Page 63
He scoffed. “Oh, please. Rhys is a good kid.”
“He is,” I agreed, puffing with pride.
Waylon covered my hand on his thigh. “You said you’re mostly out, so…that means Rhys and Gretchen know that you’re bisexual, right? Or is that not something you discuss with them?”
“They definitely know, and I’ve made it crystal clear that I’m more than willing to answer any questions. But anything hinting at your parent having sex is a little taboo. They’d prefer to think I’m a monk.”
“So you’ve never openly dated a man?”
I picked a piece of pepperoni off his pizza and popped it into my mouth. “No. The closest I came to that was a brief, um…arrangement with Dexter a few years ago. Before he met Viggo and became a dad.”
“Dexter?” His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. “The hot donut guy who looks like a freaking model…that Dexter?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Well…keep going. Tell me everything.” Waylon circled his wrist meaningfully.
“There’s nothing to tell. We were friends and then”—I shrugged, unsure what else to add—“we were more than friends. Obviously, that didn’t last, and the kids were really disappointed. The funny thing was that Dex and I never said we were dating…or whatever we were doing. But they accepted our relationship, and honestly, that was nice. What about you? Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“No…”
“Keep going.” I circled my wrist, happily turning the focus to him.
“I’ve had…fuck-buddies. Casual always worked better for me. I had a serious girlfriend in high school, and the serious part kind of scared me.”
“How so?”
Waylon pursed his lips. “I dunno. Talia was a cool girl. We had a lot in common. Her mom was a park ranger, and her dad was a wildland firefighter. My dad was a logger, and my mom was an accountant for a backcountry guide. She was pretty, funny, sweet, and everyone thought for sure we’d get hitched after graduation. My mom cried when we broke up. I think she was more devastated than me.”
“Who called it off?”
“Me. I didn’t want to be a husband or a dad at eighteen. No way. My folks married young, and they’re good people and good parents, but man, they never made it look easy. There were always money troubles, shit that needed fixin’, school supplies and new shoes to buy. As much as I liked Talia—and I really did—I wasn’t ready for that life. I was restless, itchy for adventure. I ended things with her and headed west on a battered bike with a backpack and five hundred dollars in the bank.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Everywhere. I avoided big cities and mostly stuck to small towns and visited national parks like Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Zion, and Yosemite. I hiked, camped, worked odd jobs, and met some interesting people along the way. One of them was a trucker from Montana. Wes was also an amateur biologist, a decent guitarist, and…he was sexy as fuck. And he was ten years older.”
“So he was much wiser than you,” I teased.
Waylon inclined his head. “Probably. I was fascinated with Wes—obsessed, even. And very attracted to him. It shocked the hell out of me.”
“You didn’t know you were bi till then?”
“Nope. All the times I’d ogled jocks strutting around high school like they owned the place or rewatched that movie about gladiators—you know, the one where they’re shirtless and ripped in every scene—finally made sense. Teenage me wondered if there was something wrong with my head, but twenty-year-old me? That guy was a free spirit. He didn’t answer to anyone. It was no one’s business that I jerked off regularly to a fantasy of my hands on that trucker’s ass. Or his on mine. I rationalized that it didn’t matter what I did. I could blame my hedonistic inclinations on too much weed or too much sunshine. And if shit got uncomfortable, I could leave at any time.”
I smirked. “Did shit get uncomfortable?”
“Nope. It got interesting. I stayed in Montana for three years, worked at a mill during the day, and got myself a good education on all things gay at night. Everything felt bigger with Wes. The longing, the fights, the orgasms, the desire to be wherever he was. I’d had that with Talia too, but…not as intense.” He chomped into his pizza. “It didn’t hurt that the guy was hung like a Clydesdale.”
“Oh, c’mon.”
“No kidding. He had a thick python, man. I was sure I’d never ever bottom, but I wanted it. Bad.” Waylon hummed, low and dirty, and added, “Turned out, I just liked cock any way I could get it.”
“I see. And that’s how you figured out you were bi?”
“Mmhmm. It started out slow with low-stakes flirting. You know, bumping elbows, laughing at dumb jokes till one thing led to another. It was wild to admit to myself that I wanted him. I really thought I was straight. Bisexual? That’s practically an urban legend where I’m from. But man, it was liberating to admit I liked getting drilled by a trucker in the cab of his eighteen-wheeler.”
“Young love,” I snarked.
