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I don’t respond yet, giving him time to process this and be angry. His rage is keeping him steady and giving him something to hold onto, while I feel like I’m barely staying afloat. I need him to be the one who holds it together.

“Fuck them, Ry,” he says as his face burns a deeper shade of red. “How can you admit something when there’s nothing to admit? I don’t understand what the fuck they think is going on, but it’s clearly a one-sided delusion on their end, and your lack of response should make them see that.”

I nod, but it doesn’t help because it feels like they won’t stop. I crawl into Logan’s lap and bury my head into his shoulder for comfort. His arms wrap around me immediately, and he rubs slow circles over my back.

“You don’t have to be okay right now, Ry,” I hear him whisper in my ear before he turns and kisses the side of my head.

“What if they don’t stop?” I whisper, voicing my biggest fear, even if the words barely make it out. “What if it gets worse?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I wish I did, but I don’t and fuck, do I hate this, Ry. I’m so fucking sorry you’re going through this.” He pulls back from me a little until I’m able to look him in the eye. He cups my face with trembling hands and rubs his thumbs over my cheeks. “I’d do anything to make this stop,” he says with a broken look on his face, and I know it physically hurts him to see me like this.

“I know you would,” I murmur. And I do know. I know he’d burn the whole world down if it meant keeping me safe.If there was a way to erase every email, every invasion of our privacy, every fucked-up feeling crawling under my skin, and guarantee I’d never get another email from this person again, he’d do it in a heartbeat and I wouldn’t even need to ask.

But this isn’t a movie, and we don’t have high-profile connections or a secret skillset we can tap into to take Kyle, or whoever this is, out. We’re just two regular guys who are trying to navigate this terrifying situation to the best of our ability.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead before pulling me back into his arms. We stay like that for a long while until I finally roll off his lap to get some water.

Logan stands too. “I’m going to forward myself the email, and then I’m gonna call Matt. You okay for a minute while I do that?” he checks, and I nod.

As soon as he walks away, I’m hit with regret once again. I feel guilty for dragging him into this situation. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like some obstacle instead of the one person who makes me feel safe. He shouldn’t have to live looking over his shoulder because some anonymous asshole decided I belong to him when I don’t. It’s not fair to me, but it’s definitely not fair to him. I should be the one protecting him right now, not the other way around.

My throat tightens as I think about everything Logan has done for me since this whole situation started. He’s cared for me, distracted me, and let me fall apart when I couldn’t hold it together anymore—and he’s done all of it with so much compassion.

And last night…fuck.

I swallow hard, dragging a hand through my hair.

Last night wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment ‘I need to get off’ experiment with him. It waseverything. It confirmed everythought I’ve been having about him and my sexuality. Running out of lube was the push we needed—I don’t know how we would’ve taken that step without that.

I feel like I’m turning into a character in one of the books I narrate—the guy who has a bi-awakening with his best friend. And honestly? I’m not mad about it at all. I want more.

Logan walks back into the room, his hair somehow even messier than before, but just as sexy. “Matt’s looking into it,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside me. “He’s gonna see if he can track the IP address. Might take a couple of days.”

I nod, trying to focus on his words, not the way his leg brushes against mine. “That’s...good. Yeah, good. Thanks.”

He looks at me suspiciously for a moment, and I feel like I’m giving myself away. “You okay? You’re looking kinda flushed.”

“Yep. Fine,” I say a little too quickly.

He gives me a look like he doesn’t buy it, but he also lets it go, and I appreciate that, because I still don’t have the words to explain what’s going through my mind. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

How the hell am I supposed to explain what I’m feeling? That after a decade of friendship—and a lifetime of thinking I was straight—I suddenly can’t stop thinking about him. About his hands on me. About how good it felt. I told him I’m likely bi this morning, but I didn’t say the rest. Didn’t tell him I’ve been thinking about him constantly.

I nod instead of opening my mouth, because what I really need is for him to touch my dick again. But I can’t say that, and he doesn’t touch me. Well, not in the way I want. Every time our arms graze or his thigh bumps mine, it sparks something low in my gut—something I don’t want to stop. At this point, I’m half tempted to duct tape his hands to me.

I feel like I’m turning into a creeper myself because I can’t stop admiring him. Can’t stop looking at his stunning blue eyes and his even more ridiculous blonde hair that I now imagine tugging as I kiss him senseless.

He shifts slightly, leaning forward to toss his phone on the table, then leans back just enough that his shirt rides up to reveal a trail of hair that disappears into his waistband. And fuck, how have I never noticed how hot that is before?

“You wanna watch something? Or, I don’t know, play a game?”

I blink, pulling myself out of whatever trance I was in, and stall for a second. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever you want.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not like you. Normally, you have opinions about everything.”

I shrug, hyper-aware of how close we’re sitting and still wanting him closer. “Guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Alright,” he says, his expression softening into something warmer. “You’ve been through a lot. Don’t beat yourself up for feeling out of it. I’m happy to make the decisions for us if you want.”