I nod even though he can’t see me.
“Tell you what, next time you’re coming home, tell me. I’ll make plans for you. And you can meet my partner.”
“Y-you have a partner? Shouldn’t a best friend know that?”
“Yes, but telling you that would mean coming out to you, and I guess I’ve been avoiding doing that since we used to make out and dry hump each other.”
An image of us on the couch in my basement floods my memory. Logan on top of me. Both of us kissing.
Huh. I guess I’d forgotten about the grinding part.
I mean, it’s not like we got off or anything.
Oh, shit.
I do remember jerking off after Logan ran home. Probably to do the same.
I just thought it was friction. I was a teenage boy, and something rubbed against my dick. I would’ve jerked off after a strong breeze, for fuck’s sake.
“Rich?” Logan’s grown-up voice cuts through the din.
“Uh, I have to go. But, umm, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. And yes, I want to meet your partner.”
“Are you coming home at all this summer?”
“Probably at the end for a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah. See you.” I end the call and stare at my phone.
I need to get back inside, but I’m not sure I can after that.
It’s honestly like someone has hit me over the head with a confusion stick, and I’m suddenly questioning if my whole adult life has been a lie.
No, not a lie. I know I like women.
Maybe it’s more like I’ve had this piece of me shoved down and covered by the easiness of doing what I know, and now it’s been brought up, I can’t believe how blind I was to it.
That can’t be right though.
It’s been eight years.
Eight.
I’m twenty-four, having started my freshman year at twenty-one after I aged out of the junior hockey league. I’m too old to have new revelations about myself, aren’t I?
Or, maybe I really am a dumbass. Logan hates when I call myself that, but if the skate fits.
I finally compose myself to go back into the locker room, but I almost trip over my feet when I see my teammates Jacobs and Beck lip-locked and pressed against each other.
See? Not a big deal.
They’re both straight and kissing.
Yeah, for a dare, not because they’re bored.
Oh. Right. That.
Beck parts his lips and pushes his tongue inside Jacobs’s mouth. I swear I hear Jacobs groan, and damn, that’s hot.
No, not hot. That’s … That’s …
Aww, shit.
2
Seth
She’s twenty minutes late.
She picked the café. She picked the time. And I know if I text her to see if she’s okay, I’ll be accused of smothering her again.
I can’t win.
Having a girlfriend is a constant battle, and it seems with each new girl I meet, it’s harder and harder to find that … connection.
My fingers drum out a rhythm on the wooden tabletop, and I glance at the door as Emma pushes through. Her red hair is its usual chaotic mess, and her cheeks are flushed—I’m assuming from having to hurry here. Even though I’m annoyed she’s late again, when she turns a smile on me, I return it.
My shoulders relax, and I remind myself to take a breath and let it go. Emma is far from the first girlfriend I’ve had who’s been less interested in spending time with me than I am with her.
“Hey, Seth.” She bypasses kissing me and drops into the chair opposite. “Have you ordered yet?”
“Not yet. I was waiting for you to arrive. I’ll do it now. You want your usual?”
“Please.”
I learned quickly that when Emma says she’ll be somewhere, she actually means at least fifteen to twenty minutes after the time she gives, so I no longer order anything before she arrives.
It’s who she is.
And in relationships, you’re supposed to let those little things go.
Our coffee order is made, and I make my way back to the table.
“So, busy day?” I probe.
“Not really. I had to stop by the lab to check some fungi samples, then some friends and I went to play roller derby.”
I don’t think I’ll ever not find that the most random hobby for someone destined to be developing lifesaving drugs one day. “It sounds a lot more interesting than my day. I finished moving everything into my apartment with my parents’ help.”
She watches me over the top of her coffee, and she takes a slow sip.
“What’s wrong?”
“Seth …”
Uh-oh. My gut drops as helpless desperation starts to claw at me.
Her tone says it all.
Emma reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. Her skin is soft, and her large doe eyes have turned pitying.
No.
No, no.
“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” My voice breaks a little. My twin brother likes to joke that I’m a serial monogamist, but that stops being cute when you consider what serial means and how literally I’m sticking to that definition.