Callan shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I let you down. Just go."
"You didn't let me down. You could never do that, Cal. Please, help me to understand what happened."
He shakes his head again as he clutches his hair. "I can't. It's embarrassing," he adds in a whisper.
I stay silent, giving him time. I want to tell him that he doesn't need to be embarrassed in front of me, but it doesn't matter what I say. I can't take his embarrassment away from him.
"I—" He folds his arms tightly. He still has his back to me. I hate not being able to see his face. "I—" He tilts his face to the ceiling and lets out a desperate growl. "Got hard," he grates out.
"Oh." It was the wrong thing to say, but his admission surprised me. Now I'm lost for words. How do I make this right?
"Why?" he asks. "It was just wax. Like a massage. Why would that turn me on?" He glances over his shoulder. "Did you turn me on?"
I open and close my mouth.
"I don't get turned on by guys." He wipes his hand over his face. "I'm so confused."
"I don't think it was me," I say tentatively. "It might've been the wax. You were very relaxed, and it's a pleasant experience."
"Very." His voice is a rough rasp. "Could you go?"
"Is that what you want?"
He shrugs and hangs his head. "I don't know what I want. I don't know what any of this means."
"It doesn't have to mean anything."
"Really?"
"Yes. It's not unheard of for men to get turned on by things that aren't sexy."
Callan half turns. "But it was," he whispers. "It was sexy." He wipes his hands over his face.
I'm worried that anything I say will be wrong. My thoughts are going crazy, so Callan's must be even worse. It's wrong, so wrong, but part of me wishes it was me that turned him on. Fuck, I shouldn't be thinking like that. I'm a terrible friend.
Callan sits on the bed. "It was nice. It was relaxing. I was enjoying it. And then somewhere along the line, it turned me on, and I freaked out." He looks into my eyes. "I'm sorry for freaking out. I'm sorry for running away. It's just—" His chest shudders.
It's hard to keep my feet planted on the spot. I want to sit beside him and wrap my arm around his shoulders. I want to hug him to me, but I know that would be the worst thing to do. He’ll have to ask if he wants me to comfort him like that. Not that I think he does.
"I freaked out," he repeats.
"Do you want to talk about why?"
"No. But I think I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything."
"I do. But I'm not sure I can explain. I don't know why it should have freaked me out like that. I've never done anything like that. I guess I just wasn't expecting it. My head is messy right now." He chokes out a laugh. "Hell, it's always a messy place. It's been messy since…since…" He clenches his fists.
I sit on the bed, ensuring to keep a distance between us that can only be breached through effort. "I know."
"But you're not him. And the wax play wasn't supposed to be sexy. Although I suppose that's the point of it, isn't it? It’s meant to be sexy."
"It doesn't have to be. It was a lesson. Not an intimate scene between two people."
"Tell that to my body. It didn't get the memo. Why?"
"I don't know." I want to hold his hand and squeeze it.
