“Not a ton,” Scott said honestly. “Sometimes the opportunity presents itself.”
“You do have a bisexual look.”
“I know, I’m aware of it. You look more straight than I do.”
“And yet,” Carver said, with a devilish grin, “people can just tell somehow.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Scott said, smiling back at him. “You’re just a little bit… elegant. Anyway, once in a while I’m in the mood for a guy. Like how once in a while you’re in the mood for a steak.”
“No love there?”
“A few of them took me out to dinner once or twice, but honestly, I don’t think men look at me for that. I think they get a certain impression and run with it. Women are a little more patient.”
Carver nodded. “What impression?”
Scott wasn’t sure what to say. This particular topic felt like a live wire he should take care not to grab, but so had fucking Carver in the first place. “That it’s not worth trying me out.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“For most people, it isn’t,” he said, shrugging. “I can tell pretty quick on my end if I have any kind of connection with someone beyond sex. So if it’s not there, I’d imagine I come across as pretty closed-off. And the times when that connection has been there, it’s been, uh, fleeting. Even when it was intense, once that faded, it was like — I knew there was something that should be there and I knew it wasn’t. I never want to believe it, but once I know, I know, and then I leave. Or sometimes they figure it out first and dump me, and then I get to wallow in it even though I know they were right.”
Carver was looking at him with intent again, that fixed big-cat stare. “That’s it?”
“That’s been it.”
“I always thought of you as a hopeless romantic.”
“I think I am, I’m just not delusional. A lot of my music is about, like, crushes or missed opportunities or fantasies. Situations where there’s room to imagine something real and solid. And I want the real thing. I always have. I just kept not finding it, and I knew I wasn’t finding it. I think I fell in love maybe twice, but it was just — both times I knew going in there wasn’t a future, I was just happy to be stupid and infatuated for a while, and get some music out of it.”
“Who were they?” Carver said, still giving him that look.
“The married woman I told you about,” Scott said. “And this Spanish chick I met in Barcelona when I was there for a couple months. Like ten years ago now. She was a PhD student. We barely knew each other, we just ran around the city acting like we did.”
“How do you know there wasn’t a future?”
“Because I don’t think about either of them anymore,” Scott said, gazing back at him, feeling his heart quicken and his breathing shallow. “I guess, uh, I omitted the first time.”
“The first time?”
“You. I forgot to mention you.”
Carver gave him a slow nod, and his gaze wandered. “Me, huh?”
“Yeah, in high school.”
“Right.”
“And I have, uh, continued to think about you.”
Carver’s chest rose, and he blinked several times, but said nothing.
“For whatever that’s worth,” Scott added with sudden anxiety. He hadn’t meant to lead them here — but then, he hadn’t, had he? Carver’s relentless questioning had gotten them to this point.
Carver was quiet for a long moment. Then he murmured, “How often?”
“Huh?”
“How often did you think about me?”
