His grin against my lips is insufferable. "Knew it."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
And I do, which is probably indecent for a public space, but the heart decorations are still up and everyone's at least three drinks in, so who's really paying attention? His hand tightens on my waist, and I'm just settling into it when…
"Hey guys, quick question?—"
We break apart to find Gavin standing there, all six-foot-four of him, looking uncharacteristically serious.
He drops onto the couch beside us like a small earthquake, making the whole thing shift. "How did you know you're gay?"
The beer goes down the wrong pipe.Spectacular. Nothing says 'composed law student' like choking on cheap alcohol at a frat party.James's hand moves from my waist to my back, thumping helpfully while I try to remember how lungs work.
"I—what?" James's voice does something acrobatic, starting low and ending somewhere near the ceiling.
Gavin just watches us, those earnest golden retriever eyes waiting, as if this is a perfectly normal thing to ask. I check myphone; it's 11:47 PM at a party where Jaren's doing body shots off a very happy-looking pledge.
"Come on, man." Still that patient, expectant look. "How did you know?"
James and I exchange a look that's probably visible from space. His eyebrows are attempting to escape into his hairline, while mine are trying to burrow underground.
"I, uh—" James starts, stops, tries again. "High school? I mean, there was this girl… I guess I mean guy in my calculus class..."
The blush that spreads across James's face is fascinating. Technical malfunction in real-time. "She wasn't... I mean, she was..."
"Fem," Gavin supplies helpfully, like he's been taking lessons in queer somewhere. "So you're into fem guys?"
"I'm into Caleb," James mutters, and even with all this craziness going on around us, a warm, happy feeling spreads through my chest.
But Gavin's still watching, waiting, and there's something in his expression that makes my usual deflection die in my throat. It was instilled in my head from the day I was outed, 'keep this private.' But this isn't idle curiosity. This is... Gavin searching.
"I was eight," I hear myself say. The party noise fades to background static. "Snuck into my mother's closet during one of her charity galas. The evening gowns were just... beautiful. Like artwork made of silk and sequins."
James's hand finds mine. Squeezes.
"My father found me in a Versace number that probably cost more than most people's cars." The laugh that escapes tastes bitter. "You'd think I'd committed treason. The yelling, the lectures about 'appropriate masculine behavior,' the therapist who specialized in 'redirecting harmful impulses'..."
"Jesus, Caleb?—"
"It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but I overcorrected." The words keep coming, like a faucet someone forgot to turn off.
"I played lacrosse. Dated girls who looked good in family Christmas cards. Wore nothing but Brooks Brothers and tried to disappear into the wallpaper of acceptable masculinity."
Gavin's leaning forward now, absorbing every word like it matters. Like it might save his life.
"When that didn't work, when I still couldn't stop noticing boys instead of girls. I gave my parents an ultimatum. Deal with having a gay son or ship me off to boarding school in Switzerland. Just… Let me disappear from the family's public image entirely."
"But you're here," Gavin says quietly.
"Oh yes. Dear old Dad did the political calculus." A smile stretches across my face, sharp as glass. "Having a gay son is actually an asset now, apparently. Makes him look progressive. Inclusive. As long as I don't 'flaunt' anything. No pride flags. No 'feminine' behavior. No public displays of?—"
I gesture between James and me. "Just be gay in the most heterosexual way possible."
"Fuck." James pulls me in tight, and I let him, dignity be damned. "That's so fucked up."
"That's the Huntington way. Excel at everything, even oppression."
