“You like him, likelikehim,” Nate guessed, eyes widening. “Shit.”
“Always have. Even when he was a new guy who was working out in the gym that I couldn’t help but check out.” Lane stared at his empty glass, magically wishing more tequila into it, over the melting ice cubes. “And before you say anything, he doesn’t know.Nobodyknows, and that’s how it’s staying.”
Nate made a noise, somewhere between sympathy and shock. He gripped Lane’s arm, and Lane risked a glance up.Yeah.He hadn’t needed to see that look on Nate’s face when he’d realized he’d guessed right.
“Lane, you graduated high school almostsixyears ago,” Nate said.
“Yeah.”
“Dude, you’ve been into this guy forsix years,” Nate said.
Lane wished he’d kept his fucking mouth shut. “I’m notintohim. I’m just attracted to him. That’s all.” Like that wasn’t catastrophic enough, as it was.
Nate elbowed him hard.
“Ouch,” Lane whined. “That hurt. What the fuck was that for?”
“Why haven’t you fucking told him?”
“Uh, I don’t know, because he’sstraightand our parents are married?”And because I kept hoping that it would go away and everything would be normal. By the time I realized that wasn’t fucking happening, it was too late.
“You don’t know he’s straight.”
“He’s fucking straight, dude,” Lane said flatly.
“You don’tknowthat. Have you ever asked him?”
“Of course not! Why would I?” Lane had never hated Nate—had never thought he even could—but he kind of hated him right now.
“You should,” Nate said.
“No way.” That was exactly the opposite of what he should be doing. It would be even worse, somehow, if Trevor said,yeah, I could see being with a guy. And then he’d have to watch him get together not with one of those pretty girls, but a guy. A guy who wasn’t Lane.
“So what, you’re just going to keep doing this? For another six years? Another sixty years?”
“Sure, why not,” Lane said flippantly. In sixty years, he probably wouldn’t be able to get it up anyway, and then maybe it would feel less hellish that Trevor wasn’t into him.
Nate growled in frustration. “You are so stubborn.”
“And you’re not?”
“We’re not talking about me. I fixed my shit,” Nate pointed out, which was unfair.
It wasn’t like Lanedidn’twant to fix his; he did,desperately.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re fucking happy, we get it,” Lane said morosely.
“And if you fucked Trevor, wouldyoube happy?” Nate asked.
Truthfully, Lane barely let himself think about it these days. Pushed the fantasies away every time they crowded into his brain.
“I . . .” Lane hesitated. “I don’t even know, okay? But you wanted to know, and now you know. You’re theonlyone who knows, so if someone else comes up to me, like Aidan fucking Flynn, thinkingmyproblem is nowhisproblem, I’m gonna know exactly who told him, okay?”
“Okay,” Nate said gently. He cupped Lane’s elbow. Drew him into a half hug. “I get it, man. You don’t want to talk about it and you don’t want to fix it. Just want to mope about it.”
Lane made a face. “Ugh, you’re the worst.”
“Or the best?” Nate grinned. “I gotta go find my guy. You have a good rest of your night, okay?”
