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Twenty-one

Knox

I run my hands over my head and exhale. I can't do this with him again. He can't dismiss me or what we have together as a mistake. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not right for him to deny himself this truth now. I drop my arms and follow him out of the kitchen. He’s rolling up his yoga mat like he didn't just blow my mind while blowing me.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” I ask as calmly as I can manage. I need answers, and I need him to tell me what's happening between us. He shuts down when I get too close, so I have to be strategic about how I go about this.

He glances over his shoulder briefly and goes back to his mat. “I think we established that was the best head of your life, Golden Boy.”

I growl my frustration, done with his constant flippancy and deflecting with humor to avoid the subject because he’s uncomfortable or won't admit what he needs to. “Ryder, I’m serious. You’ve been escalating for months. Little digs to get under my skin. Getting in my face. Touching me. You dry-humped me for fuck’s sake. You kissed me. You just put my dick in your mouth. But every time, you pull away and won't take responsibility for your actions.”

Turning, he walks toward his bedroom, and my heart sinks. He’s going to deny me again. He’s going to shut me out and leave me guessing when he’ll finally admit his feelings.

“I think I claimed that blowjob pretty well, don't you?” He tosses over his shoulder carelessly, a smile added on for good measure.

“You’re not admitting anything, though!” I say, my voice rising with my agitation. He’s not acting the way he normally would, but he’s cavalier with my feelings, and that’s no better.

He pauses when he reaches his bedroom door with me close on his heels and turns as I grip the top of the doorframe to keep myself from following him in. His smile is gone, a frown replacing it, and his eyes are hard as he stares at me.

“What am I supposed to admit, Knox? I loved sucking your cock? Kissing you felt more natural than anything ever has? Fucking against your perfect ass was so good I couldn’t stop and that’s why I came in my pants? What do you want me to fucking say? ”

He’s gesturing at me like all of this is some story we’re concocting, not the most basic truth we’ve lived together. It pisses me off and hurts even more. I drop my hands from the doorframe and clutch the front of my compression shirt that’s suddenly too tight, right over my heart that’s ripping to shreds.

“I need you to say you want this. You want me.” I pound my chest, desperate now as my voice breaks. I look down, feeling like a damn fool for pursuing this when he looks away first. But I have more to say, so I find whatever courage I can, knowing it’s time to ask for what I deserve and stop taking his shitty treatment. “I need you to admit you’ve been the aggressor and keep pushing things because you want to be with me.”

“I can't,” he says, voice rough and full of so much more than those two words can express. “Not yet.”

Fuck, those words do more to tear a hole in my chest than anything can. I feel them eviscerating me, flesh ripping, bones crunching, sinew snapping, marrow obliterated by the most innocuous words that expose my weak fucking heart to the stabbing knife Ryder’s wielding.

I meet his eyes and see the fear and self-loathing and know, I fucking know , he’s not ready. As much as I want him to own this, to be on the same page as me, I can’t make him go any faster than he’s ready to. It fucks me up more than anything because I’m so ready to be with him, in every sense of the word.

I shake my head. The yoke of loneliness settles over my shoulders once again while the freedom to live the life I’d dreamed of, that I’d just embraced, is snatched away by his inability to admit he wants me, too. The future I want so badly is only achievable if it includes him. I let out a sigh heavy with reluctance and defeat.

“I’m here, Ryder. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here to listen and accept you. You're not alone and never will be. Not like I was. You already have all of me. I just need you to want me.”

I leave him at his door and retreat to my room. I can't be anywhere near him right now. I want to force him to talk, make him see logic, and rationally walk him through everything he’s done and how that adds up so he can come to the same conclusion I have.

But Ryder doesn't work like I do, and he’s resistant to my way of doing things. Hell, it took me till thirty-one to want to be open about my sexuality, and I’ve been sure about it since I was a kid. Ryder hasn’t even acknowledged he’s not straight. I guess I can understand his hesitance and confusion.

I fall onto my bed and mindlessly scroll social media, liking Harlowe’s latest food posts. But mostly I’m caught up in my mind. I can't believe the first time I experienced a blow job, it was Ryder’s talented mouth that rocked my world, and he initiated it. Well, his initiating isn't surprising, given his recent history. But that was way beyond a fully clothed touch as he was proving a point or trying to push my buttons.

A notification crosses my screen for the Vers app, and I almost ignore it because I’m not in the mood, but I think better of it and click in. I’ve enjoyed my heart-to-hearts with HotnHandsy as much as the way we make each other come. We have a lot in common, which is a surprise. I don't know if I’ll be able to perform for him now, after Ryder so thoroughly took care of me, but maybe he’ll let me talk through this mess, or I can help him.

The message that’s waiting for me isn’t the sexy prelude to a dick pic request I’d expected.

HotnHandsy: I kind of have a different request today. I hope that’s okay.

HandyManCan: I guess it depends on the request. I’m having a pretty weird day.

HotnHandsy: Well, same. I need to talk, and you were the first person I thought of, but that’s kind of weird, right?

HandyManCan: Not at all. I’m fine with talking. That’s about all I’m good for right now, actually.

HotnHandsy: I never expected to be so relieved that someone on a dick pic app didn’t want to see my dick and was okay with just talking haha

HandyManCan: For real, what’s on your mind?

HotnHandsy: I just did something that went well beyond crossing the line with the guy I’ve told you about. I keep, I don't know, poking the bear, seeing what will get him to snap, but it’s because I want to touch him. He’s not stupid, he knows what I’m doing and doesn’t rise to the bait, which is infuriating in its own way that he’s so patient and controlled.

HandyManCan: When you say you keep poking him, what do you mean?

HotnHandsy: He calls it escalating. I call it not being able to resist his appeal and finding ways to touch him that look like I’m teasing him or something.

HotnHandsy: Listen, I’m not proud of this, but the last time he did something nice for me, I kind of dry-humped him and played it off like it was in appreciation. He rightfully called me out and said appreciation would have gone the other way, and he would have gotten off instead of me. So today, when he did another nice thing for me, because he’s truly the best, I got on my knees and gave him my first blow job. It was insane, but it felt so good, like that’s where I belonged, and he was so perfect.

HotnHandsy: Now I’m freaking out because he wants me to admit I’m bi and tell him I want him, but I’m not ready and it freaks me the fuck out to say it out loud. The actions thing I can do, but I can’t say the words because that makes it real. I know we’ve talked about this, and you helped me realize it’s just a label and doesn’t mean anything, but I’m still stuck, especially after all I’ve put him through. I don't know how to do this.

My hands shake as I throw the phone down on the bed, breaths coming in shallow gasps. I knew this was too good to be true. I knew his story sounded too familiar. There were too many similarities to be a coincidence. But I let myself believe I’d found a kindred soul who’d been through something close enough to my own experience that we could bond over it.

It’s fucking Ryder pouring his heart out to me—no, he thinks he’s talking to a stranger on the internet—which is a million times worse. I wanted him to say this to me , not to my faceless alter ego. What are the odds that I would match with Ryder of all fucking people on an anonymous dick pic app for gay dudes? This is a fucking twist of fate of Machiavellian proportions. Someone must hate me. I reach for the phone again, not sure how to navigate this new reality, but I know he needs me to be his voice of reason more than ever, and I have to say something .

HandyManCan: Why not just tell him you have feelings for him? That seems simple enough, and you do, right?

HotnHandsy: My feelings are bigger than that. I can’t put them into a few words the way he wants me to. It’s not as simple as that, because my whole life would change, and I’m not ready.

HandyManCan: What do you have to be ready for?

HotnHandsy: I’d have to come out, and I don't want people to dissect my sex life publicly.

That I can understand. I’ve kept myself in the closet my entire adult life because I didn’t want anyone to hold my sexuality against me in my professional life, or have it hold me back in any way. But I’m done having this conversation with him over private messages. I stand from the bed, shakily make my way down the hall, and knock on Ryder’s door. My stomach flips when I hear him moving around. I take a half step back when he opens the door.

I hold my phone out, screen open, in front of me. “Do you have anything to say to me now ?”

Ryder’s brows draw together as his eyes drop from my face to the phone, shock registering quickly as he realizes what he’s seeing. The color drains from his face, and his mouth opens, no words come at first before he snaps his eyes to mine, and they’re blazing with fury.

“How the fuck did you get that?”

“You stuck my dick in your mouth earlier tonight. Didn't it look familiar to you, HotnHandsy?” I ask, scrolling up through our conversation for him to see the photos we’ve sent each other. “Although the angle of the photo makes it appear bigger, so I can see how you may have had your doubts.”

Ryder’s cheeks burn red as he pushes my hand holding the phone away roughly. “Fuck off.” He tries to close the door on me, but I’m not letting this go. I push it open and block the door frame with my body.

“Why won't you talk to me, Ryder? I know how you feel. I just need you to say it so we’re on the same page. Otherwise, this all means nothing, and you’re playing with my emotions for sport. I’m not okay with that. I deserve to be treated better. I deserve someone who wants to be with me in public as much as they do in private,” I say, the conviction shredding my voice.

“I don't want to talk about this!” he shouts, unable to look at me as he drives his fingers into his hair and paces around the room. I notice he’s placed the canvas print of Goldie on the dresser across from his bed, and my heart skips like the traitorous bastard it is, thinking this means something.

“You can't keep running away from me. I don't care if you’re scared, so am I. I just want to be with you and know we’re in this together,” I tell him calmly, lowering my voice and putting up my hands to hopefully show him I’m not trying to fight, I just want to support him.

“I’m not scared, I just don't want to talk to you,” he insists, turning the other way and crossing his arms. He’s so wound up, he can’t stop moving, and he won't even look at me. His hands move back into his hair in agitation.

“You had no problem talking to me when I was just a faceless man you jacked off to on the internet,” I say softly. “We talked about this, and I didn't judge you. I listened to you. You can just say it to my face now. Hell, you have no problem saying everything else to my face without thinking. This should be nothing,” I joke to lighten the mood.

It doesn't lighten the mood.

Instead, it seems to flip the switch from agitated to enraged in Ryder. His hands drop from his hair, and his face turns red. His brows scrunch and his jaw tightens as he stalks up to me and gets right in my face.

“I don't need your fucking sensitivity training or comportment lessons. I don't need to stay here, and I don't need to say shit to you,” he says slowly, each word ripped through his clenched jaw. “I’m done with this Golden Boy babysitting bullshit that’s done nothing for me, anyway. I’ll take my things and get the fuck out of here and you can have your space back just the way you like it, and we’ll forget any of this even happened.” He pushes me out of the room and slams the door in my face.

I let him, because I know this isn’t a fight I can win.

Instead, I lose what I want most.