Page 39 of We Are Just Us

Kieran’s ears tingled, a sudden prickle of heat rushing up his neck. “His name is Rory. And there’s nothing to tell.”

Emory’s lips curled into a slow, victorious smirk. She leaned back, tapping her chin. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m sunburned.”

“You’re full of shit,” Emory said, a loud, delighted laugh escaping her. “Spill.”

Kieran sighed, tipping his head back against the sofa cushions and staring up at the ceiling. “Okay. So. We went. It was a lot. But also kind of amazing? Like...normal.”

“I gathered that from the perineum sunning,” Emory said, her expression shifting to one of pure, unadulterated pride. “Which, by the way, is now my favorite thing you’ve ever written. But I want to know about him.”

“He didn’t bat an eye,” Kieran said carefully, bringing his gaze back to the screen. He rolled his shoulders, remembering the easy weight of Rory’s presence. “Comfortable. Made the whole damn thing seem normal.”

“That’s good,” Emory said, her tone softening, her maternal, protective streak poking through her usual chaotic energy.

“Yeah,” Kieran said. He dropped his voice, his thumb aimlessly tracing a pattern on the fabric of the couch. “And on the drive back, I asked if he was seeing anyone.”

Emory sat up so fast her phone wobbled on whatever surface it was resting on. “You what?”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“No, that’s good!” Emory’s face lit up, a genuine, wide smile breaking across her features. “That’s progress, Kieran. What did he say?”

“He’s single.” Kieran paused, letting the weight of the next sentence hang in the air. “And he invited me to Taco Tuesday.”

Emory clapped her hands together, a sharp sound that echoed through the phone’s tinny speaker. “Kieran. That’s a date!”

“It’s not a date,” Kieran insisted, pulling the phone closer to his face to narrow his eyes at her. “It’s tacos with his friends.”

“He invited you to meet his friends. That’s date-adjacent at minimum.”

“Except.” Kieran rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers catching on the sunburned skin there. “There’s this woman, Meg. They used to hook up, casual, a friends-with-benefits thing a few years ago. They work together now. Professionals, apparently.”

Emory’s animated expression froze. She processed this, her eyes darting sideways as she ran through the calculations. Finally, she gave a slow, deliberate nod. “So he’s a bi king. We love that.”

“We don’t know that he’s…”

“Kieran. He took you to a nude beach.”

“That doesn’t mean…”

“And now he’s inviting you to tacos.”

“With his ex-hookup,” Kieran said flatly, his eyebrows leveling into a deadpan stare.

“Slight roadblock,” Emory admitted, waving a hand dismissively as if she could brush Meg out of existence. “But still. Bi king behavior. I’m calling it.”

“You can’t call it.”

“I just did.”

Kieran let out a long, defeated sigh, slumping lower into the cushions.

“Have you even told him you’re gay?” Emory asked, her voice dropping into a firmer, more grounded register.

“No.”

“Kieran.” The single word was loaded with an old, familiar exasperation.