D. R. Graham - To All the Cowboys I’ve Loved Before

“Chuck has a girlfriend?” I turn to look at both Easton and BJ, whoever wants to answer.

“When it suits him,” BJ says as he gets up and clears the rest of the dessert dishes. “I have to jet, too. I’ve got a group project meeting on campus and I can’t afford to drop anymore marks. Don’t wait up.”

He leaves, and I spin my fork around on the table, thinking about what BJ said about Chuck and Janine.

“You okay?” Easton asks.

I nod, not really. “Does ‘when it suits him’ mean he cheats on his girlfriend?”

Easton’s expression makes it seem as if he wants to answer honestly but knows I won’t like it, which technically is confirmation that it’s true.

“Does his girlfriend know?”

“If she doesn’t know about at least half of it, she’s not that bright.” Easton stands and walks over to the kitchen to hand-wash the pots and pans. He sneaks another brownie straight out of the pan and pops it into his mouth.

“I don’t want to judge, but why would she tolerate that?”

He shrugs and places the pot upside down on the drying rack. “They’ve been dating for three years. And they’re probably going to get married. Maybe they both want to live the best of both worlds while they’re still young.”

Part of that does make sense—take risks and experience life to the fullest so you have no regrets when you get older and settle down. But the other part is really hard for me to accept. How could you be physically intimate with someone you don’t care about when it hurts the person you do care about? I have no experience to reference it against. Maybe I would feel differently if I were in their shoes. I ponder the ethics of it for a while, but then the fact that Easton’s hair is loose distracts me. When he moves it fans out like feathers. Wild and delicate at the same time. Like visual poetry. I pick up my brownie with my bare hand and bite into it as I watch him clean the counter. Both are delicious.

After the kitchen is spotless again, he sits back at the table and offers me some wine.

“No, thank you,” I say, referring to the wine. Then I study his face. He can obviously feel me doing it because he looks up, waiting. “Do you cheat on your girlfriend?”

His eyes remain locked on mine, and with the most intense expression I have ever witnessed in another person, he says, “I don’t currently have a girlfriend. And I don’t cheat on anything.”

Whoa. Oh my goodness. Why does it feel like a supernova just blasted through me? My heart is palpitating. I think he can tell. He’s looking at me so seriously. He can read my thoughts. Is that why the other guys left? Is it that obvious that I’m crushing on Easton? Do they not realize that leaving me alone with him is not actually doing me any favors? I’m sweating like a maniac. Maybe I should go for a walk. He’d probably offer to escort me. He definitely would, like a knight in shining armor.

“Homework,” I blurt out.

His eyebrows raise, amused at my weirdness again.

“I have reading. Tomorrow’s class. I’m going to my room. Reading in my room. For homework. Then sleeping.” I stand and the chair almost topples over behind me, but he stretches his arm out and catches it before it falls. Then he pulls it back so I can attempt a more graceful exit. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” He chuckles before taking a sip of wine.

Unfortunately, he’s probably watching me as I walk away. It’s incredibly difficult to command my legs to function properly when I know someone is possibly assessing each step. The hypervigilance makes me overthink an action which is ingrained in most people by approximately twelve months of age but doesn’t come particularly natural to me. Over-thinking is bad. Where do my hands normally go? Are they supposed to swing? They feel weird at my side.

Only I would forget how to walk.

I race up the stairs and close my bedroom door. Pull it together, Della. If you’re going to live here, you need to get a grip. After several recovering breaths, I sit at my desk and open the textbook, then stare at the page for almost a minute before I realize the book is upside down. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t go to high school with boys. I’d still be there.

My phone rings. It’s Stuart. “Hey, how’s it going at Everley’s?”

“Good. You didn’t mention she’s a guy named Easton, though.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well, little miss virtuous wouldn’t have given it a shot if she knew that ahead of time. He’s great, though, right?”

“Yeah. He’s great.” So great. I stare in a dreamy way out the window, but since it’s dark outside, all I see is my own reflection. Oh, man, is that a chunk of rice in my hair? How did that get there? “How are you, Stu?”

“Good. The reason I’m calling is because your dad contacted me.”

“Ugh. So Annoying. I can’t believe he bothered you. Obviously, the fact that I’ve been dodging his calls wasn’t a clear enough message that I don’t want to talk to him right now.”

“He wants me to give him your address. I don’t really want to get mixed up in any family drama, so if you want him to have it, you should send it to him. If you don’t want him to have it, I’m going to tell him that.”

“Why does he want it anyway?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to forward your mail or show up at your doorstep and ground you.”

“Great.” I lean my elbows on my desk and rub the tension out of my forehead. “Did you tell him my roommates are men?”

“No. I didn’t tell him anything. But you’re probably going to have to call him.”

“I’ll call him so he knows I’m okay. Don’t give him the address. I’ll set up a post box he can send stuff to.”

“All right. How are you for money? Do you need anything?”

“No. The student loan came in today. But thank you.”

“Call your dad.”

“Okay.” I end the call with Stuart and dial my mom. She never answers her mobile phone because she can never find it. It’s the perfect excuse for me not to talk to them. I leave a message to let them know I’m all settled in and promise to send the address. That should earn me another week or two before Dad hounds Stuart again. I also text my sister. We weren’t really that close growing up because she’s five years older than me. She’s already married and has a kid now. But she supported me when I decided to go against Dad’s wishes and pursue engineering instead of a teaching degree. She always caved into the pressure and did everything he expected her to do, which is why she completely understands how hard it was for me to come to Stanford. It’s the one and only rebellious thing I’ve ever done, which is why I really don’t want to mess up and give him reason to gloat. The last thing my sister said before I started off on the road trip was that she admired me. It still makes me feel warm and fuzzy when I think about it. She doesn’t respond to the text. She must be busy with the baby, so I pick up my textbook.

Chapter two, paragraph one. Go.

Easton is still downstairs. It sounds like he’s doing a load of laundry. Maybe I should plan to do all my studying at the library. That might work if I don’t spend the entire time thinking about what he might be doing back at the house. I wonder if studying with him would be more or less distracting since my mind wouldn’t have to drift very far. Who am I kidding? I’m just trying to come up with a justifiable excuse to ask him to study with me. Nice try.

He’s coming upstairs. He went into his room.

Chapter two, paragraph one.

He crosses the hall to the bathroom, then the shower turns on.

Chapter two, paragraph two.

Shoot. Now I’m thinking about what he looks like with water cascading over his smooth, dark skin. Muscles. Long hair.