“Roommates not here?”…

…I asked.

“Nah, they left for Montreal this morning. They’re going to see Lady Gaga and they made a long weekend out of it.”

“Hmm. How come you didn’t go?”

He shrugged, getting his corduroy jacket from the hall closet. “I don’t…Lady Gaga’s not really my thing.”

“Same here,” I said quietly. I moved closer to him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, making him look at me. “So, what is your thing?”

His blue eyes widened at the obvious invitation in mine. “Fuck, Tate. You’re my thing. You’re my fucking thing…”


– Beyond the Edge, Chapter Eleven

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