Smiling and rolling my eyes to deflect, I finish my pop and go to the kitchen to toss it in recycling, and Ian follows me in.
“Are you tired?” he asks, filling up a glass of water at the faucet. He takes a slow drink, and my eyes catch on his prominent Adam’s apple jumping every time he swallows.
Attraction is so weird. Before, I’d notice the obvious on other guys, like their face, smile, body, whatnot. With Ian, I’m drawn to all thatandthe most random things. The hair on his arms. Histhroat. The way he scratches the back of his head when he’s nervous.
“Yeah,” I say. “I can head home myself if you want to stay.”
He waves me off. “Nah, let’s leave together. I’m tired, too.”
Ian brushes a hand on my shoulder as he walks past me, and I stay in the kitchen for a few seconds.
I’d better savor those friendly touches, because I don’t think he would want to keep those up once he knows that I could, or actually do, read into them more than I should.
Sighing, I throw my pop can away, finally, before joining Ian at the door to put my jacket on.
I’ll tell him on the walk home. I’ll have to. I can dress it up as something casual, if I can bring myself to be nonchalant about the whole being gay thing with the guy I have unreciprocated feelings for.
Oh, yeah, by the way, I’m gay. Just letting you know that all the bro flirting and friendly touching went straight to my hyperactive dick.
I shudder, and Ian makes it worse by guiding me out of the door with a hand on my back. Unlike my spiraling thought from a second ago, that touch doesn’t travel down. It lingers in my core and makes my chest bloom.
I grit my teeth. It’d be one thing if it was simply physical—I could maintain my old repression and keep my feelings under wraps. I like Ian for Ian, though, and that makes my situation messier, if a little less depraved.
“Holy fucking asscracking shitballs, it’s cold!” he yelps as soon as we step out of Nick’s building. It’s a little windy, but it’s well above freezing. Ian, as usual, is bundled up, but his scarf is all twisted, exposing his neck.
“Maybe it’ll help if you wear your clothes properly,” I tease, reaching over to straighten out the fabric. My fingers brush the back of his neck, so I pull them away before I make things weird. “Sorry if I made us leave early.”
He steps toward me and bumps his shoulder against my arm. “Dude, don’t worry about it. We stayed for hours, and besides, we can keep the night alive back at ours.”
“Yeah?” What do I even say to that?
“For sure. I fucking love hanging out with you.”
I think my heart stops, but Ian straightens up and keeps talking before I can process that.
“And I can assure you, it’snotlike that?—”
Ian stressing that point over and over again would be reassuring if I was actually straight. Since I’m very much not, all it does is reaffirm the fact that my inconvenient feelings can never be reciprocated beyond us being friends.
“—but I feel like you and I really click. Like, as friends.”
Yeah, okay. Just twist the knife even more, why don’t you?
I shouldn’t complain. Hell, not even two months ago, I was nervous, shy, and alone. Now I have Ian and his friends—I would have been happy with anyone even talking to me, let alone wanting to spend time with me.
“I feel that too,” I reply. “I appreciate you.”
Ian tilts his head, stopping short of resting it on my shoulder. “Aww, you’re the best.”
That line. Again. Holy crap, it digs into my eardrums and spreads like warm honey under my skin. My heart skips a beat, and when it makes up for that skipped beat by racing in double-speed, I stop walking.
No matter what, Ian, for whatever reason, likes me as a friend. As complicated as my attraction to him has gotten, I can still credit myself for not acting on it. He can’t fault me for being who I am. He’s bi himself, so maybe,maybe, he’ll understand me.
And even though he won’t like me back, it’ll be good to have a friend who understands me like that, and what it’s like to like guys.
He could help me with the whole being gay thing. With guys. Eventually.
I try to ignore the sharp pang of pain that slices through my chest when I contemplate liking a guy whoisn’tIan. A guy whowouldn’t care about me half as much as he does, because I can’t imagine anyone else being capable of such pure goodness.
