Page 22 of Coming Clean
Jeremy
F or the next few weeks, Connor came over every day and sometimes stayed the whole night at my house.
We spent most of our time together in bed.
I hadn’t dared ask him if we could go out yet.
I didn’t want to jinx what was working so well between us, but I also knew this couldn’t go on forever—him showing up to fuck me six ways from Sunday, then slipping away before dawn like a beautiful, secret sin.
Still, I had to admit there was something delicious about the clandestine nature of it all. No one knew. Not even David. All I’d told him was that Connor and I had talked, and I’d forgiven him. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Just not the whole truth.
It’s not like I’m someone who needs to go out.
During school breaks, I could spend weeks in my cabin without seeing another soul—just writing, watching old movies, and ignoring the world.
But this summer felt different. I was trying to start over.
The sun was shining, the neighborhood was alive, and even an introvert like me wanted to take a damn walk.
Get ice cream. Grab a beer. Just… exist in the world with Connor next to me.
Would he even want that?
I wondered what he’d say if I suggested it. A walk. Even friends take walks. But then my conscience, which often spoke with David’s voice, piped up: What are you thinking? Are you really going to pretend to be just friends with your lover after years of being out?
Was I?
The fact that I was hiding this from David felt worse than Connor hiding his sexuality.
Connor had never lied to me. I was the one being deceptive now, and I sucked at keeping secrets.
I’d been avoiding David for almost a week because every conversation was a minefield, and it was getting harder and harder not to mention Connor’s name.
So, I gave in. I pulled out my phone and texted David: Dinner tonight? My place?
His response was instant. I’ll be there at 7:30. Glad you realize you’ve hidden from me long enough.
What do you mean?
He sent me a raised-eyebrow emoji. Damn it. Of course he knew about Connor. He could basically read my mind.
I sighed and texted Connor next. I have plans with David tonight. You want to come over tomorrow morning instead?
I stared at the screen like a nervous teenager.
A few minutes later, he replied: Ok. See you then.
Hmmm. No emoji, no exclamation mark. Hard to tell what that “ok” meant. Why the hell was I analyzing it like some lovesick kid?
Because you’re in love, my brain answered.
Ugh.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” David’s voice called out through the front door as he let himself in.
I couldn’t help smiling. God, I’d missed him. “In the sitting room, dear,” I called back.
That had always been our little joke. The sitting room—Aunt Irene’s overly formal living room—had been the setting for many miserable afternoons when I was a kid, forced to sit silently while my aunt entertained boring people I had no patience for.
David and I renamed it years ago and the nickname stuck.
He appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at me like I was a very suspicious creature under a microscope.
“You’ve been seeing him, haven’t you?”
I didn’t insult his intelligence by pretending not to know who “him” was. “Yes.”
“And by seeing him, I mean sleeping with him.”
I nodded.
David let out an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose it was inevitable.”
“Was it?” Maybe it was. At least after Shakespeare in the Park.
His expression turned serious. “You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?”
I didn’t bother denying it. “Yes.”
“Have you actually talked to him, or just fucked?”
God, he never pulled punches. “We’ve talked too.”
David raised his brows skeptically.
“He told me why he’s not out.”
“And you accepted it?” he asked, disbelieving.
“What do you want me to say?”
“That there’s some chance this won’t end with me scraping you off the pavement and putting you back together.”
I wanted to believe there was a chance. “There is.”
“You’re actually dating a man who’s in the closet?” he asked.
Dating. Was that what we were doing? It didn’t feel like the word fit, but what else could I call it? I shrugged.
“Jeremy.”
“It’s been two weeks, David. I don’t know where this is going yet, and I don’t have to know. Connor understands how I feel. He knows I don’t want to hide.”
“But you are hiding,” he shot back.
Was I? I wanted to say no. “No. Connor is.”
“You’re hiding the fact that you’re seeing him—even from me.”
I kept my voice calm, even though I felt defensive. “You know now. Apparently, you knew anyway.”
“How long?” he asked.
“How long what?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“How long are you going to let this go on?”
I didn’t have a good answer. “I’m going to ask him soon. See if he’ll go out in public with me.”
“And while you’re out?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t expect him to fuck me on the table at a restaurant, if that’s what you mean.”
That got him to crack a smile. Finally.
“I’ll be perfectly happy if he’ll simply go out to dinner with me. That’s enough for now.”
“Are you sure?”
Was I? Yes. I was. “I am. I’m sorry if you don’t understand.”
“Oh, I do.” His tone softened.
I wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”
“You want Connor enough to take a risk. And even though I’m worried, I’ll support you. You know that, right?”
God, he was such a good friend. “I wasn’t sure, but I should’ve known better.”
“Damn right you should have.”
I stood and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”
“Always.”
Connor
Sunday morning, I lay curled up in bed with Jeremy. I’d spent most of the weekend at his place, wrapped in the little fantasy world we’d built—just the two of us, like nothing else existed. I didn’t know how long it could last, but I wasn’t ready to think about that yet.
Jeremy stirred beside me. I slipped an arm around him, pulled him closer, and whispered in his ear, “You want me to make us some pancakes?”
“Mmm. That sounds perfect,” he murmured.
After breakfast, I started to clear the dishes, but Jeremy placed a hand on my arm, stopping me.
“I want to ask you something.”
The look on his face made my stomach twist. That look didn’t usually come with good news.
"Yes?” I said, trying to keep it casual.
“David wants to meet you.”
I tensed. Of course. I’d been wondering how I’d dodged David for this long. He was Jeremy’s best friend. Realistically, I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding him forever, but hell, I would’ve been perfectly happy to keep pretending he didn’t exist.
“Technically, he’s already met me.”
“He threatened you and stomped out. That’s not exactly what I mean by ‘meeting.’”
I ran a hand through my hair. "I guess you’re right.”
“I thought we could have dinner. You could ask Sabrina too.”
Sabrina. She’d been pestering me for more details about Jeremy for weeks. So far, I’d managed to dodge her questions. “Why?”
Jeremy frowned. “Well, she’s your friend, and I’ve enjoyed talking to her. I think she and David would hit it off.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you trying to set them up?”
“No!” He looked hurt, and I instantly regretted my tone. “I just thought you might feel more comfortable if Sabrina was there.”
My gut twisted. “Are you saying I need to hide behind her skirts because I’m afraid of your friend?”
Goddamn it. Why couldn’t I hold back the anger? I wasn’t even mad at Jeremy—I was mad at myself.
Jeremy sighed. “No, and I’ve never even seen her in a skirt.”
“She wears one occasionally, but that’s hardly the point.”
He laughed. “I know. I was just trying to make you smile.”
I did. I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t.
I didn’t want to introduce Sabrina to David.
If Jeremy was right—and I had a bad feeling he was—those two would hit it off, and I’d end up seeing even more of David.
Still, Jeremy had a point. I’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable if I had backup.
And Sabrina wasn’t shy about putting assholes in their place.
If David got out of line, she’d knee him in the balls.
“I’ll ask her,” I said.
Jeremy’s whole face lit up. “Really?”
"Yes.”
“What about tonight? I know that’s last minute. If she has plans, we can do it later.”
No point dragging it out. “Tonight’ll probably work. I’ll call her after I shower.” I needed to wake up a little before admitting how often I’d been seeing Jeremy.