“Obviously that’s ideal, but that’s not how real life works,” Cam said sympathetically.
“Right. ’Cause my dad and his mom are coming into town and that’s gonna throw a wrench in.”
“You want to figure that out first,” Jordan advised.
Cam looked over at him, arching an eyebrow. “And when didyoubecome an expert?”
“Hey, I’m listening and learning. Icando that.”
“But not attend any college classes, apparently,” Trevor teased.
Jordan squawked out his outrage, and everyone—including Jordan—burst into laughter.
“There’s never an ideal time,” Cam said when they’d finally stopped all giggling about it. “There’s never gonna be an ideal time. There’s justthistime, and if you want him—”
“I do,” Trevor interrupted, because he did. That was theonething he knew, no question marks at all. Lane was who he wanted. He wanted to keep doing what they were doing, over and over and over again.
Cam smiled softly. “Yeah, you do.”
“Shut up,” Trevor said, flushing bright pink. “I just . . . what we are is so good. It can’t be only me that sees that, right?”
“It’s not,” Cam agreed.
“Definitely not, bro. He’s so into you. Didn’t even glance my way once,” Jordan said, a little mournfully.
It was impossiblenotto laugh about that, too.
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you fixed up,” Cam said, reaching over and patting his arm. “Pull out your phone. Show me everyone who’s messaged you.”
Jordan grumbled, but he did it, setting it on the table between them. Trevor took a long sip of his drink and prepared to listen to their friend make a hundred excuses about why every single hot guy in his inbox was not going to betheguy to initiate him.
Lucky, that’s what Trevor was. So fucking lucky. And it was about time to share that exact fact with Lane.
“I can’t believe you held out on me for all those months, letting me cook shitty meals,” Lane joked as he stretched out his legs on the couch, sore and tired from a tough workout this morning.
They’d shared a big pot of really delicious Cajun chicken pasta, and the whole time he’d been enjoying it, Lane had beenthinking,why didn’t we start out this way? Why haven’t we always been this way?
Heknew, obviously. But while obviously the sex—and the kissing and the cuddling and the sharing a bed—hadn’t emerged as a possibility until January, Trevor totally could’ve started cooking for them all the way back in the summer.
Trevor jolted a little at Lane’s words. “Uh, yeah,” he said.
Lane had been preoccupied himself, during dinner. Mostly thinking about how nice the last seven or so months could’ve been, but also focused on the Wolves game from the night before that Trevor had put on while they ate.
But now that he thought about it, mind rewinding through the last hour, Trevor had been quiet, too. Like he was thinking about something. And if he rewound further, Trevor had been pretty quiet since he’d gotten home after his rookie outing last night.
Before, Lane would’ve never,neverasked Trevor what he was thinking. Too afraid of hearing something he didn’t want to. Too afraid of the other shoe dropping. Too afraid of upsetting the apple cart and ruining the status quo.
You are a fucking cliche,Lane told himself firmly. Trevor hadn’t reacted badly to his confession. He’d actually taken it pretty well. Cuddled even closer last night, even if hehadbeen quiet while he did it.
So instead he just pushed his fear aside andasked. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Trevor jolted again and Lane watched as he physically seemed to force himself to relax against the couch cushions again. His feet were in Lane’s lap and for a second Lane was afraid he’d move them, so he subtly reached out, circling Trevor’s bare ankle with his fingers.
Stay, stay, stay,he wanted to beg.
But he didn’t. At least not out loud.
“Um, just . . . thinking about some stuff.”
