How could I possibly explain it to someone else?
One thing’s clear, though: seeing Ian lean in close to Seb, whispering something, then dragging a hand down his back,
makes my blood boil.
Seb shifts away and shrugs off his jacket. It’s subtle, but unmistakable.
I exhale.
Then he turns.
That top. That sheer back. The tattoos.
My brain short-circuits.
He has no idea what he’s doing to me.
Or maybe he does.
God, I hope not.
I sit there, totally useless, jaw slack, eyes glued to him.
And I’m not the only one. Even Noah and Jamie are staring.
Anne claps her hands. “Seb, you look stunning! That French flair suits you. That Givenchy top? Made for you.”
Noah lets out a low whistle. Jamie elbows him, hard.
“Noah! You’re taken. And since when do you flirt with straight guys?”
Seb hesitates, just a second, then blushes.
“Actually… I think we’re playing on the same team. I’m gay.”
And just like that, Seb steals the spotlight.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then the questions start flying. Some tactless, of course, but most well-meaning.
Seb answers them all with grace, charming as ever.
But I see it, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twist the edge of his napkin.
He’s holding it together.
And no one else seems to notice.
Ian and I stay quiet.
He glances at me, and I can tell he’s figured it out, I knew already.
And he doesn’t like it.
Eventually, the buzz dies down. Anne leans in, chatting with Seb, who looks a little lighter now. Maybe it’s a relief, finally saying it out loud.
I didn’t expect him to come out tonight. But I’m glad he did.
