Crux Year

Chapter One - Shay

This is the year. My year. The year where I'm matched to my future husband. Also known as the Crux Year. Finally.

Every boy I know looks forward to his Crux Year. It's the beginning of manhood. The start of a happily ever after.

"You're sighing again, Shay."

I cut my gaze to my best friend, Trace Newman. "Aren't you just the least bit excited?"

Trace's always present grin fades slightly. "A bit, I guess."

"But we can finally do...everything." I let out another happy sigh. "Whatever everything is."

Talking about what goes on behind the bedroom door of a married couple is forbidden, but Trace and I have been known to whisper our wonderings on occasion. It'd make life a lot simpler if I were to be matched with him.

But we're too alike.

Matches are meant to complement each other in every way. I've seen other paired boys' CY cards and studied them intently trying to analyze a pattern. I know enough that they don't pair up two extremely intelligent boys.

No, it's more likely I'd be set up with someone like Nicky Ewing.

Another sigh.

Trace smirks my way.

A guy can dream, though it's against the rules to do so.

You're not supposed to want what you can't have. There's an order to these things. A certain, proven way that works and keeps everything running smoothly.

"Todd and Wyatt are expecting," Trace says in an even tone despite the bomb he just dropped.

"What? Already?"

That can't be. They were just married last fall. Most couples don't conceive for a few years. It typically takes many tries, sometimes spanning over years, for the synthetic eggs to fertilize in the incubators at the conception facility. This news is incredibly lucky for them. My mind is blown and I'm slightly jealous.

"Don't look," Trace hisses, "but Nicky is staring at us. Oh, God. If I had the power to rig the system and land him as my husband, I would die."

I elbow him because, in my head, Nicky is my husband.

"Hey," Nicky's deep voice calls out. "I like your haircut, man."

My face turns every shade of red as I try and find my voice to thank him. All I can do is stare into his big green eyes that twinkle.

He's. So. Beautiful.

"Close your mouth," Trace whispers. "You're drooling."

Mortification has me grumbling out a thanks to Nicky and pure need has me sneaking another look at him. I may not know everything that happens in a married couple's bedroom, but basic and embarrassing biology gives me an idea.

I attempt to discreetly adjust myself, but Trace's knowing grin tells me I'm not being so subtle about it.

Perfect.

Now Nicky knows he gives me an erection every time I see him.

If my dads knew how out of control my thoughts were, I'd be grounded for eternity. Unruly thoughts lead to dire consequences.

Our home robotics teacher, Mr. Preston, strides in, a stern expression on his bearded face. This is our most boring class of all—learning how to use and program the AI in our homes. As though we haven't been helping our dads since we were old enough to say the word, "reboot," and could wield a screwdriver.