinged on how we’d treated her.

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I’d always loved Sam’s stand-up-guy thing, but that night I was particularly

glad for it. “No. Nothing happened till after you were broken up. I swear. You know

he wouldn’t.”

“You were always in love with him, though.”

That…would explain why she was annoyed when he dragged me along with

them, I guess. But Jesus, I hadn’t even told him that, let alone anyone else.

She sat there, shoulders back, dark eyes blazing, daring me to lie to her.

I finally realized why he’d liked her in the first place. She’d always struck me

as beautiful, but never really hot, before. Not that I was the leading expert on hot

women, but still.

“Yeah. Always. But I never expected anything.”

She watched me for a long moment, like she was still waiting for me to lie.

Thankfully, Sam came out of the bathroom right about then. He stopped when

he saw her there—she’d come in just as he’d gone to take a piss—and looked a little

confused.

“Have a seat, Sammy,” she said.

He grabbed himself a beer and did just what she said, at the other end of the

couch.

“Were you fucking around on me?” she asked.

I understood why she had to ask him too. In fact, I had mad respect for her

just then.

A little too much. Now wasn’t really the time for jealousy or…whatever. But

seeing her owning the situation, knowing that Sam preferred to be owned like that,

and watching the weird ease with which he was adapting to this singular

situation—I remembered how he’d said she seemed to expect him to take the whole

“we’re broken up” thing back, and swallowed hard.

“No,” he said. “I mean—I thought about…other people, sometimes. But I would

never have—”

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“I know. Me too. You were right about us both being over it.”

He furrowed his brow.

“I asked Jarrett out the other day.”

I very nearly laughed. It occurred to me that maybe she wanted him to take it

back just so she could dump him instead.

Okay, yeah. She was hot.

“Oh.” He smiled lopsidedly.

“Yeah, we’re becoming that bunch of friends.”

“The ones that have all fucked each other?”

“Yep.” She took another drink.

That time, I did laugh.

“So, what do you have to tell me?”

Sam and I exchanged a look. I nodded.

He held out his hands in front of him and lit them up, little darts of electric

blue racing around and between his fingers.

She watched, eyes wide.

“Hansen does it too, but with heat. He can catch shit on fire. Sometimes put it

out, like you saw.”

She pulled her gaze off his flickering hands and looked at me.

I nodded. If she wanted me to burn something, I’d be happy to. Hell, you think

sleeper guys like burning shit, try me sometime.

But she looked back to Sam and said, “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

He let the lightning die. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I’ve known, sort of, for a few weeks now. So it’s not exactly a big

surprise. Hate to disappoint.”

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He grinned again. “Fair enough. It’s not really something we advertise. My

body was sort of freaking out, and that’s why the jukebox caught. No one was

supposed to see.”

She looked at me quickly again, then back to him. “So, it was you.”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean, with Trent. We heard it was a freak lightning strike.”

Sam went pale.

I said, “That’s kind of a long story—”

She pinned me with a dark look. “Sorry, Hansen. You have somewhere else to

be tonight?”

* * *

“No one’s seen him all week,” Nessa said, finishing off her third beer. Stories

had been told, long, involved explanations given, and somehow, she was still sitting

there talking about it rationally. “We heard the story through his little brother.

Chad says he’s been holed up in his room, supposedly doing a lot better. Behaving

more normally, even without drugs. They tried to put him on lithium again, I

guess.”

Sam and I exchanged yet another look. We were obviously thinking the same

thing: how much of Uncle Kristoff’s doctor’s report had been genuine psychological

disturbance, and how much had been simply the truth no one would believe?

And what was the difference, anyhow?

She stood and collected her purse from the coffee table. “I’d lay low for a while

if I were you guys. It’ll blow over. Shit always does.”

Sam stood to walk her to the door.

I stayed put, watching and wanting not to be jealous. I didn’t get it—totally

not like me. Damn, when they were dating I’d been less stressed by it, and now they

were obviously not interested in each other. Just that there were so many things we

didn’t have sorted out between us, and—

Equilibrium

God. If I started refusing sex so we could talk about our feelings, I was going to

throw myself off a fucking bridge.

“Look, Ness, I know I already said it, but I really am sorry for what a dick I

was that day. You deserve a lot better.”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have said what I said either. We were pissed off. We’re

all grown-ups here, right?” She looked at me over the couch.

I smiled as best I could.

He opened the door for her.

She went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then said something too

quiet for me to hear.

He smiled and put a hand on the small of her back as she stepped out, then

closed the door behind her.

“That…went well,” he said.

I was still clenching my jaw but managed to say through my teeth, “Guess you

were right about her.”

He threw himself at the couch and stretched out. “Fuck, I’m beat.”

I stood and made for the kitchen, trying to calm myself down. I was just tired;

that was all. Tired and bratty, and there was no good reason to take it out on poor

Sam.

“Where you going?” he asked.

I looked over my shoulder just before stepping onto the linoleum. He lay

sprawled on the cushions, his T-shirt all jacked up so the bottom of his flat stomach

was bared, his hip bones sinking into the worn-out waist of his jeans like some

stupid perfect invitation to admire what was going on below. He held one hand out

in my direction, opened and closed it once like a little kid who expected to be handed

their favorite toy five minutes ago.

I’m sure I had a reason to be going to the kitchen, but I promptly forgot it. I

went to him, took his hand, and let him pull me down onto the couch. He turned

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sideways, arranging us like spoons with his front against my back, and wrapped his

arm tight around my middle. “Put something dumb on, huh?”

I reached out for the clicker and did what he asked. Within five minutes, he

was breathing quiet on the back of my head, still holding me tight against him with

one arm, fast asleep.

* * *

Glass shattered.

I sat up straight at the edge of the couch.

Sam grabbed my arm and seemed to be trying to pull himself up too.

My eyes were adjusted, but there was something wrong with the light—or lack

thereof. Some kind of flickering behind the couch. And the smell—

Fuck. Gasoline.

I shot off the couch and swung around it. Sure enough, a beer bottle with a

flaming rag stuffed in the top lay rocking on the carpet. Just dumb luck Honeyed

Fox still made their bottles strong enough not to explode on impact, or I’d be

tugging Sam’s ass off a flaming couch.

Fire, I could handle. But gas would make it go faster than I could. I was made

to start the fires, not stop them.

Couldn’t risk it.

“Get the fuck up, Sam!” I swung back around and dragged him up, but he was

awake by then.

“What the hell?”

“Get out, now. Molotov.”

“You—”

“I’m coming. Just get the fuck out.”

I shoved him down the hall toward the back door. Glass shattered in his

bedroom; a clunk sounded.

Equilibrium

“Oh shit.”

I dug my phone out of my pocket and slapped it into his hands. “Ground

yourself, and call 911.”

But when I tried to shove him out the door, he wouldn’t let me go.

“I can save some of the—”

Something exploded down the hall. As in, our fucking living room went up in

flames with an audible bang and whoosh that made my heart stutter. I tried to jerk

back in to at least get the one out of his room, but he was stronger. He practically

picked me up and dragged me out the door fireman-style.

“It won’t kill me. I can—”

“Not worth it,” he said.

“But your—”

“I will survive without my porn.”

“But—”

He let me go—or rather, let me stand up, because he still kept a hold on my

wrist. “We have other problems.” He put my phone back in my hand. “You call 911. I

got this.”

I followed his gaze—and saw the shadowy figure coming around from the front

of the complex. Another rag-topped bottle sloshing with something way too viscous

to be beer. A huge metal grill lighter in the other hand.

Trent stepped into the tiny backyard plot. “How you like it, Marks?”

It did occur to me that he was talking nonsense, but there another explosion—

this time from Sam’s bedroom—and that seemed more important.

Sirens wailed halfway across town; voices clamored nearer than that.

“Call anyhow,” Sam said, stepping up to stand beside me. “Relax, Trent. Look,

just put it down, and we can talk—”

“Fuck you, freak. I’m not here for you. I’m here for your boyfriend.”

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I hit the button to dial uncle Kristoff just as he said that. The fire department

was already on their way, obviously. Not exactly the kind of town where explosions

went unnoticed. Like Sam said, we had other problems.

Sam held out his hands, moving forward, but slowly. “Okay, it’s fine. You can

talk to Hansen if you—”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I want to burn him down. I saw what you did,

Marks. I saw what you fucking did.”

So I was just staring at that point, wondering what the fuck he was talking

about, when my uncle’s voice suddenly said in my ear, groggy and kind of pissed,

“Hello?”

“Uh, Kristoff. Pretty sure that psych report was incomplete.”

“Wha—”

“I didn’t do anything, Trent,” I said. “Except punch you in the face, and if you

want to punch me back—”

“Fuck punching, and fuck you. You burned down my house, you punk-ass witch

motherfucker. We lost everything. You ever been the poor kid in school, Marks? Have

you?”

Sam’s hands crackled.

“Ground it,” I said. And not because I could hear a couple of neighbors

collecting in Mrs. Pendergast’s daisies, either. Pretty sure they weren’t looking at

Sam, all things considered.

“No problem.” It sparked and, sure enough, looped down his legs and into the

ground.

“Trent, I didn’t burn anything down. You’re the one burning shit down.”

“I saw you, man. I fucking saw you that night, and no one fucking believed me.

They said I was crazy, said they put you in jail, but I swear to god—”

The phone went dead in my hands—hopefully because Kristoff had heard what

was up and was getting his old ass over here. “Trent, that wasn’t me.”

Equilibrium

“Don’t you fucking lie.” He flicked the lighter.

If I could get close enough, I could handle it. I could put it out, so long as I

could get within arm’s reach.

Probably.

Only problem was, part of him would go up before I got that far. Or, if he

threw it my way, part of Sam.

My hands were already prepared—I’d subconsciously attuned myself to the air

around me, warmed up, ready to make a grab—but now I turned it on so I was red-

hot, inching forward. I just started talking, saying anything I could think of that

might stall him, make him realize who I was. Better yet, who I wasn’t. “Trent, I

haven’t even lived here five years. I came for Falls State. Remember, I’m from

Charleston; you said you used to play us in high school. My uncle, he’s a doctor at

University. You know him.”

He flicked the lighter again and this time held it up. Now I could see his face,

the way his mouth curled up in a sneer, and his eyes—

Jesus Christ. What had we done to this kid?

The wail of the sirens got nearer, louder. I heard neighbors spilling out of their

units, wondering what the hell was going on. Any minute now someone would see

us, would come to find out what the noise was about. And Trent would go bug-fuck.

I was the only one he couldn’t hurt.

“Wait, Trent. Wait, okay? Look, the cops are coming. I’ll come with you,

wherever you want. We’ll talk about it.”

He hesitated, cocked his head, like he was hearing the sirens for the first time.

The flame still danced in his hand. Something exploded inside.

I thought, probably a little hysterically, so much for Sam’s porn.

“Don’t,” Sam said behind me.

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I turned to see him still crackling, but in a good way. It danced around his

hands, obvious in the early-morning dark, held down in front of him so no one

behind could see.

“He can’t burn me, Sam.” Maybe he could, considering the gasoline situation.

But, “Gotta get him out of here.”

Sam took a step forward, but I turned away. Behind him, someone else called

my name. I wanted to tell them to back off, but—

Trent’s face lit up like a fucking jack-o’-lantern. The world slowed down as he

took the flame away from the blazing rag, pulled his arm back, and lofted the bottle

in our direction. A bright orange trail hung behind it for a split second. The thing

hurtled on like it had my name written on it, but I could tell right away it was going

to go over my head. I reached, used every inch of my crap-ass athletic ability to

jump as high as I could, and made to snatch the sloshing bottle out of the air.

I caught the burning rag. My feet hit the ground with a jolt, and the bottle

flipped over my head, spilling its acrid chemical guts all over my arm and up my T-

shirt, then landing with an empty thunk. The fire leaped after the gas, raced down

my arm before I could get a feeling for it.

Someone—a couple of someones—screamed behind me, but I was a little busy

to worry about bystanders just then. I crouched on the ground, pulling my fiery arm

into my chest—the closer the air was to me, the easier time I’d have controlling it.

My skin changed; the heat actually hurt. Bad, really bad, since pain was a delayed

reaction by nature. But I was fast enough, ready enough that I kept from blistering

with it. The air, my shirt, all the little baseballs—particles—started to respond. I

closed my eyes and imagined wrapping up all the space around me, all those balls

bouncing madly through the air, me, trying to bat them down, slow them. The world

spun. I stopped breathing, pushing and squeezing, then smothering it until—

A hand on my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. My T-shirt was toast, hanging off one shoulder like a bad

eighties parody, and my arm was blazing hot. But it was there.

Equilibrium

The bottle was still on the ground beside me, stinking of diesel but utterly

benign. Fire never got past my waist.

Something else exploded inside, and I started to laugh. I struggled to stand,

but the world spun, and my knees wouldn’t function. Sam pulled me to my feet and

grabbed my face in both hands, turning me this way and that to examine me.

I concentrated on not puking down his shirt, and letting my arm cool off so he

didn’t burn himself on me, the idiot. “I’m fine—Jesus, watch the arm.”

When he turned me to the left, I saw two cops with Trent slammed against the

back fence, cuffing him.

When he turned me to the right, I saw a little crowd of our neighbors. Way,

way closer than they should’ve been. “How long have they—”

“Almost got barbecued.” He turned me to face him, eyes scanning me again

and again.

Fuck, that had been idiotic of me. I mean, yeah, they might’ve gotten

barbecued, but I could tell from the way things were still spinning that I’d come

pretty close myself.

“Hansen, you’re my fucking hero.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me

hard, like he was afraid I’d disappear.

Katey Hawthorne

Chapter Six

“I don’t get why he thought it was you, though,” Daly said, sucking on a beer.

Screw beer bottles. Hard liquor for me these days.

Nessa, tucked into the booth between him and the wall, raised an eyebrow at

me. Of course, everyone just thought I’d done a brave-stupid thing and smacked the

bottle down, then put my own shirt out before it burned me to a crisp. In all the

confusion, it had been easy to convince them it hadn’t really been as bad as they’d

thought. I mean, the evidence was all there—the only thing burned was my shirt

and, sadly, my hair.

I was sporting a shorter cut these days but was otherwise physically

unaffected.

Mentally, well, we were all pretty affected.

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” I said.

Sam looked down into his drink, biting his lip.

“Poor guy.” Daly looked apologetic as soon as he said it. “I mean, poor you

guys, lost all your stuff and almost got burned alive, but—”

“Yeah, we’re okay, though,” Sam said. “He’s not. It’s a good hospital and all,

but…”

I put my thigh against his under the table. He reached down and grabbed it,

and I covered his hand with mine.

“Yeah. That’s all I mean.” Daly smiled, obviously relieved, then slipped out of

the booth. “Back in a few. Gotta see a man about a horse.”

Equilibrium

When he was gone, Nessa leaned over and lowered her voice. “Was it really

one of…you guys who did it?”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s pretty much all our fault, in a general sins-of-my-

people way.”

And more. Though he still hadn’t said it, I knew that was what was keeping

Sam down. Three days since the fire, and he hadn’t been morose, exactly, but he

still hadn’t said much. Affection, yeah; words, not so much.

“Well, you didn’t drive him crazy,” she said.

Sam replied, “Trent can’t help it.”

“I know. I’m not trying to absolve you, but there’s such a thing as self-defense.”

“We’re like loaded guns,” he said. He didn’t sound pissed, or even sad, really.

Just kind of matter-of-fact.

“Sorry, sweet cheeks—them’s the breaks. And here’s my ride now.”

Jarrett rolled up, proving her point. “Hey, guys.” He kind of flinched when he

got to Sam, but Sam just smiled.

Technically, Jarrett had broken the guy code, going out with his friend’s ex

before at least talking to him about it. We all knew it, but Nessa didn’t—and I had

the feeling if she did, she’d kick our asses for even thinking it. Still, he was kind of

off the hook since, you know, she’d asked, and Sam and I had been holed up getting

splinters in inconvenient places and playing with lightning.

Also, that thing with the friend going crazy and the fire. Puts life into

perspective, I guess.

Jarrett caught my eyes then, and his grin got bigger. “The hero himself.

What’s up, man?” He high-fived me over Sam’s Jack Daniel’s.

“Working on my own comic book, you know, that kind of thing.”

“I’ll bet. The crazy fire-eater, huh?”

“You have no idea, Jarrett. No fucking idea at all.”

Katey Hawthorne

* * *

Sam spread his hand out on my stomach and let it crackle, blue and white and

sharp, so my skin came to life. It was like static shock, but gentle, all over my torso.

I arched my back and made a quiet mmm sound.

“You really like it?”

“It’s hot.”

“You could get it up for a good-looking couch.” He snorted. Then he stopped the

electricity, only to start it up again, sharp and fast.

“Look who’s talking.” The sensation ran all over my skin that time, up to my

chest, down to my thighs, before it died.

He kissed me and curled up against my side, his arm over my middle, his cock

lazy against my thigh, his lips against my shoulder. I played with his hair and

stared upward at nothing, just—enjoying it.

The new place was all right. Ranch-style property on the edge of town, owned

by some professor on sabbatical who knew better than to rent to undergrads. Nice

big yard. No picket fence or dog just yet.

Also, we were sleeping on a futon mattress on the floor of the master bedroom.

But like I say, I’m not a complainer.

“You feel guilty?” he asked.

And there it was. A week and a half since that day at the lake, when he’d

asked me if we could talk about it later. A week with my family, a life-and-death

crisis, a happy hour, a return to work, and an emergency house rental later. And he

finally asks.

I said, “Yeah. I do. Not sure why, though.”

“Yeah. It’s like everything got so fucked up that I can’t tell whose fault it is.

But it feels like mine.”

“Same. That why you’re so quiet?”

“Yeah. No. Sort of.”

Equilibrium

I smiled and played with his hair some more—it was getting long enough to

flip out at the bottom now. Absurd and wonderful. “Feel like clarifying? Or even just

picking one?”

I felt him smile; then he rolled onto his pillow to stare up at the ceiling. A little

square of moonlight made it through the venetian blinds, but otherwise it was dark.

Made his face look pale blue and kind of pretty. For a guy. “Sort of. I do feel bad.

But I feel good too. I feel…way better than I should. So I feel guilty, but for not

feeling guilty.”

“That is some kind of convoluted bullshit, man.”

“I know, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I’m just lucky. So fucking lucky to have you.”

And suddenly I was choking on my heart. Sure, we didn’t talk about it, but I

couldn’t really doubt he was into me. Not even because of all that shit we’d been

through, but—

Well, we’d signed a new lease, so he was at least thinking he’d hang out with

me for a year, right?

“I’ve tried to tell you—so many times. Either you don’t listen, or I can’t make it

come out right.”

“Tell me that you’re lucky? Jesus, Sam, if we don’t think that, the hell are we

doing?”

“I know. But there’s something else you never want to hear.” He paused. Then,

“After I zapped Trent, I just kept thinking that I should want to die.”

I sat up on my elbows. “What?”

But his face was placid apart from a slight furrow in the forehead. He linked

his hands together and laid them across his belly, like he was sunbathing or

something—moonbathing, if that’s a thing. “It was just like being fifteen again and

Katey Hawthorne

blowing up random shit on accident. But worse. Just pure fucking negligence, and I

almost killed the poor guy.”

I wanted to shut him up, tell him he was crazy and it wasn’t his fault and how

the fuck could he say he should ever want to die; I wanted to just let him talk at me

forever, tell me everything, finally. So I did the only reasonable thing I could and

kept quiet, just watching him spill his guts all over the bed—or what passed for it.

“I thought about it so many times when I was a kid. How it’d just be easier if

I…didn’t exist.” He looked up at me then. “I told you, you saved my life. And I mean,

that was just when I was shorting out small kitchen appliances.”

“Sam.” I had to stop before I really got started, though, because there was

some awful, impassable roadblock in my throat. I swallowed hard and lay back

down on my side facing him. “I did what anyone would’ve done. You don’t owe me a

fucking thing.”

“I know.” His gaze dropped, ran over me once, then back up to my eyes again.

“But after Trent—it was different because I had you the whole time. While we were

at your parents’, I just kept thinking, god, I almost killed someone, and here I am

just so happy to be alive. And then after the fire, I mean, I know your uncle checked

him out and said it wasn’t the shock I gave him that sent him off the deep end—

hell, he tried to tell me yesterday it probably delayed it, if anything.”

That was news to me, but this didn’t seem like the best time to debate the

efficacy and/or ethical difficulties of electroshock therapy. I bit my tongue.

“But part of me thinks, can he really know that for sure? What if it is

completely my fault, all of it? And, Jesus, I’m still happy to be alive. And I look at

you, and I know, I know you’re the only reason.”

“Don’t say th—”

“Shut up,” he said, reaching up to put a finger against my lips. A smile tugged

at the corner of his. “I’m soliloquizing here.”

I bit back a nervous laugh and obliged.

Equilibrium

He traced my bottom lip with his fingertip. “It would’ve happened anyhow. You

would’ve slipped up eventually, and I would’ve taken the hint and jumped you. Like

you did, and then I did.”

I grinned, and he took his finger away, then looked back up at the ceiling and

continued. “But I was really lucky it happened now, because…because I just needed

to know that someone—that you could still love me when I—even when I was

fucking up the whole world.”

“Lots of people love you, you idiot.”

“I know. But they can’t really know me. You do, and, like, that’s worth…”

He’d run out of words, and thank god, because if I actually had to hear him say

nothing felt like it was worth living for, I was going to scream or cry or kick his ass

or…something.

He lifted up on his elbow and bore down on me, one hand on my chest, his lips

inches from mine. The smell of warm breath—and gingersnaps, since we’d tanked a

half dozen before bed. “How you feeling about this equilibrium thing now?”

“Never gonna forgive me for that, are you?”

“Did as soon as you said it. But if I’m gonna fall for an economist, I better learn

how to bullshit a bullshitter. Soccer metaphors don’t go that far, and consultant

ones make me sick; I’ll take all the ammo I can get.” He kissed me, laying his palm

flat against my belly and letting go with a faint static charge just as he licked the

roof of my mouth. When he closed the kiss off and pulled back, letting the current

die, I was already short of breath. “So what do you think?”

“About the equilibrium?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, brain isn’t working right now. First you lay that shit on me, and then

you start this. I need a minute.”

He grinned.

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Katey Hawthorne

I pushed him onto his back and straddled his legs, giving him time to sit up

against the wall and adjust the pillows. And then I sat down on his thighs, leaning

forward to kiss him, hands on his hips. When we were all adjusted and I’d gotten a

good kiss out of him, I said, “We’re good. It’d be stupid to make a different move,

since this one’s paying off.”

He laughed and kissed me some more, grabbing my ass and pulling me

forward until I sat down with his cock in my ass crack. We stayed like that for a

long time, just making out, me dragging myself over him, him pulling me forward so

I could rub off against his belly. He’d bite my lip, and I’d grind down on him. I’d

heat my hands up and pinch at him, and he’d send a little shock down my spine.

I didn’t give a fuck about Nash, either way. What was the point of not giving

him what was his anyhow?

It’s not business or politics or any of this pointless bullshit you throw up around

yourself to make you feel safe. This is not a competition.

My boyfriend is smart.

I pulled myself closer and sank down lower, as low as I could get with my

knees on either side of his hips, pushing into his belly and flattening him against

the wall. This time a little different—this time I didn’t stop. He ran his hands up

my sides, then back down, then wrapped his arms around me and started kissing

my neck. A shock ran through me when he bit gently at my ear—not a real shock,

just a rush of sensation—and I heard myself say, “Fuck me.”

He was busy kissing me but seemed to figure out what I’d said after a few

seconds. “Like—really?”

I rubbed my ass against his erection, and it sent heat raging through me,

almost made me scream. Imagining him coming inside, hitting that spot up in me

that he’d only found with his fingers before, simultaneously getting off himself. The

sensation of him so close, driving myself crazy, and I started to leak against his

stomach. “Really. Like, now.”

“Fuck, yeah. But how do we, um, who—”

Equilibrium

101

“Trust me, honey.” I grabbed for the K-Y—no nightstand yet, but there are

some things you can’t live without at the bedside.

He grinned like an idiot.

I put some in his hand. “Fingers first.” I sat up on my knees.

Yeah, I was desperate. But with a cock that size, first things definitely first.

He did as he was told, sliding his hand between my legs and rubbing lube

against my asshole. I fucking hurt for it, but I didn’t grind down on him. I leaned

forward with my hands on his shoulders, said into his lips, “Get it ready.”

He kissed my mouth, his breath ragged against my face, and started out slow.

First one finger, up inside until he almost hit it. Something started to uncoil down

deep inside me, then spiral back up my spine, just the beginning. I sighed, then

managed, “More.”

He pulled out and added another finger. In and out, slow and careful, a groan

building in his throat. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

I could almost believe it, just then. I kissed his face, his mouth, his neck while

he built it up, stretched me out, and got me going, that spiral getting tighter and

tighter, winding up and up, my cock dragging sticky over his stomach. When my

thighs started to burn with the strain of it, and I calculated I had about five seconds

before I came all over him, I said, “Let’s go.”

He pulled out slow, panting, kissing me everywhere his mouth could reach. I

reached for the bottle again, then sat down on his thighs. I took his straining cock

and slicked it, and he arched his back against the pillows, biting his lip.

I smirked.

“Goddammit, Hansen—”

I got back to my knees. “I’ll be quick; don’t worry.”

His fingers pressed hard into my ass on both sides. He closed his eyes and

sighed, his hips pushing forward, then back, causing him to sink down into the

mattress and pillows farther. I crawled forward, angling my ass just right and

102

Katey Hawthorne

guiding the slippery head of his cock to it. I pushed down, thighs burning, letting

out a long breath to relax—

Fuck.

I lowered myself slowly, getting used to the stretch of him inside me. So.

Fucking. Full. My cock ached, in the best possible way, already trying to explode

with the mad feeling, the impossibly perfect pain-and-pleasure combination of it.

Lower, lower, and that spot inside me came to life when he rubbed against it,

shooting heat through my whole body in waves—distant but repeating. I worked it a

little, back and forth, until I could take it. I realized he was gasping then. He

pushed up into me, one hand, still slippery, holding my ass, the other moving up

higher.

He put it against my neck, then ran it up to my cheek and held it there. His

chest heaved. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I sat forward and pulled up, and that coil of hot sensation tightened

around him inside me.

Back down, and he gasped again, clutching at me. Closed his eyes and bit his

lip—so hard that a little black bead of blood welled up. He licked at it, didn’t seem

to realize what it was. I put my hand at his lip to brush it off, and he kissed my

fingers, sucked them into his mouth and licked them. His mouth, hot and wet and

perfect, closing around me; him filling me up, back and forth as I rocked my hips,

worked my thighs until they burned, and then kept going, because everything that

hurt, everything that was hot, just made that electric feeling inside me curl tighter,

faster, harder. His head fell back against the wall, and he sucked my fingers in till I

could feel the soft, wet back of his throat.

The whole thing, me, him, became a wash of pure energy. I made it last as long

as I could, but I once I started fucking him, I couldn’t stop—just faster and harder,

and that was all there was. Finally, his palm connected hard with my ass; I sat

down, combining the sting of it with the pain and fullness, the spiral of heat inside

me, squeezing with my legs, my ass. I gasped. The world started to fade out.

Equilibrium

103

“Fuck, I’m—” He shoved himself up into me and growled. “Ah, fuck.”

I felt it inside me, the sudden swell and rush of warmth from his orgasm. I

kept riding him, but the heat and frantic push of him brought it on hard. I grabbed

my cock and put it against his belly, grinding down and forgetting how to breathe.

My body rocked from the inside out. The coil inside me snapped, sprayed heat all

through me. I closed my eyes, blind, and came so hard all over his stomach that I

swear to god my heart stopped.

Five seconds later I collapsed into him, my forehead against his, arms on his

chest. Dizzy as fuck.

“Holy shit.” His cock throbbed inside me, and he gasped again. “Sorry, I

couldn’t—”

I kissed him to shut him the hell up, still spinning. He kissed me back, both of

us breathing too hard to be very effective at it, but trying all the same.

His cock gave another thump. Mine did too, but I smiled and rocked my hips a

little.

“Unh, Christ. That’s not going down as long as it’s in you.”

I smirked. “That supposed to make me want to climb off?”

“God, I fucking love you.”

And for the first time, I really believed it.

Equilibrium: The Mixed Tape

“Only if You Run” by Julian Plenti (Julian Plenti is… Skyscraper!) H

“I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You” by Black Kids

(Partie Traumatic)

“Ways & Means” by Snow Patrol (Final Straw)

“Temptation Greets You Like Your Naughty Friend” by Arctic Monkeys

(Brianstorm EP) H

“And if I Fall” by The Charlatans (Wonderland)

“Ready to Start” by Arcade Fire (The Suburbs) H

“We’re All in Love” by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (Take Them On, On Your

Own) S

“Love’s Not a Competition (But I’m Winning)” by Kaiser Chiefs (Yours Truly,

Angry Mob)

“Electricity” by Spiritualized (Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space)

“Get Out While You Can” by Starsailor (On the Outside)

“Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash (Ring of Fire: The Best of Johnny Cash) S

“Learnt My Lesson Well” by Kaiser Chiefs (Yours Truly, Angry Mob)

“Teardrop” by Massive Attack (Mezzanine)

“Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon (Only by the Night) S

“It Means Nothing” by Stereophonics (Pull the Pin)

H= Hansen’s pick

S= Sam’s pick

Loose Id Titles by Katey Hawthorne

Equilibrium

Katey Hawthorne

Katey Hawthorne is an avid reader and writer of dark fiction and

superpowered romance, even though the only degree she holds in is in the history of

art. (Or, possibly, because the only degree she holds is in the history of art.)

Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in the

D.C. Metro Area. In her spare time she enjoys comic books, B-movies, loud music,

Epiphones, and Bushmills.

Links to reach Katey:

Main Web site:

http://www.kateyhawthorne.com

Blog:

http://www.kateyhawthorne.com

Blog:

http://kvtaylor.com

Email:

kate@kateyhawthorne.com

Document Outline

Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Equilibrium: The Mixed Tape
Loose Id Titles by Katey Hawthorne
Katey Hawthorne

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