Page 32

Max reaches a hand out to cup the back of my head. Pulling me down, he leans over and kisses my temple so quickly I barely feel the contact.

“Te amo, Marcos,” he says, as he rises to standing.

“Yo también te amo,” I murmur, watching as he pads softly down the hall to his room.

I sit quietly for a few more minutes before slipping into my own bedroom.

Sitting down at my desk, I click on the lamp and try to distract myself with homework.

There’s no use worrying. Not yet. Like Max said, we’ve still got plenty of time to decide.

And Nate might not want me by then, anyway. By the time summer rolls around, he’ll have long figured out he’s far too good for someone as boring and difficult as me.

Luke and Max are in the kitchen when Nate and I walk through the door.

The counters are an absolute disaster, and Luke has so much flour speckled in his hair, it looks like he’s got dandruff.

I realize, when his dark eyes track from me over to Nate, that the pair of them haven’t actually been formally introduced yet.

“Nate!” Max says exuberantly, metal mixing bowl cradled against his chest as he stirs something with a wooden spoon. “You guys are just in time to help!”

“Nate, this is Luke.” I wave a hand in Luke’s direction and step close enough to Max that I can peek into his bowl. A lump of chunky dough sits in the bottom. I miss what Nate says to Luke, distracted. “What is this supposed to be?”

“It’s banana bread,” Max tells me cheerfully.

“Are you sure?”

He frowns, looking down at the dried clumps of dough he’s ineffectually stirring. Behind me, Luke laughs loudly. I turn to find Nate showing him something on his cellphone and both of them wearing identical grins. Max raises his eyebrows at me, I told you so clear in his expression.

“We followed the recipe,” he says, bringing me back to the banana bread. At the mention of food, Nate looks over. Luke runs a hand through his hair, dusting flour across the tops of his shoulders. I cannot fathom how he could get so messy unless they were having a food fight in here.

“I don’t think it’s meant to be that dry,” I tell Max. “You added too much flour, probably.”

“What? It’s fine,” Luke protests. “We can just add a little water or something.”

“Let’s try that,” Max agrees, holding the bowl under the faucet. Luke turns it on, and I flinch at the volume that splatters into the bowl.

“And now it’s going to be too wet,” I mutter. Nate laughs.

“I’m pretty sure we did this exactly right. We followed this precisely ,” Luke tells me, holding out his phone to show me the recipe. There’s a smear of banana across the top corner, obscuring the screen.

“Well, I guess we’ll see,” I say doubtfully, watching as Max pours the batter into a baking pan. I glance up at the oven. “Did you pre-heat that?”

“Damn,” Luke mutters. “Forgot that part.”

“You could probably cook it while it’s pre-heating,” Nate puts in. “Pre-heating is more of a suggestion than a requirement, right?”

“Ay dios mío,” I mutter, rubbing my temples.

“None of that attitude, MG,” Luke says, pointing at me. Nate raises a questioning eyebrow, and Luke adds in explanation, “Marcos the Grouch.”

I roll my eyes, and put a hand on Nate’s back to steer him from the kitchen.

“Don’t mind him. We picked him up off the side of the road and are just waiting for the Humane Society to come put him down.”

Luke laughs and rolls his eyes good-naturedly, tipping his head obligingly when Max reaches over to brush the flour off his hair.

“We’ll call you when the banana bread is done,” he tells us.

“Thanks!” Nate replies enthusiastically. We retreat into my bedroom, and he turns to me the moment the door is closed, smile falling and expression becoming serious. “We’re going to have real food, right?”

“Oh yeah, we aren’t eating whatever that is. I can promise you, it’s not banana bread.”

Kicking off his shoes in a way that flings them across the room, he flops back on my bed with his legs hanging off the side.

Lying like that, his shirt pulls up just enough to see a smooth expanse of belly, three different layers of tan lines visible.

When I sit down next to him—close enough that his thigh is pressed against my hip—he touches his fingertips to my lower back in a silent question.

I think about it for a second before answering.

“I think so,” I say eventually. Immediately, those fingers snake beneath the hem of my shirt and he flattens his palm against my skin, stroking up my spine as high as he can reach. A sensation like tiny electrical shocks travels across my skin, and my stomach squirms. I sigh.

“Actually, maybe not,” I tell him softly. His hand is gone from my shirt in moments, and I feel a gentle tug as he pulls it back into place. I don’t turn around and look at him yet, frustrated with myself.

“Come lie down,” he requests, scooting over a bit to give me enough room that I don’t have to touch him if I don’t want to.

I comply, mimicking the way he’s lying and resting my hands on my stomach. Turning my head, I look at him and find his eyes already on me. Rolling on to my side just enough to reach, I put my hand flat on his stomach above his shirt and spread my fingers. He smiles.

“Sorry,” I apologize. Sadness overpowers the frustration as I look at him. I’m not sure how long this relationship will last—not when Nate both wants and needs more contact than I’ll probably ever be able to give him.

“Hey, that’s okay. Do you want to go bowling?”

I laugh, startled by the random question, and prop myself up on an elbow to peer down at his face.

“Bowling?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I haven’t been bowling in forever, but yesterday I saw an advertisement for a glow-in-the-dark bowling alley. How cool would that be? We should go.”

“Okay, sure.” He sits up and my hand slides down into his lap. Surprised, I follow him. “Oh, like right now?”

“Yeah! Why not?”

“It’s eleven in the morning on a Sunday,” I point out, laughing at the obvious excitement on his face. “But sure, yeah. Why not?”

“Should we see if Max and Luke want to go?” he suggests, leaning over and kissing the top of my shoulder through my shirt. Heat that has little to do with the gesture, and everything to do with his words, burns in my stomach.

“Really?” I ask. Too many times in the past, partners haven’t appreciated how much time Max and I spend together. Nobody ever quite wanted to believe that, even though we both date men, we’ve never been interested in dating each other. Nate shrugs, still grinning.

“Why not? We could play teams. Me and you against Max and Luke—the best couple versus the worst.”

“Oh my god.” I snort. “Or you and Max against me and Luke. Hockey versus baseball.”

“No way.” He scoffs, standing and waiting for me to join him before going in search of his shoes and tugging them on. “It’s me and you or nothing, baby.”

Max and Luke are still in the kitchen when we leave my bedroom, and both look surprised to see us again. Curious, I turn on the oven light and peer inside at the unfortunate banana bread. As suspected, it still doesn’t look edible.

“You guys interested in going bowling?” I ask, looking at Max.

“Glow-in-the-dark bowling,” Nate puts in. I look over at Luke and watch the way his face lights up at these words .

“We’re in,” Max agrees, also noticing Luke’s obvious excitement at the offer. “Hockey against baseball?”

I smile at him. Of course we’d be on the same page. “Nate wants to do couple versus couple.”

“Yeah, I can’t be on a team with Marcos,” Luke puts in. “He’ll lose on purpose just to spite me.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be winning anyway,” Nate tells him, putting a hand on my hip and tugging me back against his chest so he can rest his chin on top of my head. I scowl. I’m not that fucking short.

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s make it interesting,” Luke counters.

Max and I trail behind Nate and Luke as we leave the apartment, and walk toward Max’s car. He’s watching his boyfriend, shoulders loose and a smile on his face. Max looks over at me, eyes bright in the midday sun.

“If they become best friends, we can have epic double dates for the rest of our lives,” he tells me.

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I warn, trying to ignore the way my heart leaps at the words.

I will not get my hopes up about any sort of future with Nate.

Not when there’s so much unknown waiting on the horizon for me and Max.

Not when he could decide at any time that he’s done wasting time with me, and wants to date someone he can kiss with impunity.

Nate peeks over his shoulder and smiles at me, slowing his pace enough that Max and I can catch up.

He touches me again, fingers sliding between my shoulder blades and down to the small of my back.

I never had to ask him to do that—touch me above my clothes unless I say otherwise—he just does it.

It makes me feel equal parts sad and grateful.

He shouldn’t have to try so hard to work around me. And one day, he’ll have had enough of it.