Of course I sound like a fucking child and definitely not like a grown ass man.
Mack nods, like he’s processing the information and not rolling his eyes, and adds, “Okay… on a guy?”
I nod again, stiffly.
“And is it just a crush,” Mack continues, his tone, “or like… more than that?”
Without even thinking I respond immediately, because the idea of it being more feels like admitting Jacob feels something back, or even that he could feel something back, and that would be unrealistic.
“It’s just a weird crush or, I don’t know, infatuation,” I say.
Mack hums under his breath and stares at me for so long that I start to wonder if he’s just gone into some kind of meditation, eyes unfocused and almost glazed over, until he finally speaks.
“Do you want to be with guys?”
I shake my head on instinct, immediately trying to close off that line of thought, but then I stop and shrug like maybe the world is bigger than the box I’ve been trying to shove myself into. I’m not…opposed to being with a man. Obviously, considering I jerk off to one these days. But also, I never really thought about the possibility of being with one.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Okay,” Mack replies instantly. And for some reason, the pressure that I didn’t even realize was building in my chest just slowly dissipates at his easy acceptance. It’s like I can finally exhale some of the thoughts that have been rattling around in my head, and there’s this surprising relief in hearing understanding instead of judgment.
“I, uh… jerked off and I couldn’t stop thinking about him,” I blurt out without warning, because apparently my brain has decided discretion is overrated. “I tried to think about Sab and all the shit we’ve done and my… uh… fuck, this is awkward,” I groan, half laughing at myself.
Mack just chuckles and makes a shrugging motion with his hand like,Keep going, I’m listening.
“Ugh,” I continue, like ripping off a goddamn Band Aid, “my dick literally went soft just thinking about her.”
And Mack, of all people, full on laughs.
“Bro,” he says between laughs, and he’s shaking his head with that weird combination of serious and amused, “my dick would go soft too. That doesn’t exactly mean you’re into dudes. It means your girlfriend is a bitch.”
I wince at the use ofgirlfriend, because yeah…girlfriend is complicated as hell. Here I am, thinking about another man,apparently getting off to another man, and Istill have a girlfriend.And you can call it emotionally cheating or whatever you want, but when the guy you’re thinking about is real and not some hot celebrity stereotype, it feels different.
That realization hits me like cold water.
Mack sighs when he sees my expression. It’s more the sound of someone who sees a friend walking straight into an obvious problem.
“Dude,” he says, slower this time, “you need to end that.”
I know where he’s going with it before he says anything else. That part of me that’s been trying to keep my relationships intact by doing exactly nothing is suddenly shouting that he’s right.
“I know,” I reply softly.
“Why don’t you?” Mack presses, and his voice gets a little firmer, like he’s not trying to be a dick, but he is trying to shake some sense into me. “I don’t want to be a dick, but you two always fight and she stresses you out. You aren’t even happy. And none of your friends even like her.”
I look up at him and I say what’s really in my head, the thing I’ve been sitting with for weeks but haven’t spoken because it feels like accepting defeat out loud.
“It’s easier to be with her.”
The words come out slow. I don’t look him in the eyes when I say it, because honesty hits weirdly in the gut, but he hears it just the same.
“She’s familiar,” I continue. “I know her. I know what she wants, what she expects, how to keep her steady. There’s nothing unknown about that. Nothing scary. Nothing that makes you stop breathing and wonder what the fuck you’re doing.”
Mack listens to that and his brows knit. Then, after a beat he looks at me and says, matter of fact, “But you aren’t fucking happy.”
I nod along, and the admission feels lighter once it’s out but no less true. “No,” I say softly, eyes on my beer. “I’m really not.”
“Would you be happy with your mystery guy?” he asks with this small knowing smirk.
