“I always look forward to seeing more of you, Ollie. Learning about all these facets of you that you’ve locked away, and seeing them breathe and come back to life. It’s magic.”
Oliver turned back but kept his gaze on the ground, chewing on his lower lip. “What if I told you there’s a part of me that’s wanted to show you more, but I’ve been scared? Not of you, but afraid I’d mess it up, or misread something and overstep, and it would make you pull away.”
I didn’t know what he wanted to share, but I recognized him testing the waters again. My turn had come, to show him he wasn’t adrift in this ocean, that he could safely wade deeper.
“Then I’d tell you I want to see whatever you’re ready to show me. Nothing you’ve shared has ever made me pull back. If anything, it’s just pulled me in closer, closer than I ever expected to be. And I’m not about to up and walk away when it’s getting this good.”
“That’s, uh... chai,” he mumbled, giving a nervous chuckle as he turned on his heel. “I’m going to get the chai.”
Well, that went nowhere. Did he not know what to say back, or did he not understand what I meant? Sinking deeper into the couch, I stretched my legs out in front of me. I’d done more overthinking in the past few weeks than I had in the last decade combined.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Oliver said a few minutes later when he returned with a mug on a plate next to a star-shaped cloth napkin. My mind recalled his first night here and the heartbreak of him crying over an unappreciated dinner, the heart-shaped napkins he’d folded for a man who didn’t recognize the effort. Fingers tracing the folds, I looked up into his eyes. “It’s a star.”
Giving me a tentative smile, he said, “It is. It’s what I see when I look at you. A twinkle of light in the dark.”
Okay, this was it. Time to meet Oliver where he’s at, just like Sarah said. Sharing meals made sense when you lived with someone, basic roommate decency and all that. But folding napkins into cutesy shapes, that equaled next level, right? Theproblem was, I had zero clue what even came close to matching that move.”
“Dumb, I know,” Oliver added when I didn’t say anything.
Dammit! I wouldn’t blunder this again and let Oliver think his attempts were unwelcome. “No, it isn’t dumb” I rushed to say. “Not at all. It’s beautiful, Ollie. And it means more than you know.” My hand toyed with the folds again before I looked back at him. “Thank you. Truly. You’re going to have to teach me how to do this. Some napkin flowers perhaps, so I can impress my mom at Thanksgiving.”
“Um, yeah, I can do that.”
Jesus Christ. Why was flirting so hard? It wasn’t some arcane art or a holy relic locked in a vault. I watched Ezra and Micah do it all the time. Logically, I knew the mechanics. But here I went again, flopping like a fish on dry land. Out of every possible response, I had landed on that one. Oliver had folded my napkin into an immaculate three-dimensional star, compared me to light in the darkness, and my brilliant contribution? Imagining how my mother might use his romantic gesture as a party trick. Stellar execution. I could start an exhibit in world-class flirting.
I needed to course correct. Compliments, now that was safe territory. Can’t screw up a compliment, right? “You make a mean chai, Ollie, thank you.”
Well, that was a... choice. If I was going for hetero bro talk, a solid A. God, I was hopeless. No, I was whatever level existed under hopeless. No wonder every attempt at romance I’d ever stumbled into had failed.
A small, shy smile lifted his lips, the kind tinged with enough self-consciousness to make his cheeks color. The kind of look that always left me wanting to get something bigger out of him. “Thanks,” he replied.
Flirtatious words clearly weren’t my forte. Maybe action would serve me better. But what action? How did I shift thelanguage of touch from casual to desire? Ezra and Micah had both recognized my interest, so I must have done something that revealed it. I just had no clue what that something was.
What it came down to was that I did not get the whole “sexual affection” playbook the way others did.
Ez had tried to break it down for me once, how there are these invisible markers people use to show interest. A certain kind of lingering eye contact, the “accidental” brush of fingers, hugs that last half a second longer than strictly necessary. Friendly touch versus “I’m low-key attempting to get you into my bed.”
I found it all very confusing. I simply didn’t operate in the “withhold affection unless you want it to be romantic” lane. To me, a hug was a hug. A hand on my arm was a hand on my arm. I never understood why affection had these hidden tiers or why people rationed it out like it was only meant for flirting or partners. If I cared about someone, I was comfortable being physically warm with them, no secret meaning attached.
Pre-Micah era people constantly assumed Ez and I were dating, and I never understood what the hell they were seeing. To me, we were just two dudes with a healthy, close, safe, affectionate bond. Yeah, we hugged, had zero weirdness about physical closeness and shared personal things with each other, but it never occurred to me that that alone could look romantic to others.
Which meant if I wanted Oliver to understand I liked him, I’d have to do something that didn’t fall into my usual clueless comfort-zone habits. Something that even I would recognize as flirting.
There was always Ezra’s golden advice to just kiss him already. I mean, it would get the point across, no misinterpreting that. But I wanted something between the extremes. Something elevated enough to show interest and yet ... yet not so risky itwould be catastrophic to recover from if Oliver didn’t welcome the advance.
Looking downward, my gaze landed on his thigh. Yes! There. I didn’t think I’d touched him there before. I stuck to either his upper body or the lower part of his legs. But a touch to the thigh, that said something else, right? Placing my hand on his upper quad, I gave a faint squeeze.
Oliver’s startled jerk tipped his mug. “Shit!” he yelped, standing as chai sloshed over the rim and across his leg.
Well, that seemed about par for the course for my attempts at displaying interest. I was a sad and sorry peacock strutting around without feathers. I’d never cared, until now. “I’m so sorry, Ollie. Is it hot? Did it burn you?”
“It’s fine. Totally fine. No burns, though I’m not enjoying the dampness, so I’m going to go change.”
“I can help if you want,” I said.
“You . . . you want to help me change?”
“I wouldn’t mind, and besides, it’s my fault your drink is now in your lap, so I should be the one to clean up after my mess, right?”
