Gilles takes on a rueful expression. “You must have thought we were idiots taking you to that bar. Flirting with those girls…” He sighs, looking so embarrassed that I can’t help but grin.
“Hey, you didn’t know that I live with a guy.”
That gets me the arch of an eyebrow. “No, we didn’t know. Someone didn’t tell us.”
“It wasn’t something I was able to advertise,” I admit. “Wes...his career...we needed to keep the relationship under wraps.”
Gilles nods. “I get that. But I still felt like an ass.”
Hell. That was never my intention. “I’m sorry about that. It was kind of a shitty situation. But it’s out now. We’re out.” I shift my weight awkwardly. “And I know there are some people who can’t accept, or understand, my relationship with—”
“I’m not one of them,” he interrupts.
I falter. “No?”
“Naw. My sister has a girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. My parents are in PFLAG and everything.”
“Cool,” I say, although I’m not exactly sure what that means. I’m, like, the worst queer dude ever. Somebody pass me the manual. “Well, thanks for telling me. The thing is, I’d like to go out to the bar again with you guys. I didn’t really like saying no so much, but it’s been a weird year.”
“Fine.” He grins. “But only if you play darts on my team, ’cause Frazier isn’t as good as he thinks.”
I shake my head. “I was really focused on the bullseye that night because it kept that chick’s hands off my ass.”
He laughs. “We saw your, uh… We saw Ryan Wesley at the bar, right? I didn’t invent that ’cause I was drunk?”
The memory makes me flinch.
“He was there. That was plenty awkward.”
“Right. Well, next time, we’ll just invite him.”
“Good idea.”
My phone buzzes in my hand.
I’m in the parking lot,Wes texts.
Be right out,I text back.
Another message pops up. It says:
My dick is so hard right now.
I smother a snicker, and the choked sound makes Gilles chuckle. “Have fun at dinner,” he calls before leaving the locker room.
I type back,How hard is it?
Will I get arrested if I take a dick pic in the car right now?
My laughter spills over.Absolutely, I reply.You can’t go to jail tonight. We’ve got dinner plans.
I slip my feet into a pair of dress shoes, shove my other clothes in my locker, and head outside to the parking lot, where Wes’s SUV waits for me. The ground is a bit slushy, so I’m careful not to slosh around and ruin my shoes, but I’m happy to see that the snow is finally starting to melt. Apparently it’s bad luck to celebrate, though. Last night Blake had warned me that there’s always a blizzard or two in March. Sometimes even in April and May. Blake calls it “winter’s fuck you.”
Wes greets me with a sexy smile as I slide into the passenger seat. I lean in to kiss him, then glance at his crotch. “Liar,” I chide. “You don’t even have a semi.”
