I know a leading question when I hear one, but this one sort of nails me in the chest. “I might be.”
“You want to say more about that? It feels like you do.”
I grimace at her tone. “This is all I’m gonna say. A few weeks ago, I would have said Evan’s not my type. But now that I’m sober, now that I’ve been with Isaac…I might be more interested in Evan.”
She hums like she’s trying to puzzle out my words. “I think I hear what you’re saying. This is about dicks in holes, right?”
I don’t blush easily, but if anyone can make me do it, it’s Bailey. “Yeah.”
“I havegotto meet this Isaac person.”
“You might. I’m gonna invite him to the dinner party next weekend. I mean—I guess he might end up being Evan’s date by then, but you’ll probably get to meet him anyway.”
“Okay, back up. I feel like I missed something.”
“I think Isaac is in love with Evan.”
She stares at me a moment and then slowly slides off the couch. “I’m gonna make some lemon zinger. I suggest you have some because you have a lot more explaining to do.”
She makes the tea and we talk for another hour. I fill her in on all the non sex-related blanks.
After we process everything, I walk home with the reminder that everyone involved is still technically single, and if I don’twant to give Evan a chance, I don’t have to, but Bailey’s been “rooting for” us, and she hopes I give it some thought.
I must be in a talking mood, because when I get home with Apollo and return him to Evan’s bedroom, I ask if he needs space or if I can keep processing.
After giving me a long, cautious look, he lets me inside.
16
EVAN
Deacon has been sitting on the edge of my bed, telling me in detail all about how he used to spend his weekends. It’s very clear that besides Isaac, he hasn’t dated—like ever, and I’m also super clear on why he probably thinks the two of us wouldn’t be sexually compatible. We’re now at the part where his so-called friends left him in a hospital when he was so intoxicated it took him two hours to be coherent enough to state his name.
“Jesus, Deacon. If you’d called—I mean, you have my number, you know?”
“Once they let me leave, I was sober,” he says simply.
“But you were there all alone.” He’s letting me look him in the eyes for a longer period of time than he usually does, so I want to keep him talking. It’s been a long, sad, boring day here by myself, and I was positive he’d wind up at Isaac’s tonight, so the fact that he’s here, offering to walk my dog and tell me his story feels huge and important. “Weren’t you scared?”
“I was pissed off, but honestly, I was asleep most of the time.”
“I’m so sorry that happened.”
“I don’t get when people apologize for things they had nothing to do with,” he says.
“It’s an expression of sympathy. Part of the universal—I hope that shit never happens to me.”
“That makes sense. Well, if it ever does happen to you, I hope you call someone. Me. Or whoever.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Anyway, thanks for letting me talk to you and not kicking me out.”
“Like I’d kick you out of my bed.” Fuck I can’t believe I just said that. I laugh softly to cover my embarrassment before burying my face in my hands. “Sorry. I can’t stop apparently.”
“Stop what?” he asks.
“Sounding like I’m coming onto you.”
