I have to close my eyes.
Maybe I am acting like a fussy child, dammit.
AJknowsme. He’s the best person—the only person—I can do this with.
The mental reassurance helps me, but I realize he’s way too still a moment too late.
“I’m not going to do anything embarrassing,” he mumbles as he steps back, looking down at his shoes.
That right there is more disarming than a toddler with tears in its eyes.
“That’s not why I’m freaking out, AJ. Not at all,” I rush to set him at ease.
“Why, then?”
“Because I’m a gay man, and well...” I hesitate. This is going to be embarrassing to admit, but I have to. I won’t have AJ thinking I’m in any way ashamed of him. It’s the complete opposite. “I’ve spent way less time than you’d think sleeping next to other men. Especially ones who I’m not actually involved with.”
The fact that he snickers at my use of words tells me he’s back to his old self and feeling just fine.
That’s nice for him. I, on the other hand, am blushing harder than I ever have.
“Cam,” he starts, deadpan. “I bunk with guys all the time. Every time we’re on the road for a game.”
“Really?” That surprises me. I can’t believe I didn’t know this about him. “You? You’re the quarterback of an NFL franchise and they makeyoushare a room?”
“Nobodymakesme,” he mumbles. “I like hanging out with my friends, talking late, just... hanging out. I don’t like to be alone.”
Oh, AJ.
Again, I melt at his adorableness.
He acts more like a little kid than a thirty-three-year-old man, and though sometimes that can be frustrating, it’s also surprisingly refreshing on him. I have no idea how he manages it.
“So you see? It’s fine. We can have a sleepover tonight to get you used to it. I’ll even wear sweatpants so you’re not uncomfortable.”
“What?” Now I’m back to being confused. “What do you normally wear?” Is that a wildly inappropriate question?
Yeah, probably.
“Here I wear nothing.” He shrugs, and I have to grimace. Now,thatwould be inappropriate. “On the road I wear my briefs.”
“Sweatpants,” is the only thing I can say in answer.
He doesn’t need much more from me and just goes right into planning mode. He finds me a pair of sweatpants that are worn enough to almost reach my ankles, and he gets me a new toothbrush that he finds in one of his five guest bedrooms, and then I’m standing by his big bed—as big as mine—and watching him throw about a hundred thousand pillows off it.
“Why do you have so many pillows?” I ask, because I was not expecting him to have any kind of decor in his bedroom, let alone pillows with horses embroidered on them.
“My mom got them for me,” he says defensively.
“Hey, no, they look nice.” I nod in encouragement and help him put them on the sofa he has by the windows.
But there are still six huge pillows, so he takes three away then leaves the rest there and gestures for me to get under the duvet.
I do . . . and then I can’t breathe.
God this is awkward.
Are we supposed to go to sleep now? At the same time?
