I wasn’t stupid. I knew better than to catch any sort of feelings with Clay, even after all those chemicals were flowing and telling me I should cling to the person who just made me feel that amazing. We had a deal. I’d literally begged him to do these things to me, to take my virginity and show me what to do so when it came time with Shawn, so that I wasn’t so unprepared I lost him before I even had my chance.

Still, that soft side of me relished in having Clay be the one to do it, in having him stay the night after, like he actually cared about me.

It was better than what most of my friends experienced in high school with their first times, that I was sure of.

A loud buzzing on my windowsill in the bedroom sounded over the sizzle of the omelet, and Clay groaned, his gargantuan arm reaching out blindly until he swiped his phone off the ledge. He glanced at the screen, then peeled himself up to sit, frowning at it.

He looked up at me next, but I turned back before his eyes met mine, trying to give him privacy.

I wondered if it was Maliyah.

I also wondered why my stomach did a violent high dive to the floor when I considered if it was.

“Hey, Dad,” he answered gruffly, and I peeked over my shoulder again just in time to watch him tug on the last of his shirt. He gave me a tight smile, disappearing into the bathroom.

Something in me relaxed a bit, and I plated the first omelet before starting on the next.

The conversation was a bit muted when he was in the bathroom, especially when he ran the faucet, too. He clearly didn’t want me hearing him, so I did my best to ignore it, to focus on cooking and not on the little glimpses I could make out.

Yeah, I miss them, too.

You know, you could all come here for a game.

Right. Busy. I understand.

The faucet and light both clicked off at once before he emerged with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, his t-shirt wrinkled from being thrown to the floor mid-sleep.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Good morning,” I echoed back. “Here. Breakfast,” I said, sliding the still-steaming omelet onto the kitchen bar. “Coffee’s over there.”

He yawned, brushing past me and reaching up for a coffee cup in the cabinet above the maker. It was like he lived here, like he already knew where everything was.

“Do you always make such a lavish breakfast feast?”

I barked out a laugh. “A feast? It’s an omelet.”

“Better than what I can do in my dorm, I assure you.”