Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,21
and stared over Orlando’s shoulder at the dresser.
“Sorry, I can come back.”
“What do you want?”
“This is weird. I’ll come back.”
“Jesus, Orlando, you’re making it so much weirder. What?”
“We need Theo.”
“No, we don’t. Theo was a bag of dicks yesterday. I don’t want anything to do with Theo.”
“Well, we need him. If Cal is involved with drugs—”
“If?”
“If he’s in trouble, I mean, I don’t know who else to ask.”
“We go to the police.”
“Augs!”
“You said you trusted my judgment. You said if I wanted to go to the police, we’d go to the police.”
“Ok, right, but just listen—”
“And Theo was fucking awful to me yesterday.”
“Look—”
“And if Cal disappearing is connected to drugs, then you need the police. There was this one detective who seemed all right. Somerset. I think he gave me his card. Hold on.”
As Auggie turned toward his desk, Orlando caught him by the arm. When Auggie glanced back, Orlando’s face was bright red, and he looked like he wanted to retreat. But he didn’t. His touch was light but firm.
“Augs, please don’t make me go to the police yet. My family is—well, you saw. And if I go to the police, they will never forgive me. Please don’t make me do that. Please.”
He’d forgotten that Orlando’s hands were soft and strong. Goosebumps worked their way across Auggie’s chest.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Auggie asked. “I mean, I don’t know anything about drugs. I don’t know anything about this town, really, except for the college.”
Orlando’s thick brows came together.
“No,” Auggie said.
“I tried to ask Wayne but he just—I mean, it was Peepee this, Peepee that, like I’m too stupid to hold my own dick.”
“No, Orlando.”
“Please.”
“He was a bag of dicks.” Auggie couldn’t seem to think of another way to phrase it. “You saw how he treated me.”
“Yeah, well, you were—” More red moved into Orlando’s face. “You were provoking him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know you were. You didn’t like when he said you could borrow his car, and then you were—well, Augs, you were kind of mean to him.”
Auggie ripped his elbow free.
“And you know what?” Orlando said. “You picked him—”
“We’re not doing this, Orlando. We’re not going to talk about why you and I didn’t work out. You won’t like it if we do.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you picked him, though.”
“I said something to him, yeah. But I don’t even know if I meant it. I had a lot going on, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“You’d better figure it out; you made some pretty big decisions about your life because of him. If you’re serious about that, if you still feel that way . . .” Orlando hesitated and then, in a rush, said, “Well, maybe you need to do what he said and grow up.”
The worst part was that Orlando wasn’t saying anything Auggie hadn’t thought to himself over the past day and a half. After the lacrosse tryouts, he’d spent most of Labor Day with the Sigma Sigma guys, barbequing on the back patio, playing a pickup game of frisbee, and then following the party to a junior’s apartment where he could score a few beers and two shots of tequila. And the whole day—sprawling in a chaise next to the grill, smelling the burgers sizzling, or getting cornered in the kitchen by a twinkie senior who kept touching Auggie’s arm, or throwing back the next shot of Milagro—the whole day, Auggie had been trying to figure out why he’d been such a shit to Theo.
He covered his eyes and groaned.
For some reason, this seemed to encourage Orlando because he said, “And you should apologize.”
“Ok.”
“And you really need to mean it.”
“I said ok. Good God, what has my life come to when you’re the one giving advice?”
When he peeled his hands away, Orlando had a nervous smile. “So you’ll ask him?”
Auggie groaned again.
Orlando’s smile firmed, and he said, “And you should probably shave your chest because those little hairs are cute, but I don’t think that’s the look you’re going for.”
“Oh my God,” Auggie said, trying to shrink behind his folded arms.
“And you only have three of them, so it’s not like it’ll take very long.”
“Get out.”
“And Theo is obviously into tweeny hunk Auggie, so maybe trim under your arms because you’re getting, you know, a little bushy. And if you aren’t already trimming down—”
Auggie shoved him out of the room.
“Shave your pits and wear the tank,” Orlando suggested from the hallway.
Auggie shut the door and leaned against it in case Orlando tried to