There’s half a heartbeat when I think: is he mad at me?Because of last night?
But then my phone buzzes, and Gray says:You are such a nerd.And I know you think I’m crazy, but I’m totally right.
And then I ask him about the song, and it’s like we never stopped talking last night, messages going back and forth.I even check my phone when I get to stoplights, and Ineverdo that.
“Somebody looks happy,” Gran says as I come into the house.
“It’s a nice day,” I say.
Gran glances at me, smiles, and goes back to looking at her earrings.She keeps them in binders, in these vinyl sheets that have lots of pockets.She’s got them lined up on a shelf in her room, except for now when they’re spread on the coffee table, and she calls them the family albums.
I change into workout clothes—shorts and a tee—in my room, still texting with Gray, even when I’m pulling the shirt over my head.
What are you doing?I ask, and all of a sudden, I’ve got this idea that I’m going to ask him to go to the gym with me.
Catching up on paperwork.And then a second message comes through—the knife emoji, and the wordsKill me.
Want some help?
So much for the gym, I guess.
Thanks, but I’m in too deep at this point.
But he’s not in too deep that he doesn’t keep answering every time I text him.He wants to know about work, so I tell him about the guy I let off with a warning.I guess he thinks that’s hilarious because he sends me about fifteen different texts saying lol and omg and a lot of the skull and laughing emojis.I ask him if he’s eaten anything, and he sends me a picture—it’s from his office at WISP, and it shows one of those protein smoothies on the corner of his desk.The cup is empty, so I guess that counts for something.
It’s like that all the way to the gym.I’m doing arms today, and I’m limping through the sets because I’ve got no gas, not after last night.But the time flies by anyway because I’m texting Gray between sets.He’s trying to wind me up about whatever he can think of—right now, he’s trying to come up with a profile name for me on Prowler.He thought I didn’t know that was a gay dating app, but it’s not like I live under a rock.So far, the best name he’s come up with is saddysam, which he says is like Sam plus Daddy, like Zaddy.When I tell him it sounds like I’m sad, he swears.A lot.
The idea pops into my head when I’m doing pull-ups.And it’s dumb, but I kind of like it too because it’s silly, and it’s the kind of thing Gray would do, and I know he’ll think it’s funny.I grab my phone and do one last pull-up, only this time, when I’m at the top, I shift around so I’m holding myself up one-handed, and I snap a photo.
It’s not bad, actually.My arms look enormous, and my shirt’s riding up to show a hint of my stomach.I even got the expression right.Kind of cocky.The way Gray looks when he’s pulling shit off.
Before I can think about it too much, I send it.
It takes zero-point-zero seconds for him to write back,Hot.
And there it is again.That feeling like electricity is running through my gut and all the way up my spine.
I don’t let myself think about it too much.It’s not a big deal.He’s my friend—and that’s more of a surprise than anything else, the fact that Gray and I are friends now, and I’m not even sure how it happened.Anyway, he’s my friend, and friends send each other pictures all the time.Gay guys and straight guys can be friends.Gay guys can tell their straight friends they’re hot.Sometimes Gran watchesQueer Eye,and that’s basically the whole premise.And Gray sent the first picture, so it’s not like—well, I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask for consent first.
And then Gray asks me if he can use that photo for my Prowler profile, and the conversation moves on.
Gran’s going out with Dr.Jacobson tonight, so after I shower, I make myself a quick dinner—a chicken breast, some vegetables, and a protein shake.I think about texting Gray to see if he wants me to drop off some food for him, but I don’t.I don’t want that to be a thing.Like I’m always bringing him food.Or he’s bringing me food.It would be weird, I think.Wouldn’t it?
Gran’s wearing flamingo-pink capris and a lacy white top from the Pure Reba collection when she goes out for the night.Her hoops are so big she gets caught in the screen door and I have to rescue her, and then I have to wash the lipstick off my cheek from where she kissed me goodbye.
I get out the workbook forUnmuzzled, but for some reason, I’m not feeling it tonight.I try the TV, but I can’t find anything good.I text Gray to tell him there’s nothing good on TV and for the first time ever—he won’t believe it—I don’t want to study, but he doesn’t reply.That’s okay; he’s busy with a lot of stuff at WISP, and I know in the evenings is when they have walk-ins.If you’d told me a month ago that Gray could sit and talk to somebody, that he’d done all the training and he knew what to say, that he could actually listen long enough without talking about some big-dicked jock he’d smashed pissers with—he actually said that once, and it was right when the Baptist Ladies were in the lobby trying to get donations for their quilts—if you’d told me Gray could do any of that, I probably would have laughed.But that was before I knew him.The real him, I guess.So now I know that if he’s talking to someone right now, he’s listening, and he’s helping, and he’s trying to do his best.
I fall asleep on the couch because of the night before and the gym, and when I wake up, it’s almost eleven.I check my phone, but still nothing from Gray.
Are you still at WISP?I text.
No reply.
I brush my teeth.I check my phone.I floss.I look at the screen in case he’s texted.I wash my face, and I’m only halfway done when I think I hear my phone buzz, so I’m dripping face wash all over everything when I check it again.
Nothing.
I’m in my trunks, about to climb into bed, when I think maybe I’ll drive by.
