On Monday and Tuesday, I had to work through until closing time so I couldn’t meet Marcello at the gym at our usual time. On Wednesday, he told me he had a stomach bug and had left work early to go home. Yesterday, he was back at work but said he still felt fragile and I absolutely encouraged him to take another rest day. But in about an hour, I’m going to meet him at the gym for the only workout we’ll share together this week. And I’m excited. Although I shouldn’t be.
I'm also still thinking about the conversation we shared on Sunday.
I think we should fuck… I was thinking I needed to fuck a guy and you’re the only guy I know who likes to fuck guys so… There’s this guy… at swimming training.
And that’s when I always stop feeling excited.
Swimming training.
There’s a guy he thinks he likes at swimming training.
It’s not me who has him questioning his sexuality. It’s some guy at swimming training he hadn’t even told me he’d started. Not that Marcello has to tell me every single minute detail of his triathlon journey, but I had thought we were in it together. Last week, he’d texted me no fewer than five times asking me about protein amounts in various foods.
But this week there haven’t been any texts about macros. Just the briefest of messages about our schedules and how work and illness has kept us away from being in the gym at the same time.
So why am I still thinking about that conversation on Sunday and wondering, over and over again, if I did the right thing in saying no?
At the time, it made complete sense. Even before he mentioned the man in Speedos and I had this hopeful inkling that he was talking about me, I wasn’t just going to fuck him to satisfy his curiosity. Had it been me he was talking about, as the source of his questioning, I would have still turned him down. Because I’d rather we explored things more slowly, more intentionally. More drinks, some dinners, andthenmaybe physical intimacy. I don’t want to just fuck him so he can find out if he’s really queer or not. I’d want to date him. I’d want us to go slow, and not just for him. I’d want us to take our time because I feel… I feel like Marcello is different. I feel like Marcello could be somebody… special.
If he felt the same way, of course.
But he doesn’t. He wants Mr Speedos from swimming training.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting to happen by staring out of the window, but those invoices aren’t going to pay themselves,” Radia says from beside me, which is strange because she wasn’t there a moment ago.
I snap my attention back to the small stack of papers in front of me. I normally do my accounts in the office, but it’s another hot August day and we don’t have aircon back there, only in the main shop floor so it’s a no brainer if I don’t want to sweat through my shirt and waistcoat.
“Just got distracted.”
“Care to share?” Radia asks, leaning her hip on the wooden counter.
I glance across at her. She looks almost interested, almost concerned. We’ve worked together for many years now and while interns have come and gone and other part-time members of staff haven’t lasted much longer, Radia has been my loyal right-hand woman almost as long as I’ve beenrunning Rivers & McCannon. I’d be lost without her, both professionally and as a friend.
“Can I ask you a very strange and very hypothetical question?”
“Sure,” Radia says and she definitely looks interested now. I suppose it’s better than the polishing of the counter’s glass top that she would be doing otherwise.
“Say you… like someone.”
“Likelikesomeone?”
“Yes,likesomeone.”
“Okay,” she draws the word out.
“And that someone definitely doesn’t like you back.”
“Bummer.”
“Yes, big bummer.” I straighten up. “That sounds very wrong.”
“Or very right?” She winks.
“Anyway, this… someone. They don’t like you back, but they do give you the option of no-strings-attached sex.”
Radia holds her hands up. “I feel like I’m not going to be very well qualified to give you good advice on this very hypothetical situation.”
“Why?”
