Get What You Need by Jeanette Grey Page A

talk? Or is quiet better?”
    It was actually a relief to have that warm, smooth voice to focus on. It pushed the pressure behind his eyes further into the background. “Talking is good.” He reconsidered. “Just not about math.”
    Marsh chuckled, the sound darker than made any sense. “Definitely not something you have to worry about.” He shrugged, fingers drifting lower, toward the base of Greg’s skull, and Greg could have purred. “Guess that’s one of the benefits of hanging out with a dumb jock.”
    What? Greg would have shaken his head, and only just stopped himself from furrowing his brow. “You’re not a dumb jock.”
    “Sure, if you say so.”
    “You could be into math.” Anybody could be, jock or no.
    “Not my speed.” And Marsh’s voice got a little rougher. “Sorry to disappoint.”
    Where was this coming from? Greg wanted to lift his head, to look into Marsh’s eyes and try to see if he really believed any of this stuff. As it was, all he could do was mumble, “Not a disappointment.” Because it wasn’t. He lifted his shoulder a fraction. “Everybody’s into something different. Besides, bet you’re good at baseball stats. Those are harder than some of the stuff I do.”
    Marsh practically dripped with derision. “Those are easy.”
    “Anything’s easy if you’re really into it.”
    All he got for that was a quiet hum, like an agreement to disagree, and they were going to have to talk about this more, someday. Preferably when Greg’s brain wasn’t mush and everything didn’t ache. He stroked his thumb over Marsh’s knee, but the gesture didn’t say everything he wanted it to.
    After a minute of uneasy silence, Marsh made a little clicking sound with his tongue as he skated his hand up the side of Greg’s face. “So…migraines?”
    “Yeah.” Greg gestured in the general vicinity of his head. “Come on every now and then. More when I’m stressed.”
    “Are you ever not stressed?”
    “They didn’t start ’til I was five,” he said drily, then admitted, “They’ve been worse than usual recently. This is my third this month.”
    “Ouch.”
    Greg rolled over onto his back, and things felt better, now, more comfortable. When his head butted up against Marsh’s leg, he didn’t move it. Just stayed there and let the contact wash over him. With a little groan, he said, “Still not as bad as my senior year of high school.”
    “I can imagine.” Marsh had both hands on Greg’s face now, rubbing so softly at his temples, and it was perfect. “Let me guess—you were that asshole who actually studied for his SATs. Oh hell, you didn’t take a class, did you?”
    “No, but I may or may not have used up a highlighter on my prep book. Add four AP classes to that, and…” Looking up at the ceiling, he thought back on that year, and maybe it wasn’t really the time to bring it up. But maybe it was. “And driving myself crazy trying to get up the guts to come out.”
    God, that had been a rough year. Studying and working and losing his virginity to the gorgeous tight end from the next town over. Then freaking out the next day when Mr. Tall, Dark and Closeted threatened to punch him in the face if he didn’t get out of his bed.
    Marsh’s fingertips made a detour to ease around behind Greg’s ear. “You’re gay, right?”
    “A Kinsey six,” Greg agreed.
    A second of hesitation. “Out of six, right?”
    “Yup.” Stupid. Not everyone read books about human sexuality in their spare time. Greg was such a nerd. He waved his hand to try to show it didn’t matter. “Girls do nothing for me.” He darted his gaze to Marsh. “You?”
    “Bi-ish.”
    “Ish?”
    “Girls are fine. Guys are better?”
    “Gotcha.” That was kind of a surprise, actually. Left to his own devices, Greg would have figured it was the other way around. Sure, Marsh seemed to be into it when Greg was going down on him, and he certainly hadn’t had any objections to bottoming. But Greg had seen