“Hmph. Never pull a fire alarm, girls. I wouldn’t have either, except I was going through a minor life crisis.” He sniffs as he settles back against the booth. His arm pressesagainst mine, and heat sears me through the fabric of our shirts.
I would move away, except there’s nowhere to go…
And honestly—fuck—I don’t want to.
It feels too good.
“We both were,” I remind him. I clear my throat and hope no one can guess why my voice is so rough. For the girls’ benefit, I explain, “My ex-girlfriend Carrie?—”
“Carli,” Ames corrects.
“—started dating Jake Palmeri, the guy Ames had a crush on.”
“God, I forgot Jake existed,” Ames sighs. “Wonder what happened to him.”
Kaylee grins around her cake. “But at least you guys had each other.” She points back and forth between us with her fork.
“’Course they did. They’re best friends,” Brie says.
I force a smile, and from the corner of my eye, I see Ames do the same.
“Always,” I say softly, and for a second, I wish it could go back to being that uncomplicated.
The clockon Dr. Colburn’s mantel is still making thattick-schlocksound.
I brought my multitool this time, fully prepared to fix it, but when I mention it, Dr. Colburn just smiles and says, “No thanks, Robbie. I like it this way. It’s distinctive.” She winks. “Perfectly itself, which is the best any of us can do, right?”
I know she’s making a point here about… I don’t know, acceptance or self-love or something? But I don’t think that metaphor tracks since I kinda wanna throw the clock out the window.
She settles into her chair with her tea and pulls out her notepad. “So, how’d things go with Ames?”
Now, that’s an excellent fucking question.
Well, Doc, I thought they were going okay.
Until I jacked off while thinking about him.
And now I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to sell my truck. Or maybe bronze it.
I almost kissed him too. Then I ran away.
And now I can’t sit next to him without feeling like there are tiny earthquakes happening inside me.
I don’t say any of that out loud, obviously. Speaking my thoughts would make them real, and even though it’s been almost a week since our almost-kiss, I’m still not ready to confirm or deny.
And that’snotbecause I’m way, way, way deep-down homophobic—a thought I tortured myself with for funsies this week.
If I’m bi, I’m a thousand percent fine with it. Hell, I’m thrilled.
I’ll probably get a tattoo of the bi flag. I’ll for sure put it on my Instagram bio. And I’ll march in the Winsome Pride Parade next to Ames in June, as always, only this time, I’ll carry a sign that says “Being B-I is A-O-K” because representation matters.
But what’s gluing my mouth shut right now, what’s making me doubt, is that I—an almost thirty-year-old man with a gay best friend—should not have been able to miss this memo about myself.
How’s it even possible? I thought I’d considered my sexuality and gotten the answer a long fucking time ago.
I for sure don’t feel any kind of way whenHoldenAxford walks around the locker room in a towel. Or Ruiz. Or… shit, even fuckingGreene, who has more abs than I’d known a human should possess.
WhyAmesof all goddamn people?
