Page 70 of Zero Confusion

SubAir: Maybe.

DomAndDommer: I’m always down to bottom. To me, being a Dom is about having control over the scene, not what the actual scene is.

SubLime: I like that. To paraphrase my favorite musical, when you’re a Dom, you’re a Dom all the way.

SubZero: Is that from Hamilton?

SubAir: You’re such a sweet little baby.

DomPetty: There’s nothing inherently dominant or submissive about being a top or a bottom. You can be a submissive top or a dominant bottom, whatever works for you. I’m vers, so I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing both.

SubLily: I’ll admit, up until this conversation, I assumed that for men, Doms were always tops, but I’ve learned something new.

DommyBoy: I don’t think I’m qualified to answer this. I’m technically pan, but I’ve only hooked up with women, and never as a Dom, but I’m sure it’s totally doable.

SubLily: FYI, women can top.

DommyBoy: Yes. Upon some reflection, yes, they can. I will be adjusting my sex life accordingly.

DomCurious: Thanks everyone! I was worried it was a dumb question, so I’m glad to hear back from so many people.

SubZero: There are no stupid questions. Only stupid jokes, and I got that shit covered.

Chapter 25

ZACH

Zach’s apartment felt cavernous—an impressive feat for a four-hundred-square-foot studio. Apparently, all it took to turn the place into a yawning void was a broken heart. Now, there was a tip they didn’t include in interior design blogs.

On his first morning back from Montana, trudging in after a sleepless night of sitting around a deserted airport, he had beelined for the bed before slamming into an invisible wall. The covers were still messed up from their last night together, when Miles had been curled up next to him. Close enough to touch, to hold, to kiss. To pretend he was Zach’s, if only for a few fleeting moments.

Could Zach destroy the only evidence that it hadn’t all been a dream?

Despite how tired he was, he busied himself with unpacking, gingerly leaning the family photograph on the bookshelf where he’d set the horseshoe only a few weeks ago. His heavy eyelids drooped as he emptied the rest of his bag and took a shower. He moved sluggishly, each task taking twice as long as it should have. He needed sleep.

After acknowledging the ridiculousness of the situation, he grabbed an extra blanket from the tiny linen closet and tried to stretch out on the couch. His feet stuck out, and the worn cushions sagged, but exhaustion pulled him under before he could really register the discomfort.

With each subsequent day, the couch seemed more and more acceptable, and the absurdity of treating a huge chunk of his living space as a museum exhibit faded away. He skirted around the edges of the bed, staring at it, brushing his fingertips across Miles’s pillow, analyzing the nonexistent depression in the sheets. One day, while feeling brave, he carefully pulled Miles’s forgotten sleeping shirt from under the comforter and burrowed his face into it.

The faint echo of the familiar ocean scent was fading.

Unlike Zach’s feelings.

It didn’t help matters that his traitorous heart still kicked up every time he reached his building, like it hadn’t gotten the message. Like some part of him still expected to find Miles pacing outside his door.

He wouldn’t.

Miles was busy at the farm, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t come looking for Zach. Not after the way Zach had ended things. Not after the hurt bleeding through Miles’s frantic texts. And especially not after Zach got drunk, sent back a rambling apology he barely remembered, and then blocked his number.

Zach had to accept that it was over and stop searching for Miles’s face everywhere he went. Which was between his apartment and the campus, where he now spent most of his free time.

Despite shuffling around like a zombie on Xanax—Joel’s words—he passed the class. More than that, as his professor had grudgingly pointed out while returning their papers, he’d gotten the highest grade on the final.

He hadn’t suddenly developed a keen interest in PR. No, he was mostly glad for the distraction studying provided him. Every hour spent doing research was an hour he didn’t waste going over every single detail of his time with Miles—the hungry way he’d looked at Zach before kissing him, the slight sheen of sweat covering his muscular body, the warmth of his unexpectedly gentle touches.

Fuck, Zach would become the best student on campus just to keep those images at bay.

Thankfully, there was no break between the summer sessions, and by the following Monday, he was sitting in a near-identical classroom, half listening to Joel blather on about his weekend, waiting for the Consumer Behavior class to start.