“This is why.” I drop my bag and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge, my back totally straight because I’m freaking out. How has he not dropped this already? “I’m a man, Kingston. You’re straight. It’s not a good plan.”

He sits up, reaching out to take my hand, and I want to pull away, but I don’t. “It is though.” His eyes are pleading with me, earnestness shining in them, and it nearly kills me. I think he actually thinks this is a great idea. “She fucked with my head, Cam. I can’t even jerk off.”

I should be surprised by how candidly he just said that to me, but I’m not. It’s like he has no shame or embarrassment whatsoever. Or at least he didn’t until this whole breakup thing happened. “You can’t jerk off?”

His shoulders shrug. “I can get hard, but not . . .”

I hold up a hand because it’s too much of a mental picture in my head, and I’ve seen his dick now . . . And shit, I can’t do this. “Okay. So find a girl. I’m sure there’s another chick at school who’d love to tell you how hot and sexy you are, how great your dick is, and fool around with you. Okay?”

He shakes his head, still holding onto my hand, clinging desperately. “No. I can’t. I don’t trust anyone else. Just you.”

He’s killing me. “But I’m a guy,” I remind him exasperatedly.

“So?” He seems genuinely confused as to why that’s an issue.

“So . . . I have a dick.”

He shrugs. “So? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Pleasure is pleasure, right?”

I’m really tired, and it’s been a long day. My side is killing me, and I hate how his logic is starting to chip away at my own. He’s good at that, even though he doesn’t have to try. “It’s different equipment.”

“Not our mouths. You can tell me if I’m a good kisser. And I can be a guy you kissed.”

Jesus Christ, he just doesn’t stop. “But . . .”

He moves closer to me on the bed, his other hand resting on my thigh and his eyes pleading with me as his hand grips mine. “Please, Camden. It’s fucking with me. I hate that it is, but it is. And if I went out with another girl at school, I know I’ll just hear Kennedy in my head. I’ll worry she’ll go to school and tell everyone I suck at this too. You’re the only person I trust to tell me the truth and not tell anyone.”

This. Guy. I hate that this makes sense to me. That I understand the fear of high-school gossip. That feeling that no one can be trusted fully. But he does trust me.

He trusts me with everything.