I reach out, grasping his shoulders. “You didn’t mess anything up, Harry. Not with me.”
He takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. “You mean it?”
“Yeah,” I say firmly, my voice steady. “I mean it. I’m out at work. Just because your gaydar is on the fritz doesn’t mean others don’t know.”
“Really?”
“I’m not wearing a rainbow tracksuit, but I’m not ashamed.”
“You should. Wear a rainbow tracksuit, I mean. You’d look great.”
I laugh at the thought and lean my head into his hand.
“Okay, now, can you please elaborate on why you were a massive prick to me for the last four years?”
My eyes dart down as my ears burn hot. “I told you, I had a crush on you.”
“Darius.” Harry places a finger under my chin, lifts it, and forces my gaze to meet his. “For four years you teased me because you liked me? You’re not ten.”
“I . . . didn’t know how to show it. At school. I know what most people think of me. Coach Hill. The PE teacher. Hockey coach. Always wearing the same damntracksuit. Most of them probably assume I’m straight.” I put my hand up quickly. “Not because I’ve ever said that. Or even hinted at it. But people just make their own stories up about you based on what they think they know. Anyway, I guess I was trying to hide it. Not being gay. My feelings. For you.” My head spins as my mouth tries to keep up. “Harry, you’re so damn smart. Confident. Loudly out. Handsome. You’re everything I wish I could be. I thought someone like you would never go for a guy like me so, I was a . . . what did you say, again?”
“A prick.”
“Right. I was a prick.”
“But Darius, that’s where you’re wrong. I mean, I am smart. Handsome enough.” He smiles and my stomach flips. “You’re wrong about someone like me never going for a guy like you.”
My eyes flutter. Trying to see him more clearly in the low light. Blinking away the wetness and hoping Harry doesn’t see. And then he takes my face in his hands. Holding my jaw like a soccer ball, and something amazing happens. Harry looks at me in this way, like he really sees me—all of me. And that look makes everything else not matter.
A gentle smile plucks at the corner of his lips, and a cozy warmth spreads through me. It’s like everything—every worry, every fear—melts away in the space between us.
He shifts slightly, pulling me closer, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck. “Stay over?” he asks, his voice soft but hopeful. “It’s Friday. We don’t have to do anything else. Just . . . be here. With me.”
I nod before I can even think about it. The thought of being with him tonight, of staying at his place, holding him all night, feels like the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
We settle back into the warmth of the bed, the silence wrapping around us like a blanket. His arm slips around me, pulling me close. As I close my eyes, the steady beat of his heart against mine lulls me into a perfect peace I never realized I was missing.
For the first time in a long time, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
15
HARRY
I’m standingbefore the whiteboard, trying to ignore the mild panic creeping up through my shoulders. This isn’t the typical Monday morning blues. It’s something else. Something to do with a certain PE teacher and coach who always wears a tracksuit and baseball cap and possesses a perfectly sized cock.
I should be focusing on the lesson plan for the day.Lord of the Flies. Civilization vs. savagery. The characters had every intention to act civilized, but what makes them devolve into savagery? The kids will have a lot to say about it. Savage. Untamed. Raw. Like the way Darius pounded me on my sofa. Fuck.
I need to focus on the day ahead, but my silly brain keeps bouncing back to Friday night. Saturday morning. Coach Darius Hill.
Darius, who held me so tightly that I was convinced he’d never let me go—like his entire existence depended on it. Between the sex and cuddling, he managed to make me feel both unraveled and safe at the same time. How isthat even possible? Is that how other people feel? Please let it be how other people feel, because wow.
And then Saturday morning—the pancakes. Soft, fluffy clouds of breakfast deliciousness. I wasn’t sure I had the ingredients, but Darius managed to scrounge up what he needed. I’m not sure if flour expires, but neither of us has gotten sick so far. He had flour all over his face by the time he was done, and honestly, it was the cutest. I tried to make a joke about it, but he just grinned like he didn’t care about anything other than making me breakfast.
It’s like I’m soaring above the clouds. Not in a plane. Just me. Gliding as the air whooshes around me and the world spins beneath me.
With a shake of my head, I pull myself together and focus on the pen in my hand. I write “Lord of the Flies, Themes” in big, bold letters, but my mind ricochets back to how Darius looked in my kitchen. Tossing him into the tub and pouring maple syrup all over him seemed like a viable option. I’m usually not one to miss clues, so how did I overlook the signs that he fancied me all these years?
“Knock, knock.”
