“Seth.” Sarah immediately stands up and presses a hand to my forehead. “Tell me straight, are you dying?”
“Not that I’ve been informed of.”
“Then what’s up, man?” Tyson asks, stretching out both arms along the back of the booth. “It’s been over a month since I’ve seen you, and every time I’ve called you’ve been distracted and vague.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Who is she? He? They?” Clarissa asks as Sarah sits back down and rests against her side. I take a seat next to Tyson and accept the beer he pushes my way.
Fuck it.
“He’s incredible, and it’s still new, so that’s all you’re getting.”
Tyson actually chokes on his beer, and despite her question, Clarissa’s mouth falls open.
“For real? You’re actually seeing a guy?”
“Yep. Oh, and I worked out I’m demi. So yeah, what’s new with you guys?”
“Nope, rewind.” Tyson turns toward me. “My Straighty’s done a one-eighty?”
“Ha, ha.”
Sarah points at him. “Shut up. What Tyson means is we’re happy for you. We always wondered.”
“Wait, wondered what?”
“If you were queer.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Okay, what the hell is it about me that screams I want dick?”
Tyson chokes on his beer again before he breaks out in laughter.
I elbow him. “Enough from you. Sarah, explain.”
She exchanges a quick look with Clarissa, and so help me, it looks like they want to laugh too. “It’s just …”
Clarissa takes over. “When you’re gay, you get a built-in radar for these things.”
“Plus, you’re constantly staring at dudes’ butts,” Sarah adds.
My face heats up. “I never—”
“Always,” Tyson says. “Plus your obsession with that blond dude in that show—”
“His hair is more gray than blond—”
“And yet you know exactly who I’m talking about.”
I reach for my beer. “I hate you all.”
“You also have this …” Tyson clicks his fingers as he thinks. “Quality.”
“Thank you for being specific.”
“Because it’s not something specific.” He waves a hand toward himself. “I’m bi, but I’m camp as all hell. I scream queer in how I talk, and move, and act. It’s on purpose. With you, it’s more about how you treat people. You always have your guard up, you’re suspicious of new people, and it’s like you have to be in control of yourself all the time. Almost like you’re trying to play the part you think you should. That was all me in high school, boo. Then when you do get with someone, you’re always waiting for it to end. You’re the gay tragedy trope in human form, Sethie boy.”
“Well, this is a fun conversation. New topic.”
“But I need the details!” Sarah begs.
“Nope. This time I’m just letting things happen.”
“At least tell me if you’re a bottom,” Tyson says. “I’d be a total bottom if I could ever find a man to fuck me. For some reason, I’m a chick magnet.”
“Pegging,” Sarah says to him. “Look into it.”
“I so would if I found a girl interested. Are you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Tyson flips her off and turns to me, waiting for me to make his little bi heart happy.
I quickly drain the rest of my beer. “We’re, ah, not there yet.”
“Then what the hell were you doing holed up for two weeks?”
“Plenty of other stuff.” I’m blushing again, but my smile can’t be controlled.
And at that moment, Richie and his friend stand a few booths away. His teammate shrugs on his coat and leaves, and Richie turns and heads in my direction.
Oops. Guess we didn’t discuss discreet.
Tyson practically squeals as Richie reaches our table. “Need help with something, sweetheart?”
“Just seeing if Seth’s ready to go.”
“He’s the guy you’re sleeping with?” Tyson’s so loud, the booths either side go quiet briefly.
“I take it you told them about us?”
“Nope.” Far out. “I told them about me. You just told them about us.”
His smile turns sheepish. “Oops?”
Well, so much for keeping the details to myself. “Guys, this is Richie. Richie, my friends. Who I won’t introduce by name, because they’re basically drooling over you and we’re leaving.”
I don’t miss the way he stands a little taller. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Okay.” I nudge him as I stand. “You don’t need to be nice to them. That’ll only make them suspicious of you.”
Sarah laughs, and Tyson drapes himself dramatically over the table. “You find yourself a big handsome jock, and I can’t even pay someone to bone me.”
I pat his head. “Desperation isn’t a sexy trait.”
He throws up his finger at me as we say goodbyes, and then Richie and I head for the exit.
“Do you think it’s possible for us to be around anyone without them finding out?” he asks.
“At this rate, all of Vermont is going to know by the weekend.” It makes me nervous to think that if this ends, it’s going to hurt more than any other time before now. There are still so many things that could go wrong—I’ll get too clingy, he won’t get a job near here, he’ll move home … Is telling everyone an epic fucking mistake?