Page 15 of Free Fall

“I do,” Rye agrees. “I’m quite the slut these days.” He chuckles, this time in the new, deep tone he’s cultivating. “Between my sex work and hookups, my future memoir will need to be called ‘Sex in Yosemite.’”

“Sex work, doesn’t that make you a whore more than a slut?” I ask, hoping to get away from the inquisition aboutmysex life. Why talk about what I like to keep private if Rye’s willing to talk about what he loves to share?

“I can be both.” He grins proudly. “Why not? People are happy to pay for access to what I’ve got, and they’ll pay me even more for the games I’m willing to play.”

“Just keep it safe,” I warn, never liking the idea of Rye’s promiscuity as much as he does. He’s small, lean, and light, and he tends to fuck guys twice his size, many of whom are into the fetishistic fantasy of screwing him more than they’re into the reality of it. More than one encounter has ended with Rye bruised from their rough use. Cis men are assholes—I know because I’m a cis man—and I don’t trust any of them not to hurt him.

“I just got free of all that bullshit,” Rye proclaims. “Screwing as a gay man is a reve-fucking-lation, and I won’t be going back intoanykind of cage. Understood?” He chuckles again. “Cages are for my clients.”

I huff a laugh, kicking off my approach shoes and putting on my rock shoes. “Clients are one thing. You’re in charge with those. Randoms are another.”

“Like you don’t fuck randoms?”

I shrug. “Good point.”

“Last night was a random hookup, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Guy or girl?”

“Guy.”

“Who was it? I wonder if I’ve had him.”

I stop with my left rock shoe half on, a coldness washing over me. I cast my gaze up at the gray granite of El Cap as I ponder whether Rye and Sejin might have slept together before. I finish pulling on my shoe. The chances are good.

Unlike me, Rye resides in Mariposa all year and, as he’s just been saying, while he’s riding out this new testosterone-induced male puberty, he’slivingto get fucked in all three of his potential holes by whoever is interested. His business as a Dom has several regular clients and thrives on the kinky seasonal tourists who come and go. But he’s told me many of his clients aren’t even paying for penetrative sex. Sometimes they just want him to boss them around, or tell them to lick his feet, or order them to jerk off on the floor and then lick that up.

There’s lots of licking involved in his work, from what he tells me.

Also, Rye cravesa lotof sex. It’s why he hooks up with random men all the time. After trawling that hideous app, I know for a fact there aren’t that many options available for him here in Mariposa during the winter months, especially not with men who aren’t awful, or assholes, or…

I swallow hard.

So, there’s a strong chance, a very strong chance, he’s had Sejin. Why does that bother me? Itshouldn’tbother me.

I shake out my arms and hands, trying to get the uncomfortable feeling in my chest to leave. Sejin and I have hooked uponce. I don’t even know anything about the guy outside of the sex. But that logic doesn’t seem to matter.

I can even imagine them together. I can see how it would go—

Sejin on his knees as Rye fucks him with a dildo. Rye on his back as Sejin—he’s vers, I remember—screws him to glory. Swallowing hard, I feel a little sick at the thought of Sejin being like that with Rye.

It’s not jealousy, is it? It can’t be.

For one thing, Rye and I haven’t ever fucked. When we first met, I sometimes wondered if he wanted to because he’d look me over with an expression that only made sense once I decided it was lust. But I’d always ignored it because a good belay partner is hard to find—especially for me—and I didn’t want to ruin it by fucking him.

Luckily, as Rye got to know me better, those looks stopped. Now I don’t think there’s any amount of money he’d accept to have sex with me. At least, I hope not. Rye’s great, cute, and fun, but he’s my friend—no matter what Peggy Jo thinks—and I don’t fuck friends.

So, I can’t be jealous. One of the guys I don’t even know, and the other is my friend.

The end.

If they’ve fucked… So be it. It’s fine.

Except it isn’t, and I really don’t know why.

“What’s wrong?” Rye asks. “Is there a problem?”