Page 62 of Asystole

“Wait, what?! Logan, that’s not what I think. Nor is that what happened, and you know it.”

“I mean, I thought I knew that, but you won’t talk to me. You haven’t asked to cuddle on the couch since then, and you tiptoe past my room like you wish you were invisible. What am I supposed to think?” I fire.

Chase pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and flops down on the couch next to me. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve had a chance to really study his face. He looks exhausted, but I silently wonder how I could have ever thought he wasn’t attractive.

Chase sighs.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said that day; how, even though you’re a guy, it still counts as cheating.”

Oh, I think to myself as realization dawns, and Chase keeps talking.

“I’ve just been in my head about it because I enjoyed kissing you, which is weird, and I feel guilty about doing it, but also guilty because I want to do it again. Kendra and I have continued to grow apart, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to risk a seven-year relationship for the sake of trying something new. And that makes me feel like shit too, because you aren’t a pair of fucking shoes I can just try on,” Chase says, growing more frustrated by the second. “Ugh, I’m fucking this up. I guess I just thought some distance would help me process things, and I really have been busy, so it’s sort of been me avoiding you, but also just the pace of my life right now.”

Could we back the train up a station or two? Did Chase just say he wants to kiss me again?

What the hell am I supposed to do with that information?

Before I can figure out what to say, Chase finally looks at me and says, “Yes, I still want to be roommates if you’re cool with it. Jackson’s already planning on having the space for his family, and I just don’t have the time to find something else.”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” I reassure him.

“Okay, cool.” He stands and offers me a fist-bump of all things—the straightest bro-move to have ever been invented. “I’m going to grab a shower and work on some documentation and a presentation on liver dysfunction that I have to give at conference tomorrow. I probably won’t see you before you go into work, but I hope it’s a good shift.”

I huff a laugh.

“Chase, I don’t have to be there until seven. It’s only five-fifteen,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I’m just going to work in my room. Catch you later.”

Then he’s gone.

Chapter 24

Chase

Despite my best efforts to move on, assuage my guilt, be more attentive to Kendra on the phone, checking in more regularly via text, and even having flowers sent to her office, I still can’t stop thinking about New Year’s.

I’ve never been kissed like that. With a tongue that expertly takes as forcefully as it gives. The way Logan’s fingers dug into my thigh in a way that made me think his grip was so tight because he was holding himself back.

It wasn’t the dainty grip of a feminine hand. It was the harsh squeeze of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And fuck, it turned me on.

I’ve thought about it nonstop, and what I’ve decided is that as a person who loves physical touch, I miss having my girlfriend around. Someone I can squeeze and kiss and sleep next to anytime I want. As Logan and I have become close friends, my body has just decided that because of his proximity and willingness, he’s a satisfactory substitute.

Which is fucked up, I know.

But now that I realize what’s happening, I can relax. I can ignore my misplaced lust and focus on the friendship without guilt or expectations.

It was freeing to relieve myself of that burden. There is no sexual identity crisis. Everything is totally cool.

It’s somehow mid-February already. Logan and I got all my shit moved in about a month ago, and I have to admit, the small condo feels a little more like home because my stuff is here, but if I’m being honest, it feels like home because Logan is here.

There’s always a meal wrapped in aluminum foil waiting for me, and sticky notes around the space with hand-scribbled memos like this needs to soak for 24 hours or I washed your clothes; they should be ready to move to the dryer.

We haven’t talked about New Year’s anymore, even though the tension from it follows us around like a bad infection, but at least we’re talking.

Checking our mailbox one Saturday afternoon, I’m surprised to find a piece of personal mail addressed to me. All I seem to get are letters from medical societies, bills, and pre-populated job advertisements.

Opening the envelope, I quickly realize it’s a wedding invitation.