Which makes me think I’m definitely, definitely letting someone down here.
And that feels like my responsibility, no matter what Dr. Colburn says.
I’ve just passed Fox Creamery on my way to the stationwhen Ames and Auden walk out of Watchfire, half a block down.
They don’t see me because they’re focused on their conversation. Ames’s dark curls glint in the afternoon sunshine as he leans down and says something that makes Auden cover his mouth to hide his laugh. He’s fair and pale and a little nerdy, and Ames, as usual, is doing his impression of a Greek god—whichever one’s the hottest and fiercest.
I hate to admit it, but they look good together.
At the very least, neither one of them looks confused about how they feel about each other. Neither one of them is undergoing multiple personal earthquakes.
Auden bleeps the locks on a car and starts walking across the street, sure Ames is beside him. But at the last second, Ames pauses with his foot dangling off the curb and turns toward me like he senses me there.
“Robbie! Hey!” He waves at me and gives me a smile that’s so big and warm and welcoming, his eyes crease at the corners.
Fierce, I think,but not to me.
Quickly followed by,god, he’s beautiful.
I want nothing more than to be going wherever he’s going, just so he can smile at me some more. I want to know what joke he told Auden, because deep down, I think I should get to hear all his jokes. I want to touch his face and smell his hair and kiss his lips.
Which means I am a certifiable mess right now.
Am I bisexual? Or just a horny bastard and a jealous friend?
If I’m bi… am I still getting married to Lissa? Plenty of people do, I know. Ames’s brother True is bi, and he was married to a woman. But that doesn’t solve the problem of me getting hard every time Ames is near me these days. And if I’m not, am I ready to hurt Lissa that way?
And if I did call off the wedding, then what? Should I text Ames more pictures of my abs and underwear? Because IswearI sent that picture without thinking the other night, and was mortified when I realized, but then immediately started obsessing about what he thought when he saw it. Should I—the least romantic human in the universe, and if you don’t believe me, ask Lissa—plan some kind of romantic date to tell Ames how I feel? Should I pretend I don’t remember how many times Ames has told me that it’s gross for a straight guy to assume his gay friend wants him?
How many times do you have to fantasize about touching your best friend’s dick before you’re willing to risk the most important friendship you’ll ever have?
“Rob? Babe, are you okay?” Ames asks again, and I realize I’ve been standing there staring at him so long, Auden’s walked back across the street.
Auden takes Ames’s hand, and Ames blinks down at it for a second like he forgot Auden was there… before taking a deep breath and threading their fingers together.
I swallow hard against the need to rip Auden’s hand away from Ames and possibly off his body.
“Yeah,” I say roughly. “I’m fine. Sorry. I was just thinking about… stuff. I’ve gotta get to the station.”
I march past them up the street and force myself not to turn around to see if Ames is still watching me.
I really wish I could gain some clarity on all this shit in my brain so I can figure out my priorities like Dr. Colburn said, but I don’t see how that’s going to happen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AMES
The wind’sbeen rattling the windows at Watchfire all evening.
This isn’t the usual errant, mischievous spring gusts either. It’s a constant, shifting howl. The kind of wind that knocks things loose and fucks them up—like the hopeful “Spring Ahead!” banner outside Stagecoach Books, which got dragged through a puddle of muddy slush and deposited on my side of the street. The kind that invades my brain and makes my thoughts swirl too. The kind I can’t ignore.
Or, you know, maybe I’m just losing my mind.
Either-or, really.
I throw my pencil down onto a printed stack of last month’s liquor invoices and push my palms into my eyes. It’s been a long day, a long week, a long… I don’t even know.
“Holy crap,” someone out in the dining room says as the wind shuts the door with an audible rattle.
