“Probably.” Putting his massive hands on his hips, he looked down at me as if trying to work out a puzzle. “I can’t tell…”
“You can’t tellwhat?”
He picked up the platter again, drying it as he studied me.
“Leo.”
“Mr. Walker, do you not know that you’re gay? Or queer?”
I laughed, waving him off, but he stood there, big and certain.
“What the hell are you talking about? I am not gay,” I said, the words like packing peanuts in my mouth. “I’m straight.”
I was totally straight. Totally.
Yeah… that’s…
Just say it to yourself, Walk.
I’m.I’m.
Straight.Straight?
“So you’re not just covering it up? You really don’t know?”
Ignoring the fun house moment in my brain, I followed the script that had always been in my head. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but there’s nothing going on between me and Ozzie, save for friendship. We’ve known each other forever. He helped me out at the beginning of last year, showed me what kind of clothes to buy, how to do my hair…”
“Yeah. Like a boyfriend.”
My mind went back to the garden, to Oz standing over me while I was on my knees. The way I pondered blowjobs and the kind of lover he was. That low hum in my groin when I saw the outline of his cock.
“No.” I hissed, checking to make sure no one else could hear us. “Like a good friend. I know the fact that I hang around with a lot of gay guys confuses some people, but I don’t care. When you find good friends, you hold on to them and you don’t give a shit what other people think.”
“Nice speech,” Leo said with a pitying expression. “But maybe you should do what Beckett tells me to do and think about it first.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, handing him another platter. “You do know that you’re a menace, don’t you?”
Smirking, he pulled on his T-shirt and let it pop back. “Proudly.”
“So,” I said, eager to change the subject, “do I need to ask about this Lovett person?”
Leo’s eyes went all dreamy, and he grinned at the platter in his hands like it was some sort of miracle.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad.”
“Doesn’t matter. They think I’m too young.”
“How old are they, again?”
“Twenty-one next week.”
“Not an insignificant difference at this point.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I want to show them that I’m mature.”
I widened my eyes at him. “Maybe you can start by not assuming things about people’s sexuality.”
He returned an assessing look. “Maybe.”
