Shane stood six foot two without his athletic shoes; with them, he seemed to tower over me in a way that made me feel both smaller and somehow anchored. We’d known each other for years, passing each other in hallways, playing side-by-side on dusty diamonds, but only in the past few months had we crossed into a space where looks lasted a little too long and silences felt loaded.
Neither of us had landed the baseball scholarships we’d been hoping for, and I’d already committed to the community college in town. My path was clear enough, training to become an auto mechanic. I loved the smell of motor oil, the steady tick of a cooling engine, the way a stubborn bolt finally gave under the right torque. Shane, though, had always been the thinker. He talked about numbers like they were puzzle pieces, fitting together in perfect rows. His plan had been to study accounting, with baseball helping to pay his way.
He’d been accepted to two state universities with solid baseball programs, but without a scholarship, it wasn’t possible. So when he told me he’d decided to go to the same community college as me, to knock out his core credits and earn an associate degree in finance, it had felt as if I’d received a quiet gift, though I didn’t dare call it that.
My parents had promised I could stay in the small garage apartment rent-free as long as I kept up my classes. When I told them I was thinking of asking Shane to move in, they’d traded one of those knowing looks, the kind that comes with a raised eyebrow. They worried I’d waste time on late-night video games instead of studying. I told them they didn’t have to worry.
Shane wasn’t entirely convinced either. One night, after practice, we lingered in the dim parking lot. The lights from the field cast long shadows, and his shirt still clung damply to his back. He leaned against the hood of my car, arms folded, eyes glinting.
My heart pounded heavily in my chest; I could feel the thumping in my ears. We hadn’t been together, not really together, since that first time. I longed to feel him inside me, and I longed to be inside him. Our brief sessions of serious, deep kissing with occasional bouts of fingers reaching down into underwear weren’t enough. But the timing just never seemed to work in our increasingly full schedules.
His voice snapped me back to the present. “So, Taylor,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving, “if I had to choose between studying for a test and having your dick up my ass, which do you think I’d pick?”
I kept my expression neutral, though my pulse jumped even higher. “Well,” I said slowly, “I can understand your dilemma.”
We both laughed, but it wasn’t an easy laugh, it was sharp-edged, skimming over the tension humming between us. He didn’t move from where he was leaning, and for a moment, I thought he might step closer.
But as it turned out, he wouldn’t have to choose.
Two weeks before move-in day, one of the state schools called. They’d found funding for a partial scholarship. I remember the way the evening light caught in his hair, the shadows softening the planes of his face as he ended the call. The cicadas’ drone blurred into a background hum; all I could hear was the quickened beat of my own heart.
“It’s the best thing for our future,” he said, and this time his voice was quieter, like the words might break if spoken too loudly.
I nodded, forcing a smile, though the back of my throat ached. He didn’t touch me, didn’t step forward, but his eyes lingered in a way that made it feel like he’d said something more than what I’d heard.
I wanted to believe him. Oh how I wanted to. But the fear had already curled tight in my chest, because I didn’t know if he meant our future… or just his.
My hours at the shop were cut just as the semester started. The boss had brought in a new full-time guy, mid-twenties, movie-star smile, and the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing his stuff. He’d worked in auto parts before, could rattle off part numbers without checking the computer, and fit right in with the crew. He was friendly enough to me, though there was a certain reserve, like he hadn’t quite decided whether I was worth his time. Still, we got along well enough.
Classes were easier than I’d expected. Maybe my high school teachers had been better than I’d given them credit for. Or maybe it was because my nights had become so still. With Shane gone, there were no after-practice hangouts, no late-night talks, just me, my textbooks, and the faint hum of the mini fridge in my apartment.
One gray afternoon in the library, while I was bent over my notebook, a shadow fell across my table. A guy I’d seen around campus slid into the chair across from me. He was taller than I’d realized, with an easy grin and hair that caught the light in a way that made it look almost gold.
“I’m Logan,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Logan Snyder. I’ve seen you around, always by yourself.”
There was no judgment in his tone, just observation. Then, without missing a beat, he added, “I’ve always thought of myself as bi, but lately I’ve decided women are too much trouble. So I’m just sticking with guys now. Which… brings me to the question about you. Do you have a boyfriend? And are you interested in maybe coming over sometime, watch some TV, play some games… play?”
He said that last word with a deliberate pause, letting it hang there like bait.
I hadn’t realized until then how striking he was. His eyes, deep, impossible green, seemed to hook me and pull me in. For a split second, I felt myself drifting toward him.
“Yeah,” I said, steadying my voice. “I have a boyfriend. He’s at a different school.”
“Oh, man,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Those long-distance things are rough.”
He waited, clearly expecting me to fill the silence. I just gave a small nod.
He dropped his voice, his smile turning sly. “You know… if you wanted, we could just play a little. It’s not like we’re buying curtains, you know? I’d never tell.”
That grin was different now, less friendly, more dangerous. The kind that made the air between us feel a little too warm.
“I’ll let you know,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He stood and walked away, and I shouldn’t have looked, but I did. His stride was confident, and, shit, his ass was perfect. My mind was still lingering on that view when I pulled out my phone and typed:
Just got asked to play around by a cute guy. You’re still cuter and my one and only.
A few minutes later, my screen lit up with a single thumbs-up emoji.
A thumbs-up.
A fucking thumbs-up.
I shoved my notebook into my backpack and glanced toward the direction Logan had gone. My mind was a blur of what-ifs.
Before I could move, the phone vibrated again. This time, Shane’s message read:
That was supposed to be a heart, but my finger’s too fat for these tiny icons. LOL. Love you. Talk tonight.
My hands trembled. Heat rose behind my eyes, and I was suddenly on my feet, weaving between the library tables toward the exit. By the time I reached my car, the tears were spilling freely.
What had I almost done? Had I really been ready to throw away what we had, over a smile, a moment, a typo?
My small apartment had once felt warm, alive, even. Shane had helped me paint it the summer before, carefully rolling the soft gray he’d picked out across the walls. He’d called it a “versatile color,” but when I teased him about sounding like a home improvement commercial, he grinned and said it would be cool in the summer, and with the right light, it would glow with the warmth our hearts felt for each other.
Shane always said he was a numbers guy, but sometimes his words slipped out like poetry.
Now, that same room felt stripped of life. I’d finished my essay at the desk, worked through my math homework, then microwaved a single slice of turkey and eaten it without tasting a thing. Sitting on my bed with my knees pulled to my chest, I stared at the blank wall until my vision blurred. Tears slipped down, dotting the white bedspread my mom had pulled from the cedar chest in the basement, a relic from a time when she thought I’d still live upstairs forever.
I missed Shane in a way that gnawed at me. How was I going to make it until Christmas? I glanced at my phone, willing it to light up, but it stayed there in my palm, inert.
Silent.
Empty.
Darkness.
The sudden ring jolted me. My vision was still foggy when I saw the name: Shane. Nine-seventeen.
“Hello,” I blurted, my voice too quick.
A pause. Then, “You okay, Taylor? You sound… off.”
“I fell asleep,” I said, though it wasn’t quite true.
“No. It’s more than that.” His tone softened, but I could hear the question beneath it.
“Just missing you.” I bit my lower lip hard enough to sting.
He chuckled. “Your time of the month, huh?”
“Every day is my time of the month without you. Wait, ” I laughed weakly. “Every day without you is my time of the month.”
“Frickin’ grammar cop,” he said with a full laugh now. “I knew what you meant.”
We both quieted for a moment. I could hear his breathing, steady and close in my ear.
“I miss you too,” he said finally, his voice catching. “I didn’t know it’d be this hard.”
“I know,” I murmured. I closed my eyes and let an image of him fill the darkness, six-two, solid and warm, with just enough hair on his chest to make him seem older than his years. “I picture you standing at the foot of my bed, the soft gray walls behind him. You’re stepping closer, leaning down, your face is half lit by the dim glow from my desk lamp; our lips are meeting.”
“Oh, shit, Tay…” His breath caught audibly. “You’re making me hard.”
“Good. I want you hard. The admission sent a flush through me, hot and electric, but I stayed quiet for a moment, just listening to his breathing. It was faster now, uneven.
“I wish I could touch you,” I said softly, the words almost slipping out on their own.
“Me too.” I could hear the rustle of fabric on his end. “I’m touching myself for you. If I were there, I’d be next to you, close enough that you could feel how much I want you.”
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tighter. I pushed the band of my underwear down and released my erection. I wrapped my fingers around it. “I’d pull you closer to me. We wouldn’t even talk at first, we’d just kiss. I’d feel your tongue push my lips apart. I’d kiss you until I felt your dick start to drip. Then I’d move my mouth down and taste it with my tongue.”
His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “Oh, fuck, Tay. You are making me drip.”
“I’d take you into my mouth, Shane. I’d slide your whole cock into my mouth and I would rub my tongue down the shaft.” I heard him grunt.
“I came Tay; you made me come. I fucking love you, Taylor.”
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “I love you, too, Shane. I hate this distance. I hate that I can only hear you instead of feeling you. I want to taste you, not just pretend to.”
“I know,” he said, the words ragged. “But I want you to remember something, no matter what, you’re the one I’m thinking about when I fall asleep. Always.”
A lump rose in my throat. I pressed my forehead against my knees, the phone warm against my ear. “Same here. Every night.”
We stayed like that, breathing, listening, until the silence between us wasn’t empty anymore, but full of everything.
When the call finally ended, the quiet in my apartment hit me like a gust of cold air. I stayed on the bed for a long moment, the phone still in my hand, the warmth of Shane’s voice lingering in my ear like an echo I didn’t want to fade.
The gray walls seemed to close in a little, not in a suffocating way, but in that slow, creeping way where you start to realize how much space one person can fill just by existing in it. Without him here, there was too much air, too much stillness.
I set the phone down on the nightstand, the faint click sounding far too loud in the empty room. My body still felt wired, every nerve remembering his tone, his pauses, the low way he’d said my name. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes until the colors behind my lids swirled and burst like fireworks.
The bedspread beneath me was still damp where my tears had fallen earlier. I reached out, smoothing a wrinkle in the fabric, and caught myself imagining Shane’s hand over mine, his weight dipping the mattress beside me.
But when I opened my eyes, there was only the quiet. The hum of the mini fridge. The muted glow from the desk lamp.
I curled onto my side, knees tucked in, and stared at the wall we’d painted together. I tried to hold on to the sound of his laugh, the exact shade of his eyes when he smiled, the way his voice had cracked when he said he missed me. I told myself it would have to be enough until Christmas.
But deep down, something was telling me that it wouldn’t be.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
