Page 99 of These Secret Years

We’ve both come twice. We’ve had beer, we’ve had ham sandwiches. We’re doing the whole guess the constellation thing we always do when we’re out here late enough, and so I bring it up finally. “You gonna forget all about me this summer, or what?”

Look, I’ve thought over and over about how I wanted to bring this up. I don’t want to freak him out. I don’t want to put any pressure on him, but I do want to introduce the topic and get him talking. That was the best line I could come up with.

“I don’t plan to,” he says. “But I guess we should talk.”

“Okay. You first.”

“I’m not sleeping with Chelsea anymore.”

That wasn’t what I expected him to say. “Meaning?”

He sighs heavily like I’m the one being stupid. “Meaning, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. Not that I’m saying we’re—I’m not implying anything with that, I’m just saying I prefer men, I guess.”

“Ah.” Yeah, it’s hard not to read anything into that. My heart is skipping along madly like the whole world is about to change in the best possible way, but my brain knows better.

“You know,” he says in the way that makes it sound like he thinks I should be the one explaining myself. “You’re the one who has all the risk. Why don’t you tell me what you’re gonna be thinking about this summer.”

I’m gonna be thinking about all the shit he’s never told me. About who gave him the car, who pays for his tuition. Who fucking hurt him. And whether they’re still doing it. To a lesser extent, I’ll be thinking about who else is sticking their dick in his mouth all summer. How many will there be? How do I not get jealous and pissed off about it? I haven’t given him any shit about it because he’s implied that the money he makes from that will get him out from the other mess we don’t talk about, but I don’t like it.

I don’t have a problem with sex work on principle—I get that some people have fewer options and certain skill sets, and some even enjoy it, but it doesn’t mean I want him doing it. As much as I’d love to be able to put my arm around him, walk through campus with him and say he’s mine, I can’t. I’m also not broke, but I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t take money from me, and I don’t think I’d want to wonder if that’s why he was staying with me, either.

I’m lucky he’s kept these weekly hook-ups personal and not transactional. Even the first time. Especially the first time because that night sort of rocked my world. Most of all what I’ll be thinking about this summer, though is this. Him. I’ll miss him more than I want to admit.

“Outplaying Blake next year,” I say.

“You need to up your social media game. Way more gym pics and thirst traps.”

I laugh. “How the hell is that gonna help?”

“Distract him. Throw him off his game. You’re not getting any less hot, you know?”

“Thanks. You know, if you’d come home with me, we could hit the gym together. I’d get you into fighting shape, and we could crash at some sick houses.”

“That sounds…” He stops himself. “I wish I could.”

“I wish you could, too.”

“What else do you wish?” Sullivan asks.

“Honestly?” Because it’s now or never. “That I could stop wanting you the way I do.”

“You will eventually,” he says, like this was never a question. Like it’s not something that fucking tortures me. “You don’t want Blake anymore, do you?”

“Fuck no. But he’s an asshole.”

“I’m not much better.”

“Well, I still like you, and don’t say that shit about how I don’t really know you because I’m pretty sure I know you better than most people do at this point.”

“All right fine. I won’t say it, but only because you’re mostly right.”

“Are you gonna look for someone else?” I ask after a few seconds of silence. He shifts, and I can feel his eyes on me, so I turn to face him.

“Honestly, I need to focus on not flunking out. I have two classes to retake this summer⁠—”

“What?” He never mentioned that to me.

“It’s not a big deal⁠—”