Once Thomas is good with the location, he turns and says, “You know what this is about.”
“I reckon I gotta good idea, yeah.”
“You liked it.” That doesn’t sound like an apology.
“What?”
“You liked it—what we did out there.” Thomas nods over to the balcony like Sam could've forgotten. “I felt you.”
“Well, yeah.” Sam wasn’t the one shoving his ass back, desperate to get skewered. “But that was before I found out it was you.”
Thomas looks excited, though Sam meant it as an insult. “Exactly! A yes, until it wasyou. But you would have kept going, right? If it was not me?”
“What?” Forget an apology, this is starting to sound like blackmail. “I wouldn’t have sex with uninterested parties, if that’s what you’re suggesting. And a lotta people already know I’m bi.”
“Notuninterested.” Thomas grunts like he’s frustrated, but he’s the one not making any sense. “If I never turned around—if I never spoke—would you have… gone further?”
“Only because I thought you were someone else.”
“Lucas, yes, you said.” He nods quickly. “Just like I thought you were Rafael. You want to have sex with Lucas, yes?”
“What makes you think that?”
Thomas fixes him with a glare.
“Okay, yeah.Maybe.” Sam clears his throat and tries his best to appear nonchalant. “Maybe I’d be interested.”
“Yes, okay. And I would maybe—maybe—be interested in the same with Rafael. We are in the same position.”
Well, that answers that question. The Ferraro drivers are not fucking each other. Case closed.
“Why does any of this matter?” Sam’s still at square one as far as Lucas is concerned. What advice could Thomas give if he was just as SOL as he is?
“What if we could… have something similar? Even if it is not the same?”
“Have something…” Surely, he wasn’t suggesting— “Similar?Like how both of us could mistake each other for the person we want?”
Thomas nods furiously. “Exactly. We could use each other for this purpose.”
Sam’s stomach drops. “For what purpose?”
“We could have an understanding. Both of us pretend we are fucking the man we want—satisfy both needs.”
A laugh bubbles up until Sam can’t contain it. “You can’t be serious. Wehateeach other!”
“And you do not hate Lucas? Even one little bit? Every time he wins the championship in the same car you drive—you do not envy that?”
“Well, I?—”
Thomas pleads, “There are days I could drive Rafael off the track—it does not make my needs any less.”
My needs. Sam’s going to try to forget that. “How would it even work, though? You look and sound like…you.”
“Apparently not from behind.”
Well, no. Actually, Sam had been so convinced Thomas was Lucas that he didn’t even stop to consider if he could’ve been some randomstranger.
It was probably just the club lighting. Lighting and his own pathetic desperation.
