Page 109 of The Revenge Game

But it’s not my real name, so it feels like victory and defeat.

When we finally stumble back to his bed, sated and boneless, I hold Justin until he falls asleep in my arms.

But I can’t switch my mind off.

This is supposed to be about me getting Justin comfortable in his sexuality, giving him some experience so he’ll be more confident when he finally decides to come out.

But in teaching Justin, I’m also learning a lot about myself.

Justin and I have agreed things between us are just casual, but there are aspects—how much time we spend together, how naturally we’ve fallen into this rhythm of shared meals and inside jokes and casual touches—that have a relationship vibe.

While I’m helping Justin come to grips with his sexuality, is he also teaching me skills for how to be in a relationship? How to be present with someone without constantly looking for ulterior motives, how to let someone see the messy parts of me without immediately reaching for my shield of sarcasm.

I’ve put off thinking about leaving until I finish designing the app for him because I want to give him this gift to make up for everything I’ve done.

But am I actually doing what’s best for Justin?

Or am I selfishly delaying leaving because I don’t want this thing between us to end?

Chapter Thirty

Justin

During my time at DTL Enterprises, I’ve had to do huge presentations, meet famous sports celebrities, and negotiate high-stakes deals.

But nothing has made my heart beat as fast as adding a small photo frame to my desk.

The picture sits there like an undercover agent among my collection of Houston Texans merchandise and Spurs memorabilia. It’s a snapshot of Tabitha sprawled across Drew’s lap, though the photo only shows his jeans. Cassie lurks in the background, her judgmental expression perfectly captured as she surveys her sister’s betrayal in choosing a human lap over their shared cat tower.

“Are those your cats?” Dave’s voice booms across the sales floor as he leans over my cubicle wall. “Since when do you have cats?”

My stomach clenches.

I’ve spent so long hiding any part of myself that’s not the stereotypical sports-obsessed Texas guy. But the photo makes me happy every time I look at it, so I want it on my desk.

Before I can respond, Dave continues, “That black-and-white one looks like it’s plotting world domination. That’s exactly theexpression my mother-in-law’s cat gets right before it tries to murder my ankles.”

“That’s Cassie,” I say. “And yeah, world domination is definitely on her agenda. Though she’d probably delegate the actual conquering to her sister Tabitha while she supervises from her throne.”

Pete wheels his chair over so he can see. “You’ve got cats? Mate, why didn’t you say something when I was boring everyone with stories about my sister’s demon chihuahua?”

“That thing isn’t a dog. It’s a rat that’s learned to bark,” Dave says.

I smile as I turn back to my computer.

Pete wheels back to his desk, humming the theme fromCatsunder his breath, while Dave launches into a story about Pete’s sister’s chihuahua that involves three garden gnomes and what sounds like a hostage situation.

After I update my quarterly projections, I move on to comparing prices with our competitors, highlighting the cells where we can undercut them. It’s like planning game strategy, only with profit margins instead of passing yards.

“Hey.” Drew’s voice makes me jump.

He’s hovering by my desk, pushing his glasses up his nose. He’s recently started to wear his glasses more at work, and I really like it. Somehow they just make Drew seem more authenticallyhim.

“Hey,” I say.

“I was just wondering if you want to grab some lunch?” he asks.

I glance at Dave and Pete, who are still debating whether Pete’s sister’s chihuahua qualifies as an actual dog or simply “a very angry dust bunny with teeth.”