“Sorry if it’s weird to find out now,” Connor says, clearing his throat.
“It’s not, it’s just—” I start, then immediately stop, not even sure what I’m trying to say. “I just— I had no idea.”
“I got that,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you…okay with that?”
“Of course!” I say, too loudly. “I mean, obviously. I’m gay too. So that would be pretty hypocritical of me if I wasn’t.”
Connor’s shoulders relax slightly, and I realize he was actually worried about my reaction. As if I’d somehow be upset that the guy I spent last night with is attracted to men.
“Good,” he says. “That’s good.”
We fall into silence again, and I’m painfully aware of how awkward I’m making this, because now that the initial shock is wearing off, my brain has decided to pick up the next available crisis.
If Connor is gay, and apparently has been this whole time, what did last night mean to him?
Was it just sex after a bad day? Was it a one-time thing? Or could it have meant something?
I stop myself mid-thought.
No. Absolutely not. Connor doesn’t do relationships, and even if he did, why would he want one with me? It’s not like I’m anything special. And he’s basically a Greek god. Not literally, obviously, but with that personality, that body, and that face card, he could get anyone he wanted.
Which means I need to stop doing this. Stop taking every touch, every look, every moment that felt a little too good and turning it into proof that I wasn’t the only one feeling things. Stop building a whole future in my head from scraps, then acting shocked when reality comes in swinging.
I need to pull myself together and let Connor know I get it. That I’m not expecting anything from him. That he doesn’t need to start avoiding me after this. Or worse, move out just to escape the weird neighbor he almost fucked once who apparently mistook two orgasms for a love story.
“Look,” I say, setting down my wine glass. “Just because you’re gay too doesn’t mean I expect anything from you.”
Okay. Great start.
I let out a sigh.
“There’s no need to define this…thing.” I wave my hand vaguely.
Connor’s eyebrows pull together.
“This thing?”he repeats.
“Yeah, like…” I search for the right words and somehow find only the worst possible ones. “No need to put a label on the sex. Or make it into something it’s not. It can just be sex. Casual.”
The second I say it, I want to physically remove myself from the conversation. Ideally by launching myself directly into the lake.
Connor doesn’t say anything, which is obviously a terrible sign, so I keep talking. Because apparently my survival instinct has left the property.
“It was fun, right? That’s all that matters. And we both wanted it. Well, at least I did. I mean, I hope you did too.”
Oh my God. I can actually hear myself spiraling in real time.
“Noah—” Connor says, leaning a little closer.
“What?”
His expression changes, going serious, and my stomach drops. His jaw tightens, that little muscle twitching again. He looks like he’s about to say something I’m not going to like, and my brain takes that as a personal threat.
I look away, my eyes stinging.
Jesus. What do I do? How do I unwind this fucking mess? Should I just leave?
“Noah,” he says again. “Look at me.”
