Joel seemed to realize he had an audience and sat up abruptly, straightening his clothes. “Do you need something?” Joel asked, his expression blank. He was still closed off sometimes, but Paulie was good at breaking him out of that shell.
“Yes. I’m having a crisis.” I smiled into my beer, knowing Paulie would completely abandon their make-out sesh at the promise of some gossip.
“Is it boy drama?” Paulie asked gleefully. Joel grumbled and slouched on the couch.
I ticked my woes off on my fingers. “I have to bring home a Madagascar hissing cockroach in two weeks for my Entomology 101 class, and I need to keep it alive for the whole semester. I have to read two Jack Kerouac novels in one of my classes, so fuck my life, seriously. I’m class partners with Connor Blume. And I’m pretty sure this is our last beer. It’s been a terrible day.”
“Wait, go back to Connor Blume,” Paulie said at the same time that Joel exclaimed, “What about a cockroach?”
I answered Joel first. “A Madagascar hissing cockroach. Yes, they actually do hiss, and they can grow to be two to three inches long. I Googled that on the way home. It has to live here with us.”
Thinking about it made me feel slightly ill. I didn’t have an issue with creepy-crawly things, normally. I could kill spiders without a squeamish thought, and even June bugs didn’t freak me out too much. And June bugs were nasty. But the reality of having to care for the cockroach turned my stomach. When we got good, old-fashioned Oklahoma cockroaches in the kitchen, I fucking stepped on them.
“Will it be in an escape-proof container?” Joel asked.
“Yes. I’ll be provided a small tank, but we’re encouraged to ‘interact’ with the cockroach,” I said, trying to remember the syllabus. “If we lose the cockroach, it’s a reduction in letter grade. That bitch will never be let out of its box, which will have a tight, but breathable, lid.” I shuddered, thinking about my next words. “I might leave it in the living room, so I don’t have to listen to it hissing at night.”
Joel’s expression was so horrified that I finally found the humor in this scenario. Staying in the class would be worth it if it could make Joel this emotive.
“Like hell you’re leaving it in the living room,” he said.
“Enough of that nonsense. What did you say about Connor Blume?” Paulie asked.
Last year, when I’d been at the peak of my Connor crush, Paulie and I had spitballed for hours about the best ways to approach Connor at the Lumberyard. Propositioning him in an alley had not been the plan.
“He’s in my entomology class, which I should have seen coming. I mean, he’s an agribusiness major, I think.” I knew he was an agribusiness and agricultural sciences double major, but I didn’t want to admit to knowing it.
“And you’re lab partners?” Joel asked.
“Class partners. We have to do class participation questions together.”
Paulie reached across the coffee table, plucked my beer bottle from my fingers, and took a sip. I let him, but only because he was adorable. “Did you talk to him? Was it horrible and weird?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.” I was about to mention the closet and the kisses and his strong fingers holding my head still and his palms pressing my hands to the door, but then I . . . didn’t. I’d initially wanted to hash out the whole encounter with my two best friends, but discomfort weaseled its way into my brain.
It’d be easier to ignore how flustered he made me if I didn’t acknowledge it.
“That’s it?” Paulie said, bursting with his need to know more, more, more. Joel put his hand on Paulie’s knee, probably trying to rein him in. If ever there was someone who understood not wanting to answer questions, it was Joel.
“Yep,” I quipped with a shrug. “It’ll suck, but I’ll manage.”
Paulie sighed, clearly disappointed, and changed the subject to dinner.
I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly reticent to share my sordid make-out story with my friends. I enjoyed telling them stories and bouncing issues and problems off them until I could process things clearly. But I suddenly couldn’t fathom telling them about kissing Connor. It felt good holding it close to my chest, like the experience was precious, and, frankly, that terrified me.
Chapter Three
CONNOR
After kissing Travis yesterday, I’d been distracted through my afternoon classes. I hadn’t been able to get my head in the game, and I was thankful that it had been syllabus day and none of my professors had made us do icebreakers. The first day of class was my least favorite for that very reason. The forced intimacy of sharing parts of yourself with strangers because you enrolled in the same subject—it was horrible.
I wasn’t sure I liked Travis, but I also anticipated seeing him tomorrow as if Christmas morning were coming early. My chest felt full of knots, and I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or panic.
Today, my agenda wasn’t shaping up to be exciting, thankfully. I had an appointment with Dr. Greer in the morning, lab after that, afternoon classes, then dinner with my family.
It wasn’t a full day by any means, but when I pulled my planner out to double-check the schedule and my to-do list, it overwhelmed me a little. I would have preferred to skip dinner and stay in playing videogames or watching TV, but I took my responsibilities seriously. No one missed a Blume family dinner, and Dad would expect me to help with chores afterward.
I left my campus apartment—the one my parents insisted on because they wanted me to have the “full college experience”—and headed to the Spectrum Center for my advisor meeting with Dr. Greer.
Evidently, he tried to catch up with all of his seniors to discuss career planning. Yesterday, he’d emailed to ask if I could meet him at the Spectrum Center, rather than his normal office, because he had meetings there bookending our session.
The Center was situated in a wing of the student union, and the walls were colorful with murals. It had its own computer lab, lounge, and quiet study area, as well as offices for counseling and several large meeting rooms.
I pulled the door open and was immediately greeted by Desi and her friend, Alex Oleastro, who both worked the front desk.
“Hiya, handsome,” Desi said before the door had shut behind me.
“Hey, Des. Hi, Alex.”
Alex waved and shot me a kind smile. He and Desi were good friends, but I hadn’t been around him much. Desi had wanted to set us up after I’d come out, but I’d waved off her attempts. Alex was pansexual and one of the hottest men I’d ever seen, with tattoos that peeked out of his clothes and several visible piercings. At the time, his unerring confidence had made me intensely aware of all the ways I was an awkward, inexperienced virgin.
I’d felt the same insecurity with Travis.
“What brings you to our snowflakes-only clubhouse today?” Desi asked, humor coloring her voice. She was so fierce, and her snark almost made me smile.
“I have an advising meeting with Dr. Greer in ten minutes.”
“Ah, yeah,” she said. “They’re planning their outreach agenda for the Spectrum Center today. They got out of their last meeting early, and he ran downstairs to get a coffee. He said he’d be back in a second.”
“Cool. I don’t mind waiting.”
“When are you going to barhop with us again?” she asked. I held in my groan. I was sure she wanted me to go with her to the Lumberyard, which wasn’t my thing. I was a horrible dancer.
But, it was one of my goals to be more social, to a degree.
“Maybe next week?” I said.
“What can we do to turn that maybe into an absolutely?” Alex asked with a smile. He had a tongue piercing I’d never noticed before. Most of his partners would probably like that. My thoughts wandered back to Travis, and heat flushed my cheeks.
“Buy me dinner,” I joked, trying to distract myself.
“Done!” Desi said. “You choose the place, since you’re picky.”
I wasn’t a picky eater—I enjoyed most food—but I coul
d be obsessive about food preparation. It made restaurants tricky since I couldn’t check their processes.
“I’m not picky. I’m a creature of habit.” That was a dumb euphemism I sometimes used for my OCD when I didn’t want to explain why trying new, unvetted restaurants was hard for me.
Desi smiled gently. “My treat. Wherever sounds good to you.”
“Sure. I’ll let you know.” Right now, I felt like I could eat anywhere without a problem, but next week might be a different story.
Chronic mental health issues for the win.
Dr. Greer came through the Center’s double doors, and I sighed in relief, happy to get away from the social butterflies.
“Oh, hi, Connor. I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Dr. Greer said in greeting.
We had five minutes before our meeting was technically supposed to start. I liked to be early. “No. Not long at all.”
“Great. Follow me.”
I trailed behind Dr. Greer to a set of offices. He ushered me into one, offered me a seat, and plopped down in a creaky office chair. Then he booted up the computer to open my file.
“This meeting with you is a formality,” he said, “since you have your career path on the farm set already, but I still wanted to meet with you to see if there are any resources or contacts you need.”
“I understand.”
My hands began to shake, which happened when I was anxious. I clasped them over my knees. My future path was set. It was so set it might as well have been in stone.
Calling my parents’ business operations “the farm” was simplistic. They owned and managed several agricultural operations in western Oklahoma, including a family farm, the Feed Store, a wild horses contract with the Bureau of Land Management, mineral rights in multiple locations, and partial ownership in numerous local businesses.
I was expected to step straight into all of that, but the idea of living in Elkville, Oklahoma for the rest of my life made me feel like I was being crushed by blocks of cement.
Dr. Greer was watching me closely, so I locked everything down. I had responsibilities. I couldn’t get emotional over those expectations now.
“What will be your primary role with the farm after you graduate?” he asked. “Have you and your parents discussed that?”
We hadn’t. Not down to the nitty-gritty. I’d done everything I could to avoid that conversation with them. Instead of telling Dr. Greer that, I said what I always said when I was confronted with this question.
“I’ll help with day-to-day tasks, farm management, and financials. Eventually, my parents want to phase out of everyday operations, and my sister and I will manage it for them. I’ll start playing a bigger role at the Feed Store.”
The words made my chest tight.
Dr. Greer nodded and jotted down a couple notes in my file. Then he began discussing different agribusiness resources and contacts he’d send to me. I tuned out after that. It was all too much.
Later that night, the conversation with Dr. Greer replayed in my head as I helped Mom cook dinner. The day, which I’d hoped would be stress free, had been anything but. My palms ached from clenching my fists against the anxiety the advising meeting had incited, and my lunch sat heavy in my stomach. It was amazing how such small things could fuck me up so easily when they were piled on top of each other.
“What did that tomato ever do to you, honey?” Mom asked. I jerked back to the present, where I was glaring at the tomato I was supposed to be slicing for hamburgers. I made fast work of the tomato and ignored her question. She ruffled my hair and hip bumped me out of the way to get to the silverware drawer.
“Where’s Lena?” I asked. I hadn’t seen my little sister since I’d arrived an hour earlier.
“She’s out fixing a fence with your dad.”
“I wonder if they need my help.”
“I don’t know about them, but I sure appreciate your help. Look at you and your sis, breaking gender norms.” Mom winked at me, and I huffed a laugh. “An actual smile. Oh my goodness gracious,” she teased. “It’s a day of miracles.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You, my darling child, are so scowly, sometimes I don’t know how you’re related to the rest of us.”
I scowled at that. Mom liked to joke—my whole family did—but I had trouble finding humor in the rumors that surrounded my parentage. My biological father—Cliff—had died when I was an infant, and my mom had married his twin brother—Red—less than a year later. Red then adopted me. He was the only father I’d ever known.
There’d always been whispers around town that I was actually Red’s kid, but I trusted my parents when they said there was no truth to that. Mom called it a “juicy piece of gossip.” Still, it wasn’t fun to find out from the other kids at T-ball practice that all of their parents thought my mom was a cheating hussy.
Red, whom I just called Dad, came in the back door with my sister in tow. He strode right over with a grin and gave me a huge hug. My whole family was full of smiley, huggy, loving jokesters.
The horror.
“I’m so glad you’re here, son.” He always said that when I came home, which was often. My luck in family was not lost on me.
Lena moved in for a hug next, but at the last minute, shoved her smelly work gloves in my face. I sputtered and pushed her hands away.
“You’re disgusting,” I spit out.
“I’m adorkable,” she said.
“Who told you that? Your boyfriend?”
She grinned. “It’s common knowledge.” She stuck her tongue out. She was adorkable, but I’d never admit it out loud. She was insufferable enough as it was.
“Okay, demon spawn, set the table.” Mom shoved a stack of plates into my hands, and turned to pass Lena the silverware. “Lena, wash your hands before you put your fingers in that jar or Connor will scold you ’til kingdom come,” she said, catching Lena about to go digging with her dirty fingers in the pickle jar.
My heart immediately jumped into my throat, repulsion rippling through me. I definitely would have scolded her and avoided that jar of pickles forever. I’d also have been nervous about everyone else eating those pickles because it was impossible for me to turn my brain off.
“Or better yet, use a utensil,” I said through clenched teeth, trying to shake off my anxiety.
Lena rolled her eyes so hard, I was surprised she didn’t sprain her eyeballs. But she washed her hands, then used a fork to dig out a pickle, so I won.
Once we were all settled around my parents’ farmhouse table, Dad cleared his throat and reached for Mom’s hand. For one confusing second, I thought he was about to start a prayer before dinner. Not that I had an issue with praying, but we didn’t do it as a family.
I froze with my hamburger halfway to my mouth and stared at them. “What’s going on?”
“Your dad and I have some news,” Mom said.
“You’re pregnant?” Lena chirped. She was scrolling through her phone, apparently unsurprised and unbothered by this conversation.
“We bought an RV.” Dad’s emphasis made it seem as if he was telling me something really important. I was pretty sure I knew where this conversation was leading, but I wasn’t willing to acknowledge it.
“It’s behind the shed,” Lena added, when I didn’t respond.
Finally, I said, “Okay.”
Mom sighed, and I got that prickling sensation on the back of my neck that indicated I wasn’t reacting the way she wanted me to.
“Since you’re about to graduate, we’d like to begin to step away from daily operations on the farm and at the Feed Store. Your father and I both think you’re prepared and capable. We’ve talked to our estate planner, accountants, and lawyers, and we’re ready to set you up as our business manager once you graduate. You already know the farm and the Feed Store better than anyone besides us, but we’ll be around to help with the transition. You’ll earn a percentage of the total holdings plus your salary. Then when Lena is through with sc
hool, she’ll get the same deal, and we’ll start to phase out completely.”
“Okay,” I said again, my mind spinning too fast to keep up.
“We’ve been lucky. We have a nice nest egg set aside for retirement, and eventually, you guys will hopefully be able to buy us out,” Mom said. “In the meantime, we’d like to start traveling.”
Lena grumbled under her breath. I wanted to latch onto whatever snarky thing she’d said, hoping it would lead me toward the right response, but I’d missed her words.
I stared back at my parents. They were both smiling, waiting out my silence.
With blood rushing in my ears, I said, “Sounds good.”
It didn’t, but what else could I say? I had to force myself not to make a mental list of everything I’d miss out on while living in Elkville for the rest of my life. Instead, I sent my parents a fake smile, took a bite, and moved on. No reason to fight the future. It was coming whether I wanted it or not.
Chapter Four
CONNOR
“Hey, Mr. Know-It-All.”
I dropped the pencil I’d been twirling through my fingers and turned toward Travis’s deep voice as he approached our table. I wanted to hear him talk when he was hard up for dick. For touch. His voice was deep and smooth. I wanted to hear it crack.
“I’m not going to respond to that nickname.”
“You are just as pleasant today, I see,” Travis said with a cheeky smile. “What can I call you, then?” He slipped his messenger bag off his shoulder, sat down next to me, and crossed one leg over the other.
“Connor.”
Today, rather than the joggers and hoodie of Monday, he was wearing skinny jeans, a dark green cable-knit sweater, and a brown leather jacket. Monday’s comfy outfit had been sexy on him. This one was phenomenal.
“Can I call you Con Man? Or Connie?”
My sister used to call me Corny Connie, and I’d hated it.
“Nope.”
“Hmmm. Can I call you Red? You know, because of your hair.”
Clean Break Page 3
