“Hey. You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He moves away toward the kitchen, and I turn on the couch to watch him.
“Why not?” he asks.
“I’m not used to that bed.”
He doesn’t respond as he switches on the coffee machine. “Sharing a bed isn’t a good idea.”
“I know.” Though, I don’t really. I wasn’t suggesting sharing, but if Tripp asked, I’d be in there in a heartbeat.
We’ve done it plenty of times before. And sure, he’d thrown that joke out about us hooking up, but he can’t think that’s made things awkward between us. In fact, it’s probably a better idea than us hooking up with anyone else, and I know Tripp has a high sex drive, so if he can cover for this whole mess for me, I can do that for him. It’s not like it would be hard. The memory of our wedding kiss still makes my lips tingle.
My gaze goes unfocused, and I rub my jaw, trying to work out how long it would take for him to get desperate enough to offer for real. If he did, would I go through with it? It’s always been so easy to be affectionate with him; would that really be any different? I know I’m straight, but Tripp doesn’t count.
I jump at the sound of Tripp setting a coffee mug on the table in front of me and watch as he sits down on the couch opposite.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, totally.”
His expression tells me he doesn’t buy it. “You look like you’re trying to do math.”
I laugh, but it’s not like I can tell him what I was really thinking about, so instead, I unlock my phone again. “I’m having an attack of the guilts.”
“The guilts?”
“Yes. I feel guilty. Look at this.” I round the table to sit next to him and start scrolling through my phone. “Look at all these people. Some of them are sharing their life stories with a total stranger all because they think I’m like them. I don’t know if I can pull this off.”
He pulls back. “You want the trade?”
“No.” I don’t even like those words coming from his mouth. “I’m worried I’m going to say the wrong thing and it’ll make us both look worse than if we admit it was all a joke.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. It’s not like we’ll be going out much anyway, and when we do, you can follow my lead.”
“Hey, that’s an idea,” I say, hit with a stroke of brilliance.
“What is?”
“You can teach me to be gay. If you teach me to be gay, I’ll live up to what these people are saying.”
Tripp stares at me for a long moment. “You want me to … teach you? To be gay?”
“Yes.” It’s the perfect plan.
“And how would I do that, exactly?”
“You tell me. You’re the gay one.”
A spark of amusement fills Tripp’s face. “Uh-huh. And that’s the only difference between us, gay and straight?”
“Exactly.”
“And what makes you straight?”
Is he stroking out? “I like chicks.”
“And what makes me gay?”
“You like dudes.”
“Right.” He pauses, and I wonder if this is one of those moments where there’s context I’m missing. “And can you think of any other differences?”
My brain is doing that staticky thing that takes over when I’m asked a hard question. What else is different between us? “I … can’t defend a goal to save myself?”
Tripp snorts back a laugh, then leans right over, into my personal space, and my heart does a backflip. “I fuck guys, Dex. That’s the only difference. Is that how you want me to teach you?”
He’s joking again, but my face starts to heat. “Ah, I mean, if you think it would—”
“Stop.” Tripp shoves me. “You can’t act all adorably innocent about me suggesting I fuck you.”
“Would you prefer I act grossed out? I’m not sure what the etiquette is here.”
“It’s not about etiquette. You’re straight, Dex. Straight guys generally don’t want to have sex with gay guys.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from pointing out Tripp isn’t “a gay guy” to me. He’s just … Tripp.
He groans and drops his head back against the couch. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what? There was no look. I’m not looking.”
“Dex …”
“Tripp …”
“You look upset,” he says.
“I’m not. This is my worried face. If it gets out that we’re lying, people will hate you. You don’t deserve that.”
“Well, we have to make sure it doesn’t get out.”
That’s what has me so panicked. We can be as careful as we like, but I’m sure I’m going to do something thoughtless and fuck up. “That’s the problem. I know how to be your best friend, not your husband.”
“Isn’t it the same thing?” Tripp shifts on the couch so he’s facing me. “Don’t people always say you should marry your best friend?”
“I guess we took that too literally.” I’m still nervous though. “I can’t shake the feeling people will know.”