He let his gaze linger on Rye for another few seconds, the depth and emotion in Rye’s eyes drawing him in. Then he smiled softly and nodded.
“I don’t know much either, honestly,” Jake admitted, and when Rye’s eyebrows arched in question, Jake’s smile tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t really ever talked with anyone except Krista about his sexuality. Steve knew, sort of. But only because he and Jake had finally decided to try to start a relationship. They’d gone out twice, tried fooling around once. And nothing. Jake had felt nothing. Steve had been great, understanding and everything. But even then, they hadn’t talked too much about it—just mutually agreed they were meant to be friends, not boyfriends.
It had only been in a few longer, deeper conversations with his sister that Jake had really opened up about probably being somewhere on the asexual spectrum. And Jake had no idea how much Rye knew about any of that. Nor did he want Rye to be overwhelmed with the truth—that Jake had never felt anything like this for anyone other than Rye before. In fact, he’d only assumed he was gay because he’d occasionally felt a mild “aesthetic attraction”—as his sister had once called it—toward other men, usually some good-looking celebrity. He had felt that way about Steve, too. Steve was a handsome guy, after all.
But given what he felt now—how deep and strong his feelings for Rye were—he now understood how that low, surface-level attraction hadn’t meant much of anything.
Rye was still staring at him curiously, and Jake knew he needed to explain at least a bit of it. So he swallowed hard and straightened on the couch, setting his right foot back on the ground. Then he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, letting out a long breath, and he started talking, quietly and slowly.
“So, I’ve never actually had a boyfriend before,” he said, staring at his clasped hands. “I tried a couple of times. Once with my friend Steve, but, well, that didn’t really go anywhere...”
Rye stayed silent as Jake talked, and every time Jake snuck a glance over, Rye was just watching him, his brow slightly pinched in thought. He didn’t seem terribly confused, however, so Jake kept going, although he kept any mentions of more sexual things—like the fact that Jake had completely failed when Steve had suggested they try messing around in bed—to himself.
When he finished, he straightened up and then leaned back against the couch cushions with a deep exhale. Rye had scooted back to the corner of the couch, which felt like it was much too far away, and he’d rested his chin on his knees, his lips pursed as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite do it.
And Jake wanted nothing more than to avoid any awkwardness or uncertainty between them, so he gave Rye a soft smile that he hoped was also reassuring.
“So, um, in any case, it’s like you said—it felt really good.” Jake opened up his hand then and set it down, palm up, on the couch cushion just next to him. Hope filled his heart as he watched Rye’s cheeks flush, and then Rye loosened his arm from where it hugged his knees, scooted out of his corner until he was much closer to Jake, their shoulders almost touching, and settled his hand on top of Jake’s. Their fingers automatically intertwined, and Jake closed his eyes against the rush of heat to his chest.
He felt Rye shift again, and when he opened his eyes, Rye had twisted just a bit so he was partly facing Jake, his eyes closed and his head resting on the back couch cushion now, with his knees tucked under him. He looked comfortable. Relaxed and happy and... tired.
Jake should go now. Or soon. Rye’d had a long, difficult day, and now all of this other emotional stuff. And Rye needed to rest so he’d be ready for his exams on Friday. Yet...
He let his thumb drift lightly across the back of Rye’s hand, a gentle caress that sent a warm shiver through him. God, he didn’t want to leave. Not when they had just found this—the very beginning of whatever this was between them.
So he didn’t move, except the slow stroke of his thumb smoothing across Rye’s skin, and he closed his eyes with another long, deep breath.
Maybe he’d stay just a little while longer.
Fifty—no,sixtypush-ups.Onehundred twenty-five sit-ups. A two-and-a-half-minute plank. Thirty single-leg squats on his good leg, and a half hour of massage and physical therapy exercises for his bad leg.
Then two eggs,scrambled, half an avocado on top of a slice of whole-grain toast, and a glass of orange juice. He skipped the emails—they could wait until later—but did the dishes, then went out and sat on the patio with a cup of coffee.
The early October morning was bright and warm, sunlight spilling up over the tops of the trees behind him and onto the beach down below him. It matched his mood—light, eager, hopeful. He only wished it was already a few hours later, when he’d be leaving to go pick up Rye for their trip to Redding.
His phone buzzed once and then again and again, and he leaned sideways a bit and pulled it out of his pocket, not at all surprised to see his sister’s name pop up on the screen. He’d missed her calls the night before, and by the time he’d left Rye’s house at nearly midnight, he’d been a bit too... distracted.
He hesitated for just a second before clicking and quickly reading through her string of multiplePlease let me know you’re alivetexts. The last one attempted to hide her unease with a tease about something completely inappropriate, and he huffed out a small laugh, then set his coffee down and tapped the phone screen to call her.
Krista answered after only half a ring.
“Okay, so I know I can be a little overbearing,” she started, “but we’ve talked or texted every single night since you left here after your accident, and I called twice last night and left a voicemail, and I’m hoping you’re okay. In fact, I’m hoping that you’re better than okay and not, you know, in god-awful pain or incapacitated or something really terrible because then I’d just be really, really... scared.” Her breath ran out, maybe, or she just ran out of words, because she finally stopped and sighed. “Sorry, Jake, but you know me. I’ve been worried all night.”
He stood up, frowning. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Kris,” he said. “I’m good, though. Really good, actually.”
“Thank god. I mean, that’s what I assumed, but, fuck, anxiety is a bitch. And I know—I know you’re an adult and—and everything. But I still... worry.”
He let the silence hang for a moment as he moved across the patio to the railing, not entirely sure what to say. He understood her anxiety and why she worried about him; she’d practically raised him, and when he’d almost died in that accident, he knew it had nearly broken her. And he didn’t mind that she called to check on him every night, really. He just wished she didn’t feel so... obligated to.
He leaned on the railing and stared out over the water, remembering how she’d argued with him when he’d bought this house. She couldn’t believe he’d wanted to live out by himself, with no one else around. What if something happened? Cell phone reception could be spotty, and there was no hospital for at least an hour. She’d listed all the reasons it was a bad idea. But he’d been stubborn. He’d wantedthis. And though hewasan adult and hadn’thadto, he’d “conceded,” promising to communicate with her every day.
And that had been fine. It was still fine. But maybe if she understood that he sort of wasn’t so alone anymore, then maybe she’d feel better. Maybe she didn’t have to feel so much anxiety over him and how he’d chosen to live his life.
God, he loved her. And more than anything, he wanted her to be happy, like he was.
“He talked to me, Kris,” Jake said quietly.
Far out on the water, a flock of seabirds settled, and Jake watched them absently as he started talking. He told her almost everything. How Rye had asked him to stay after the party, how he’d wanted to talk. How he’d asked Jake what he’d meant when he’d said “I like you.” How terrified Jake had been to admit the truth to Rye, but once he had, things had been so, so good. So much better than he’d ever imagined. Then he explained how they’d ended up deciding to watch a documentary and how he’d ended up staying until nearly midnight.
