"I don't have one."
"You don't have a single picture of the guy you hooked up with for three months?"
"We were at Selection. We weren't exactly taking selfies."
"All right, fair point." Taylor set the phone down. "Okay, so. You hooked up with this guy—what's his name?"
The simple question nearly undid him.
“Sh— Elliot."
"Elliot. For three months. You haven't talked to him since. And now you're home not knowing what to do with any of this."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Okay." Taylor headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge again. "So here's what we're gonna do."
"Oh no."
"Tomorrow night, we're going out."
Hudson groaned. "Tay?—"
"No, listen. You need to figure out if this was an Elliot thing or a guy thing. And the only way to do that is to actually test the theory. One night, we go somewhere, you talk to some guys, see what happens." She handed him another beer. “Recon. You’re familiar with recon, right?”
"This is a terrible idea."
Taylor sat next to him on the couch this time, bumping his shoulder. "Look. I know this is weird and you probably thought you had yourself all figured out. But clearly you don't, and that's okay. It’s actually kind of refreshing.” She said that last part with a smirk.
Hudson eyed her—his little sister, who was somehow handling this better than he was. "You're really okay with this?"
"With what? You maybe being into guys?" Taylor shrugged. "Can’t say I blame you." Her expression softened. "Seriously though. Thank you for telling me. I know that wasn't easy."
"Itreallywasn't."
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you did." She stood up and stretched. "Now get some sleep. Can’t have you yawning through your sexual awakening."
Hudson threw a couch pillow at her. She caught it, grinning, and headed toward her bedroom.
"See you tomorrow, Huddy."
After she disappeared into her room, Hudson lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Great. Perfect. Exactly how he'd pictured spending his leave—letting Taylor drag him out for some kind of scientific experiment on his dick.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HUDSON
One year after Selection
The following night,Hudson found himself crammed into a corner booth at a bar in the West Village. Taylor had picked it with suspicious efficiency, like she had a list of gay bars ready to go, waiting for her brother to have a sexuality crisis.
The place was calledTherapy, which Hudson thought was a little too on the nose.
The noise hit the second they walked in—bass thrumming through the floor, voices layered over voices, laughter loud and sudden from somewhere to his left. Hudson's brain did its usual thing, mapping exits and crowd density, except the hazards here were shirtless bartenders and the overwhelming smell of cologne and sweat and something sweet he couldn't identify.
Guys packed every inch of the place. The bar three-people-deep, tight clusters near the DJ booth, a couple making out against a wall like they'd forgotten other peopleexisted. Hudson's eyes caught on them half a second too long before he looked away.
"So?" Taylor leaned across the table, grinning like this was the best night of her life. "What do you think?”
