Did Clay really just say that? Surely, I had water in my ears and misheard him. Right?

I couldn't believe it. Clay just called me hot. Not attractive, or handsome, as some might say if they were—as Clay put it—speaking objectively. Hot was a word used to describe someone you were attracted to. Not acknowledging some idea of beauty standards or whatever the hell Clay said. That's how I used it, anyway. Maybe he didn't mean it that way.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Carrie declared she was "voracious" and that "comestibles" were required "expeditiously." She was really getting into using that ACT vocabulary word-a-day calendar. Determined to get a better score than her last attempt.

Clay and I followed her out of the pool, wrapping towels around ourselves as we headed inside for a snack. Clay leaned close to me and whispered, "Does she always talk like Moira Rose?"

I laughed. Partially because that was hilarious, and I hadn't considered it before. And partly because if he could make jokes, then he wasn't freaking out.

I tried not to stare at Clay, relaxing on the barstool, with no shirt, one arm draped over the back. Clay had a perfect balance of lean and muscular. He had nicely defined pecs, and when he breathed in deep, I could see his abs, and of course, even though I'd denied it, he had an amazing ass, too. And don't even get me started on his back muscles. It still surprised me he hated sports. Playing them, that is. He watched them obsessively with his stepdad, which drove me crazy. It was almost impossible to get him out of the house when a big game was on.

Clay looked at me, and I instantly averted my gaze over to Carrie, who was wiping a glob of ranch dressing off her boob.

"Please tell me you're not going to lick that off your finger," I said.

"Well, now I'm not." She grabbed a paper towel to clean her hand, glaring at me.

"You're so gross."

Carrie scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Please! If he did that—" she ticced her head toward Clay "—you'd cream your pants."

"Carrie!" My voice went up three octaves.

Her eyes widened a fraction. She turned to Clay. "I didn't mean you, specifically. Just a guy. Any guy."

Clay blinked a few times. His eyes jumped between us, his mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry. What are you talking about? I zoned out."

"Nothing," Carrie and I said in chorus.

Carrie's phone beeped, distracting her.

"Seriously," Clay said. "What did I miss?"

"Just Carrie being gross," I said.

Something hit my forehead and dropped onto the counter. A carrot stick.

I glared at Carrie, who was typing with a huge smile on her face. "Sorry, boys, but I got a better offer." She looked at both of us in turn. "Jackson's taking me to dinner. So, you've got to scoot."

"Can we go to your house?" Clay asked me, his brows raised hopefully. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure."

"Let me grab my clothes." Clay jumped up and hurried out the back door.

I picked up the carrot stick that assaulted me and threw it at Carrie. It landed in her cleavage. She plucked it out and bit it in half aggressively.

"Seriously, Care? 'Cream your pants.' Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Sorry."

"That's the second time in a week you've made a crack like that to him about me. You know how much he means to me. I don't want to lose him because you can't keep your big fat mouth shut."

"You're torturing yourself, Emmie. You can't be in love with him and be his friend."

"Why not? Isn't being his friend better than being nothing?"

"It's not healthy." Carrie pointed her half eaten carrot at me, accusatorially. "And I know he's the reason you started screwing that scumbag Alfie again. You either need to get over Clay, and truly be just his friend. Or let him go."

My head jerked back. "I'm sorry. Did you and your mom have a Freaky Friday situation? Because last time I checked, she was the only shrink in the house."

"Go ahead, deflect. That's real mature, Emmett."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"What's going on?" Clay asked, taking a tentative step inside. He was holding his clothes in his arms.

"Let's go," I snapped, though my ire belonged solely to Carrie.

Carrie threw her arms out to the side. "Fine by me."

Clay chased after me. "I'm not dressed."

"You can get dressed at my house."

The double doors of Dr. Herrera's office slid open. She stepped out, blocking the front door. She removed her glasses and surveyed my face, then Clay's. "What's with all the yelling?"

"Why don't you ask your colleague, Dr. Carrie? She's so wise. I'm sure she can explain it better than I ever could." I turned to face the kitchen and yelled, "With horrifically misused vocabulary words."

"That is erroneous and deleterious!" Carrie shouted from the kitchen.

I grabbed Clay by the hand and dragged him through the front door before Dr. Herrera could force me and Carrie to sit down couple's therapy style. It wouldn't be the first time.

Clay jogged beside me to keep up with my determined stride.

"Are you okay?" Clay asked. "I've never seen you like that."

"She pissed me off. And I don't want to talk about it."

Noticing that my mother's car was gone, I took a sharp left turn, still pulling Clay behind me. I went to the gate for our backyard. I left my keys and phone at home, since I was just across the street and my mother was there when I left. We had a spare key for the back door hidden under a rock at the base of the birdbath for times such as this.

I somehow got the key and got inside without ever releasing Clay's hand. And Clay never tried to take it away.

But I had to let go now. I had no reason to hold on. As much as I might want to. Staring at our joined hands for a moment longer than I should have, I finally opened my fingers and released Clay, feeling as though I had just severed one of my limbs.

Clay dropped his clothes into one of the dining chairs and immediately threw his arms around my neck. I startled at the sudden skin contact. We'd hugged before, but never like this, with nothing between us to act as a buffer, to keep thoughts of what else we could remove to rid us of all the barriers between us. Clothes. Friendship. Clay's ambiguous sexuality.

I raised my hands to place them on Clay's waist.

I assumed that was a step too far for Clay because he took a step back. But maybe I was wrong, because he didn't drop his arms as I expected. He leaned back just far enough so that his face was in front of mine. He gripped my biceps. His eyes searched for something. Maybe the answer to my fight with Carrie. Maybe something more.

Clay's eyes drifted down to my lips—which I had noticed was becoming a pattern. His lips parted. As his bewitching brown eyes met mine again, he whispered, "Emmett?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something."

"You can tell me anything."

Clay's eyes became bleary. He looked like he was about to cry. "I want you to know—"

Before he could finish his thought, my phone rang. It was sitting on the kitchen table where I left it after breakfast.

Clay looked over at the picture of Alfie, staring out at us with a cocky grin on his face.

Clay snatched his hands back, holding them up in front of his chest. If he clenched them into fists, he'd look like a boxer. He stepped out of my reach. That sensation of losing a limb returned. Only I had a suspicion I just lost much more than that.

Clay cleared his throat. "I have to get dressed."

"That's not what you were going to say." I took a small step forward, and he backed away. Clay shook his head as my incessant ringtone blared. I cursed myself for ever turning off silent mode. It was always a bad idea.

"Your boyfriend is calling," Clay said, backing away. I wasn't sure if I was imagining the harsh tone in his voice or if he was actually upset. "You should answer."

Clay gathered his clothes and turned around, dashing out of the room.

I grunted and grabbed the phone, sliding a finger across the screen to answer. "Hello."

"What's up, sexy?" Alfie asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"I miss you."

"Translation: you're horny." I was not in the mood for this. I needed to find out what Clay was about to say.

"That, too."

"And I suppose you want me to drop everything to come service your needs?"

"Something like that. Everybody just left. They'll be gone for at least an hour. If you hurry, we could get in at least one good time."

I laughed, but not because I found it cute or funny. Mostly I found it annoying.

"Are you coming over or not?" Alfie sounded irritated. "If you're not, I might as well go ahead and take care of myself."

I rolled my eyes. "How can I pass up an offer like that?"

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a—" I paused when I heard the front door close. "Hold on."

I pulled the phone from my ear and ran to the living room.

Through the front window, I watched Clay getting in his car, fully dressed. Clay wiped the back of his hand across his cheek. He was crying.

Before I could even think to move, Clay quickly reversed his car out of the driveway.

"Emmett!" Alfie screamed loud enough to be heard even with the phone hanging down at my side.

I brought it to my lips to say, "Handle it yourself. I gotta go." I hung up and dropped the phone on the couch, staring through the window.

Had I been right about Clay? Was he going to confess some important secret? Could it possibly be what I hoped it was?

And the most important question: Had I just royally fucked it all up?