Page 98 of Necessary Time

“I’m not gay.”

“Who was thatmanthen?” he asked.

“Colin is my boyfriend.” I bristled, immediately defensive at the tone of David’s question. I’d known him most of my life. I knew what he was trying to imply.

“But you’re not gay.”

“I’m not,” I snapped. “I still am attracted to women.”

“Just not right now.”

“You’re acting like an idiot about this.” I let out a loud huff and dropped my head back to stare up at the sky. The lights from the city were too bright for the stars to really be visible, but I would busy myself with looking anyway.

“Why did you ghost me?” he asked, changing tactics.

“Why did you kiss me?” I countered.

“You knew I was going to kiss you. I practically asked for permission before I did it,” he snapped.

It was impossible to not think about the numerous conversations Colin and I had shared about consent and the things we wanted to do together. And all of them had happened before we’d done anything. Consent was a real thing, a sexy-as-hell thing, and David had never had mine.

“You didn’t ask,” I said quietly, bringing my head down so my chin bumped my chest. “You didn’t ask.”

“What if I would have? Would it have made a difference?”

I turned my head, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. “Are you asking me if I’d have stayed in Brixton if you’d asked to kiss me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I wish you wouldn’t have done it, but it opened up a lot for me.”

“Clearly.”

I ignored the sarcasm. “I don’t think I would have realized that I was interested in men if you hadn’t done it.”

“But you ran away,” he said. “Instead of kissing me again. Instead of being interested inme.”

“You’re my best friend,” I protested. “You were my best friend.”

“So?” David pulled off his hat and set it on his knee, angling his head so we were able to see eye-to-eye.

“Just because you apparently like men and I apparently like men doesn’t mean we have to like each other.”

“But…” He trailed off, frowning and staring down at his toes.

I sighed, the fight going out of me.

“You’re my best friend,” I repeated, using the present tense instead of the past, because for as scared and hurt as I was over what had happened between us, I missed him. I missed being his friend and I missed him being mine. I missedus. “I shouldn’t have ghosted you the way I did, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do and it was a lot.”

David sniffled, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, “but you’re just not my type.”

The next sniffle turned into a watery laugh and he shoulder-checked me so hard I fell onto the sand, knocking the rim of my bottle over. Beer gurgled and spilled out, and I cursed, shoving it out of the way. I was freshly twenty-one, I didn’t want to be walking around smelling like a keg just yet.

“I don’t think you’re my type either,” he said.

“Are you serious, dude?” I scoffed, not even close to believing the words he was saying to me. “Then why did you kiss me.”