"What does it mean?" Callan sounds so lost.
"It doesn't have to mean anything," I reiterate. "Sometimes I get turned on by the craziest things."
Callan stares at me. "Really?"
I blow out a breath. "No. I was trying to make you feel better."
Callan chuckles. "Maybe you would have if you could have backed it up with an example."
"I'm sorry for roping you into the wax play. I shouldn't have."
"You didn't. I volunteered."
"That I shouldn't have let you. I should have known it would be too much."
"I don't need to be babied, Rory. I need to find these things out for myself. And for the record, I wasn't thinking about him at all."
I rub my finger back and forth over my knee. "What were you thinking about?"
"How nice it was. How you were taking care of me. That I didn't want it to stop, and that I hadn't felt so relaxed in, well, I don't know how long. A long time. That it was nice to let someone else take control for a change. To be able to let go and let my fears and worries drift away. And you were the one who was helping me do that. And then I got turned on." He drops his head into his hands and clutches his head with his fingers. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Rory. No one makes me feel safer than you. And yet I still ran away."
"You're not running away now. You're here, talking to me. Tell me what to do."
He shrugs. "You're doing what I need you to do. You're here, listening, even though I’m not making any sense. I'm trying to understand, but I can't figure it out. It's not as if— as if—" He blinks slowly as he stares into my eyes. "I feel weird." His voice is a barely there whisper, almost quiet enough to miss altogether.
"Weird, how?" My heart patters. I'm light-headed. I want to hold him so badly, but I keep still. I don't want to make anything worse for Callan.
"I don't know. Just weird." He starts to shake his head but then freezes. His stare is still locked with mine. His pupils have blown wide, making the green of his eyes even more brilliant.
I don't know what's happening between us. Probably nothing. I'm imagining things. Or maybe I wish that there's more than there could ever be. I know now that I was in love with him and might be again. But even if Coach had never touched him, the fact remains that Callan isn't into guys.
He breaks eye contact and stares at his fists. "I'm being silly. I'm fine. Thanks for a surprisingly nice experience. I think I can see why people are into sensory play now."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"I did. Now, if I could learn how not to freak out…"
"Does that mean…?"
"That I might like to do it again?"
I nod.
"Maybe. You mentioned feathers and things like that as alternatives to wax. I can imagine feathers would be tickly rather than sexy."
I raise my hand and wobble it from side to side. "The trick is getting the pressure right. It helps if you know your partner and how ticklish they are."
Callan lifts his head and stares at the door. "I don't think I'm very ticklish."
My breath catches in my throat. "I don't remember you being ticklish."
"We used to tickle each other when we had sleepovers.”
"I remember. We used to have pillow fights too." I laugh. "Do you remember when we accidentally broke your mam’s vase?"
Callan's fists relax a little. "We got into so much trouble. Water and flowers went everywhere."
“Weren’t they flowers your dad got her for their anniversary?"
