“Why not, Cody? What’s so unlovable about you?”
“I…” he licks his lips. The tears have stopped, but he’s still shivering. “I don’t know,” he finally says.
“Exactly,” I smile, leaning in, pressing my lips against the corner of his mouth. Salt hits my tongue, reminding me of Cody’s devastating truth. He has no one. No, that’s no longer true. He has me now. And my parents. And the team. Well, I hope we have the team when the time comes. I push that away for now. “Let’s go tell them now,” I smile, getting up from the bed, pulling Cody with me.
“Now?” he blurts, brushing a hand through his wayward locks.
“Yeah, why not?” I grin goofily.
“Okay…” Cody nods, looking a little dazed. Then something flashes through his eyes and a fraction of a smile forms at the corner of his mouth. “But you tell Coach,” he smirks. “When the time comes, you tell Coach.”Oh shit.
“We can tell him together,” I mumble.
“No fucking way, Lucky,” he laughs. “Not in a million years,” he walks toward the door.Lucky.Huh. That’s new. But it fits, I guess. Because I do feel lucky as I head down the stairs, trailing after Cody, on our way to tell my parents that I have a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Luke
Charlie’s lips are moving.I can see that. But I can’t for the life of me make out what he’s saying. Apparently, Nick can because he’s smiling through the rain.Shit.The recent group session, which was my fourth, has fed off so many questions that I feel like my head is close to exploding or imploding or whatever. Even Cody, a man with the patience of a saint, seems to be so over me right now as I stir next to him on my bed and he eventually pausesHeartstopper, leaving poor Nick and Charlie standing in the rain.
“What?” Cody groans, looking at me. He looks as tired as I feel. It’s been one week since we came back from Lancaster and our days have been busy, filled with practice and games. Practice and games. And group sessions.
“Nothing,” I murmur, burying my face in my pillow. “It’s just…”
“What?” he chuckles, pushing at my shoulder, forcing me to look up at him.
“I’m so confused,” I finally admit.
“About what?” His voice is tinged with patience. So much patience. How does he even put up with me? Not only does he wait for me all the time when I’m late—because, yes, still notoriously late—he also waits for me to catch up with him so that we’re on the same page with this whole sexuality thing. He’s been so patient with me, answering all my random questions after each group session, and never making me feel stupid or bothersome.
“I just…” the words get stuck in my mouth because I’m afraid that if I admit to this part of myself, then it’s over, this thing between Cody and me.
“You can tell me, Lucky,” he reaches out and sweeps my hair from my forehead, the tips of his fingers lingering just a little while longer than necessary. Like he knows instinctively that I need the connection. Right now, more than ever. He’s so good. So good. I don’t think he knows just how perfect he is. And I want to be perfect for him too. Only, what if I’m not? The thought frightens me more than anything ever has. I’ve lived a sheltered life. I’m not oblivious to that. I’ve been luckier than most. I’m not used to not getting what I want. I know that probably sounds entitled, but it’s also true. “Tell me,” he coaxes, biting his bottom lip.
“When Kenny talked about being ashamed tonight…” Shit, why is it so hard to speak those words? I’ve done it countless times myself but now it feels shameful almost.
“About masturbating?” Cody murmurs, his hand sliding from my forehead, down my temple, and further down my cheek.Dancing along my chin and neck, his hand eventually settles on my shoulder, squeezing it gently.
“Yeah,” I croak. “I… I felt that. How he felt at that moment.”
“You did?” Cody looks at me, his eyes so big and bright, the light from my bedside lamp making them sparkle. “Why?”Why?
“Because I do that. Masturbate,” I say, and I feel like I’ve just admitted to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby. My stomach sinks and regret courses through me. Then sadness. Because this is it, right? This is when Cody realizes that I’m not right for him.
“So?” he tilts his head, a curious frown between his brows. “Many asexual people masturbate.” He says it like he would say, “Many people enjoy a drink with their meal,” or “Many people admit to not washing their hands after visiting the bathroom.” So casually.
“They do?” I blurt, dumbfounded. “But… isn’t that sex?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do it, too, on occasion. To ease the pressure. Doesn’t mean I want to have sex with another person. I guess it’s more of a physiological thing. The need to get off.” He looks so sure of himself and his place in the world as he speaks. About masturbation. And sex. And not having sex. Like he knows himself. I want to get to that place so badly where I know myself, too. Because I always thought that I did and now I just feel like I’m in free fall. And I hate that feeling.
“You masturbate?” I say, testing the word on my tongue.
“Yeah,” he shrugs.
“And that’s okay…?”
