“I don’t think I feel bad, either,” he says.
My mouth twists. I don’t want to look away from him, but I do.
“Has Isaac ever told you he has feelings for you?”
I’m glad I’m done eating, or I would have choked again. I manage a laugh instead. “No.”
“Hm. Thank you for being upfront with me,” Deacon says.
The minor subject shifts are a little hard to follow, but I’m pretty sure he’s not talking about Isaac anymore.
“I don’t want it to make things weird with us,” I say.
He actually laughs. He doesn’t do that very often, not outside of the dinner parties or around his finance friends.
“What’s funny?” I ask.
“The idea that you could make it weird when I’m…you know.”
“You’re not weird, Deacon. You’re amazing.”
He blinks, wide-eyed at me.
I grin. “See how I did that? Made it weird?”
He smiles again.
“Wait.” Something he said from before catches up with me. “Why did you ask if Isaac has feelings for me?”
“He mentioned he’s got someone else he’s interested in. That he loves.”
“No. He doesn’t,” I tell Deacon. I toss the napkin on my plate and scoot back on the couch, crossing both my arms and legs so none of my appendages get any crazy ideas.
“He told me he did.”
“Then I think you might have misunderstood. No offense.”
“None taken. But I didn’t misunderstand. And after what you said at dinner, I thought it might be you.”
This causes me toburstinto a laugh. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I promise it’s not like that. That’s not how we areat all.”
“He said it was hopeless. I think it’s why he’s giving me a chance.” Deacon’s expression is open and thoughtful.
I scowl at what my roommate is telling me, though. And then I think about Isaac’s head resting on my back, his breath heavy, and his grip heavier. These recent requests for me to go to dinner with him. The handful of times I thought he was going to kiss meafterwe had sex. But I always figured, and I still do, that he offers those like consolation prizes to make me feel less cheap. Or maybe assuage some of his own guilt about being unable to keep his cock out of his assistant because he definitely has some of that.
But there’s no one else outside of his occasional dates. I would certainly know if there were. I’m privy to his entire calendar. If he were seeing someone consistently, I’m pretty sure I would know, the same way I could tell he’d hit it off with his “date.” Even if Deacon hadn’t told me about them tonight, I would have figured it out soon enough. I buy his tickets, make his reservations. I even hold his phone during important meetings so it won’t distract him, and he doesn’t hide his notifications.
I’ve seen texts from many men. His younger brother Jake, mostly, and business associates, but also a lot of “are you free tonight’s” attached to men with first names only saved into his contact list. Isaac is as single as gay men in this city come. Or I don’t know. Maybe he isn’t anymore.
I feel myself shriveling. What is even the point of me? “It wouldn’t be me,” I whisper, my voice as small as I feel. I don’t know why Isaac would say something like that to Deacon, but I assume he’s got his reasons, which also are none of my fucking business.
Deacon nods. Not like he’s agreeing necessarily but acknowledging what I believe to be true.
My eyes sting as I look at him, so I drop my gaze to my forearms and take a thin breath. I feel stupid for letting this situation hurt me, but it’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. The numbness has officially worn off. I’m like one big emotional ache. I don’t want to go to work tomorrow, and I don’t want to be here, either. I think I may have let myself get a little too isolated over the last few months while I waited around for Deacon to really notice me and satisfied myself on Isaac’s dick.
I’m the only one of my college friends who stayed in the Bay Area. My best friend here is a guy I know from high school, and he’s busy with a new relationship and building his own career. I used to talk to him a few times a week, and now it’s every couple of weeks. I haven’t seen him since that New Year’s party.
At the office, because I work so closely with Isaac, and I’m not on a team, I’m generally relegated to the outskirts of conversations—no happy hour invites for me. Until I got too busy with my software, I had my cam boy side hustle, but as real as those relationships felt in a moment, they were one-sided as hell. I was an idealized image playing a part with a little of myself thrown in for flavor.
