Page 21

“So, that’s where I’m at. I went out a couple times over the summer.

It was fine and I enjoyed myself, but I still just…

I still think about Marcos. And I’m fucking confused about it, and he sort of treats me like we’re buddies and nothing more.

So, maybe he doesn’t want to get together again?

I don’t know. Atlas says he doesn’t actually like me, he just likes having sex, which, you know, makes me feel great. ”

“I, uh…I’m happy you’re gay. I mean, I’m happy you…shut up.” He groans when I hack out a laugh, trying not to spit hot chocolate all over his bed. Rubbing a hand over his face, he hides his eyes as he says, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Well, I can’t very well keep a secret from my number one, can I?” Reaching over, I pat his leg. He looks so embarrassed, I’m surprised he hasn’t keeled over dead yet.

“Marcos?” he prompts, voice low.

“Yeah, shit. I probably shouldn’t have told you his name. He plays things pretty close to the chest. I don’t know what the hell I’m allowed to say or who I can say it to.”

“I won’t tell anyone. And I don’t know any Marcos, anyway.”

“I know.” Groaning, I adjust my hips and settle in a little more comfortably on his bed. “So. Got any wise words for me? What would one of the heroes in your books say?”

“I…I don’t think I’m the right person to talk to,” he whispers.

“Because you don’t like guys? That’s fine.

You know how I am—sometimes I just need to throw words at you, and then I can figure it out myself.

I’m just a little bit floored by the whole thing, that’s all.

It seems crazy that I never realized I’m into dick before now, you know?

Apparently, I have zero self-awareness.”

“You’re not…are you mad about it? Or…disgusted?”

I laugh, until I glance over and see his face. Oh, he’s seriously asking.

“No. Of course not,” I reply, a little bit hurt by the question. I frown at him. “I don’t think queer people are disgusting.”

“No,” he says quickly, face turning even redder. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean…sometimes people are okay with gay people in theory, but they wouldn’t want to actually be mistaken for a gay person themselves. Sorry.”

“You’ve got a good point, but no. It doesn’t bother me that I like Marcos.

What bothers me is I’m kind of feeling alone in this whole thing.

Back home, my friends and I don’t really talk about shit other than sports and the ranch.

Same with my parents. I just didn’t feel comfortable asking them for advice on dating a guy.

And now it’s like the only people I know who are queer aren’t people I can talk to.

Atlas was no help, and it’s not like I can barge into Coach’s office and tell him about blowjobs. ”

Micky fidgets uneasily. I probably shouldn’t even be here talking to him about this stuff. I try to keep things light and airy with him, knowing how easily he gets uncomfortable. Me coming in here and talking about spontaneous dick sucking is going to send him over the edge.

“Sorry, buddy. We can talk about something else.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to anyone—to me—though. I…” He laughs awkwardly, turning away and staring at the opposite wall. When he speaks again, his voice is so small I can barely hear the words. “I like men, too.”

I refrain from sitting up and hugging him, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate an over-the-top reaction. Instead, I reach a hand over and nudge his thigh until he reluctantly meets my eyes.

“That’s okay,” I tell him, and he takes a deep inhale.

“I know. I’ve never said that out loud before. I’m already kind of wishing I hadn’t said it right now.” He laughs again, but it’s one of the saddest sounds I’ve ever heard him make.

“Hey, come on. You know I won’t tell anyone, Mick. Not if you don’t want me to. We can have our identity crisis together, yeah?”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure I’m having a crisis, exactly. I’m normally gay. I mean, I’ve always been gay.”

I sigh. “Well, I suppose that makes me abnormally bisexual, then. ”

He laughs, and it’s a real one this time. It’s what I’d been aiming for with the joke.

“You’re an idiot,” he tells me fondly. Picking at a stray thread on his bedspread, Micky keeps his eyes on his hand, pale lashes hiding his eyes. “You know, it’s okay to just like people. To not care about gender at all.”

I lean forward, and kiss the top of his head. As I knew it would, it brings his eyes back to mine. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, just as I knew they would be as well.

“Thanks, Mick. So, you’re in the closet, then? I won’t tell anyone,” I say quickly. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off, if you want to.”

“Yeah, I guess. Well, you know I spent some time in foster care.” I hum an agreement.

“Being different in the system isn’t a good thing, so I never told anyone.

Before that…well, my parents wouldn’t have liked it.

My dad called me a pu—well, he used a lot of slurs even without knowing I was gay, so…

yeah. Just made sense to hide, that’s all. ”

It’s right on the tip of my tongue to ask him for more information.

This is the most he’s ever shared about his family in all the time I’ve known him, except for when he told me both his parents died when he was young.

But the room is thick with discomfort, as tangible a presence as me or him. If I push him on this, it’ll hurt him.

“Your dad sounds like a dick,” is what I go with instead. It’s the right thing, because it earns me both a smile and a nod of agreement.

“Yeah, he was. So, are you going to try and make something happen with Marcos or is that what you’re here trying to decide?”

“I feel like I’ve already decided, but I have no idea where he stands.

We’re kind of just friends right now, which is fine, but…

” I shrug, sitting up and reaching for my hot chocolate.

“I think I’d like to actually go out with him.

Grab dinner, or something. We get along great—dating would be like getting to spend time with one of my buddies while also getting to kiss them. Best of both worlds.”

“Well, that’s true, I guess.”

“I tell you what, though. I’m not sure about anal. I can’t imagine anything less sexy than accidentally pooping on someone. And the internet says it hurts, so…I don’t know. Maybe the butt was only ever meant to be an exit, you know?”

Micky, who had unfortunately been taking a sip of his hot chocolate, sputters and starts coughing. Reaching over, I pat his back sympathetically as he does his best to hack out his lung.

“No,” he says, once he finally catches his breath enough to speak. “No way. We are not talking about that. This is where I’ve got to draw the line. I love you, but I can’t.”

He holds his hands up like he wants to ward me off. I pout, and try to give him the puppy dog eyes that used to work so well on my mom. He points a finger at me, threateningly.

“No, Nate.”

“How do you feel about manscaping? Necessary or no?”

“Get out.” He points toward the door, but when I groan dramatically and make to stand up, he stops me. “I’m just kidding! I don’t want you to leave. Sorry if that was rude.”

“I knew you were kidding, Micky.”

“Still…I don’t want to talk about buttholes or dicks or body hair, okay? Can we just talk about…” He trails off, obviously unable to think of an appropriate conversational point .

“How’d you know you were gay?” I ask curiously. He gives me a side-eyed look of disbelief.

“How’d you know you liked girls? Or Marcos?”

“Touché.”

“I don’t think manscaping matters, one way or the other,” he says suddenly, voice stronger. “It wouldn’t to me, anyway. I’d just be happy that someone, well, liked me.”

I shake my head mutely. Micky has terrible self-esteem and can’t seem to wrap his head around the idea that someone else might find him attractive.

The funny thing is, he’s very attractive: tall and broad, with dark red hair and so many freckles it looks like someone flicked paint all over him.

He’s got pretty brown eyes, which I noticed even before my bisexual awakening.

“It’s too bad we can’t just date each other, huh?” I muse.

He laughs awkwardly, and blushes again. The reaction has me raising my eyebrows and looking at him more closely, reading embarrassment on his features.

“Micky,” I prompt.

“Well, I might have had a small thing for you when we first met,” he admits.

“You mean when I was following you around, and practically begging you to be my friend? You were ignoring me because you liked me?” I can’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t know how to talk to you! You’re so…pretty. It’s scary. You made me nervous. But then I sort of got over this”—he waves a hand at my face—“and realized that we wouldn’t be good together anyway, and I was better off having you as a friend.”

“So, what I’m hearing is you came for my face, but left because of my personality? Lovely,” I deadpan .

“Hey.” He gives me a gentle shove. “I just mean that you’re a little too much for me. I think I need someone…quieter.”

He looks so uncomfortable, trying to let me down easy. Leaning into him, I bump his shoulder with mine.

“You’re a heartbreaker, Mick. I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve got Marcos to soothe my wounded pride.” Standing up, I reach my arms over my head and arch my back. “This was good. I feel better.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah. Like I said, I think I just needed to say some of that out loud. I was fine over the summer, but the identity crisis sort of hit once we got back to campus. Now, it’s time to come up with a plan to get Marcos to like me.”

“You said he’s slept with you three times,” Micky points out. “He definitely likes you.”

Ignoring this, I soldier on. “If we were at my uncle’s place in Montana, I would woo him with baby goats and horses. Going to have to come up with something else here, though. Thanks for the chat, Mick. You want to come out and grab something to eat? I’ll pay.”

“No. I want to read and not talk to anybody for the rest of the day,” he says honestly.

“Fair. I’m going home. Call me if you need me.”

I ruffle his hair, shaking his head gently from side to side. Leaving, I jog down the stairs, feeling far more buoyant than I did when I arrived. I’m going to go home and come up with a plan. I’m going to make Marcos give me a chance.

First step: talk to Max Kuemper.

“Max Kuemper! Just the man I was hoping to find. ”

Panting, Max pops one headphone out of his ear and slows down the treadmill.

“Hey?” he greets me, glancing around the nearly empty gym. “I thought I was the last one here.”

“Almost. Got a minute, though? I wanted to talk to you about something.” I grin up at him, resting a hand on the side of his machine. Sweat drips down his temples, darkening his hair and sticking his shirt to his back in a deep V pattern. He nods, looking at me curiously.

“Sure. Mind if I cool down while we do?” He gestures at his feet, indicating the slower speed.

“No problem. So, listen. I need to talk to you about your friend Marcos.”

I say this tentatively, watching his face closely as I do. Max nods like he was expecting this to be the case, confirming my suspicion that Marcos had confided at least something about our relationship to him. Already, this is going better than I could have hoped.

“What about Marcos?” he asks carefully, swiping a forearm across his face.

“Well, I’m trying to plan some dates and I need to know what he might like. I’m not talking something generic, either. I need this to be so good he can’t help but fall in love with me.”

Max’s breath stutters and he chokes a little bit, like he wants to laugh, but his breathing is still too elevated to manage it.

“Okay, uhm… His favorite food is pozole, but like, authentic pozole like his abuela used to make. My friend Zeke put us on to a place here in town that serves genuine Mexican dishes, so…”

“Yes! That’s a great idea.” I have no fucking idea what pozole is, but I’m down for whatever. I nod encouragingly at Max. “Can you text me the address?”

“Sure.”

“What else you got?”

“Well, he likes to fish.” I nearly go into cardiac arrest at this.

I love fishing. Max, perhaps seeing my expression, hacks out another laugh and takes a sip of his water.

He dials the treadmill down a little more before continuing.

“He’s always wanted to try surf casting, but we haven’t had a chance yet. ”

“This is gold, Max. I can work with Mexican food and fishing. What’s his favorite flower?”

“Flower?” He squints at me like he’s never heard of a plant before. “I have no idea.”

Fair, because honestly, I don’t even know what my own favorite flower is. Tabling that, I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and think.

“Anything else?” I ask, desperate for any help he can give me.

“He’s not big on open water. So, with the fishing thing, don’t go trying to rent a boat or anything.

Honestly, there’s nothing he’d actively hate doing, as long as it was just the two of you.

Marcos doesn’t really like big crowds or groups of people.

If you’re going out, just pick something that’s a two-man activity. ”

Again, I wish we were closer to home. What better two-man activity than going horseback riding?

“Okay, cool. Want to help me lock him down for Saturday?”

“Oh no.” Max laughs, shaking his head. “Nope. That’s all on you.”

I blow out a hard breath, but nod. Fair enough. “Thanks, Max. ”

“Sure.” He smiles, powering down the machine and hopping off. “I…don’t give up on him if he gives you the runaround, okay? Marcos doesn’t do anything fast. Don’t move on before he’s had time to get his head in the game, all right?”

“All right,” I agree. I feel like I’ve been pretty direct in my pursuit of him at the end of last semester and over the summer, but perhaps when Max says Marcos takes things slow, he means slow .

It doesn’t matter to me. I can do the no-strings-attached, friends-who-hook-up thing, but I can also be the guy who commits.

And right now? I’m committed. If Marcos needs me to wait, I can wait.