“Being different isn’t a bad thing, Nikko,” he assures me. “But I understand what you mean. It’s hard for someone to accept certain sides of us, and it’s even harder for us to show them for fear of their rejection. I’m ace. Do you know what that means?” he asks kindly.
“I don’t.” I wince, feeling like a total ass. “Is it a neurodivergent thing like mine?”
“No, it’s my sexuality.” He chuckles. “Asexual. For me, that means sex isn’t really a thing I’m into. Lots of people think that means I don’t want a relationship at all, and a lot of potential partners feel that way or think it means I don’t want them. I do. I want love, I want a partner and a relationship, but sex just isn’t a thing I want. Does that make sense?”
“Does it make you happy?” I ask, wanting to understand.
“It’s who I am, like this is who you are. I can’t change it, nor would I want to. It took me a little while to understand what I am. I always thought something was wrong with me because I didn’t feel the urge to have sex like everyone else my age did, and for a while, I thought it meant I didn’t want a partner at all. I spent time understanding myself, and now I know who I am, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy. Most people don’t want that kind of relationship,” he admits, and he seems sad.
“I hope you find someone who does. You’re an incredible person, Ripley, and sex isn’t everything.”
“Most people don’t think that way,” he replies.
“Then they are idiots. Connection is more important than our bodies, I think. If you don’t have feelings for someone, then a connection based only on sexual attraction is nothing more than a temporary thing. One day, you’ll meet someone who understands that, understands you.” He smiles, and I squeeze his hand. “And if they turn out to be an asshole, I’ll beat them up for you.”
He laughs, the tears I spied disappearing like I wanted. “What are friends for?”
“Are we . . . friends?” I ask.
“Of course we are.” He frowns. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
I shrug and focus on my book, but when I glance up, he’s watching me knowingly. “I’d like to understand being ace more if you have time,” I tell him. If we’re friends, then I should know this so I can help him and love him for who he is.
The smile he gives me is so wide, it must hurt. “I have time. What do you want to know?”
“How can I support you?” I ask.
“Nikko.” He shakes his head. “You are the kindest person I have ever met.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to make you run laps later.”
“That too.” He chuckles. “Okay, so it’s different for every person?—”
I spent hours talking with Ripley. I didn’t get much work done, but I understand him better now, which is good. He’s my friend, and friends should know this about one another and be able to support and protect them if they need it.
I think back on Ripley’s words as I collapse on my bed that night. Does Zia need love? It’s obvious he’s drawing a line and isn’t ready for a relationship after his ex, but every time I think about him, I get confused. There’s this warm feeling in my chest, and I can’t seem to stop smiling. I don’t know what it means, but I don’t want it to stop. For the first time ever, I’m thinking about more than just boxing.
I’m considering a life beyond that, and I like it.
There’s a knock at my door, and I sit up, looking at the clock. It’s late, one in the morning, since I did some training before bed. The gym is empty, and nobody else knows I live here.
My heart starts to pound as I rush to the door and open it, hope blooming until my gaze land on him.
“Zia,” I murmur, trying to contain my happiness. “What?—”
He pushes past me, and I shut the door, turning to see him. His eyessweep over me. I’m only wearing boxers, and I swallow hard, my dick reacting. “Never had a booty call?”
“No, what is it?”
He smiles wide at my bumbling question and wanders around my apartment as I watch him before I remember my room is a mess. I was in a rush and tired, and I can’t let this perfect man see it like that. I walk away when he’s staring out of a window and hurry to my room.
I start to throw my clothes into the hamper when I hear him chuckle. I glance back to see him at my bedroom door. “I didn’t come here to check out your place again, Nikko. I came here to fuck.”
“But it’s a mess.”
“Then fuck me in the mess,” he demands. “We both know we’d enjoy it.”
Taking my hand, he leads me to the living room and sits on the window seat, right where he sat last time. He peers up at me through his lashes with a look that makes me want to kiss the shit out of him.
