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I really did only come here to ask Mason about the benefit thing—which I only just remember now—and maybe hang out for a bit. I didn’t even realize there was a big college football game on tonight.
But now that I’m here…
Did Mason seriously think to set me up with Will?
Obviously, Mason didn’t know I was coming tonight. But by the way he was oh so excited to introduce Will and me… it begs to question if this was something he had in mind all along, ever since learning Will was gay too.
And it, well, stings.
For a multitude of reasons.
Out of everyone here—except for Will, of course—I expected better from Mason.
Assuming I’d be attracted to the only other queer person he knows, simply on principal is…well it’s not only fucked up, but hell if it’s not something I could see my sister doing.
From her, it would be annoying as fuck. And I’d make certain she knew that.
From him…
It just hurts. Just like it did when he got all growly and pissy over that guy I hooked up with.
Not only does it make me long for things I’ll never have. But it makes me think of Izzy. Makes me miss her, and wish she was still here to meddle and annoy me and drive me fucking crazy.
But she’s not—she’s not, and I’m alone, all a-fucking-lone. And?—
“Whoa, easy,” Will says, laughing when I start chugging my drink.
Grimacing, I swallow, and rub the back of my arm across my mouth.
“You look like you made out with a Smurf,” he says.
“Perfect.”
Shaking his head, he jerks his head to the side, gesturing for me to follow him. He leads me toward the back, to a pub-style table without any stools.
Settling my nearly empty cup on the table, I wash it down with a sip of beer.
Diagonally from me, Will gulps down more of the blue drink, his throat bobbing with his swallow. His gaze is trained on the television behind the bar, and I can’t help but wonder if he likes football. Again, I feel a pang of envy.
His gaze lowers, forehead creasing as he looks around the bar, like he’s searching for someone.
“So, um, what brought you back here?” I say.
He drags his gaze to mine, and smiles. It’s a small one. Sad too, and reflected as much in his eyes as he says, “My boyfriend died last winter. Needed a fresh start.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. In the back of my mind though, I can’t help but notice how easily he said that.
Boyfriend.
Like it’s nothing.
He nods. “Thanks.”
I wince and look away. “Actually, no, you know what, I’m not sorry. What happens to your boyfriend fucking sucks.”
He barks a short, rusty laugh.
