I pull out the package and some pre-cut veggies. “Nothing fancy,” I tell him.
Gabriel nods. “Salmon is great. And sorry your asshole dad is ignoring you.”
I cough. Of course he wouldn’t let me change the subject that easily.
I turn to face him, now defensive on my dad’s behalf, as senseless as that is. “Don’t call him an asshole,” I say.
“He’s acting like one.”
“I never said he wasn’t. But I don’t want you calling him that.” I give him a pointed look. “He’s my father, and it doesn’t help to have you shit talk him right now.”
“Okay. Noted,” he says, hands up to signal a cease-fire.
I relax slightly. “A lot of men in sports are hard men,” I try to explain. “His generation, especially. He doesn’t talk about feelings. Period.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes. “What do his feelings have anything to do with it? You’re gay.”
“So he’s heard.” I glance at him. “When I tell you that we didn’t do anything that wasn’t sports-related, know that I mean that pretty much literally. Sports was our religion, our value system, the whole purpose of our life.” I turn on the stove, heating a pan. “Food allergies?”
Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest, smiling at me. “I’ll eat anything.”
“Unsurprising,” I tell him, earning a laugh.
I feel anxious again, the same as it do every time I ponder disappointing my father, so I take the opening to move the conversation forward.
“The positive side of me never doing anything fun is that pretty much everything in this city will be new to me, too.”
“Maybe, for you, it’s kind of like sex,” Gabriel says, matter-of-fact.
I turn as I splash oil in the pan. “Excuse me?”
“Fun, and the ways you haven’t been having it.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You think I’ll only have fun with someone I love?”
Gabriel barks out a laugh. “No. I think you justify away not doing anything for personal enjoyment by saying you’re focused on your tennis career.”
Now I feel embarrassed that I mentioned wanting to love the person I have sex with. It’s unclear to me how intimate these conversations with Gabriel are supposed to be, where the boundaries around our friendship are.
It makes it easy to feel like I want him.
Fuck, it was easier when I had this all buried away.
“My career is in sports,” I point out. “That’s my personal enjoyment.”
I realize I’ve pulled down the fancy spices, the imports and colorful salts. I’m tossing the veggies in another pan, putting just a touch more care into the meal than usual.
“It’s not the same thing,” Gabriel says, scratching the scruff on his chin. “Speaking of our recreational lives, I’ve decided to cool it on the hookups. Cut myself off entirely. There’s no use in risking that scandal. If the press thought I’d cheated on you, the adoring public would tear me limb from limb.”
The amount of relief I feel is strong enough that I have to rest my hand on the counter, steadying my weight.
Thank fucking god. He’s promised before that he was going to avoid a scandal, which is all I had the right to request. But this feels so much better to me.
Except, I realize, I don’t want him to deny himself, either. I don’t want to be something Gabriel resents, keeping him frustrated.
“No sex at all for a year?” I ask.
“I’m not a sex addict,” he says, mocking offense. “I’ve actually been masturbating since I was a teenager, believe it or not. I know how to satisfy myself.”
