“Are you?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not. I promise.”
Deacon shifts to lean on one of his hands. “Can I tell you something else?”
“Yeah.”
“Even if it’s about Isaac?”
I hesitate. This is the main thing I’ve been thinking about today—whether I can be a big boy about all of this, or if I’m only capable of being a whiny baby. The latter part of me wants to close my eyes, cover my ears and sing a song so I can’t hear what he says. The big boy nods his head and says, “Of course.”
His expression is so earnest and grateful, I get the sense I might be the only person he feels like he can tell whatever this is to.
“When I saw it was him on the date, I assumed he’d want to be in control. CEO and everything.”
I nod slightly.
“But it didn’t end up being like that. And I thought I’d want him to just use me or whatever—that’s kind of what I do, right?Historically? Anyway, I ended up topping, which isn’t something I do normally. But it like—makes sense with him.”
That wasnotwhere I saw this headed. The tales of Deacon’s sexual exploits in the clubs involved Deacon being more or less submissive. I’ll grant, that’s how I pictured him with Isaac, too. So, this is a lot of new news.
“Do you ever top?” Deacon asks.
“No,” I say.
“Never?”
“I’m like a strict top magnet. I’ve never been with anyone who wanted me to do anything other than open up.”
His eyes flick down my body when I say that, and I feel a rush of warmth below my waist. I shift more onto my side, and he turns to face the closet. “What makes someone good at topping?” he asks.
“Oh, wow.” I scoot back toward my pillows and rub my hand over my hair. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s so many more things that make someone bad at it.”
“I’ve always been pretty fucked up when I’ve had sex,” he tells me.
“When did you come out?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t feel like I ever wasn’t out. It was just who I was, but I started fucking around with my guy friends in high school. I had a girlfriend, too, though, so... We were all kind of involved, I guess.”
“Wow. That’s…interesting.”
“It was messed up,” he says. “I think I’ve always known my friend group and the shit we did together was fucked up. That’s probably why I used so many drugs.”
My mouth twists into a grimace. He probably doesn’t want to talk about that as much as I don’t want to ask my next question. “So, Isaac likes to bottom?”
“I don’t think he’s used to it.”
I take a deep breath and look down at my fidgeting hands, pinching my fingertips one at a time. “Are you afraid you’re gonna hurt him or something?”
“No. I just…want him to feel good.”
“Does it feel good to you?” I ask. “Like is that whatyouwant?”
“Yeah, I mean. Like I said—it makes sense. To me. And maybe that’s the problem. Things that make sense to me don’t always make sense to other people. I misread things.”
