Page 18 of Give Me What You Will

“You could’ve asked me,” Tina whined. “But you always asked Sammy.”

“Yeah, because he had a sense of urgency that you don’t. It’s what makes him a good doctor.”

Tina rolled her eyes at him and sauntered back outside to the parking lot party.

“Jesus Christ, that woman,” Frankie complained. “Wears more perfume than clothin’. She hugged you, didn’t she? You smell like her.”

Sam smirked. “That she did. I can change if you want.”

Frankie’s eyes jerked to his, widening, and he stiffened.

He inwardly sighed. He needed a drink. A big one. He knew coming here was a risk. Frankie had been pretty upset by the way things ended the last time they saw one another. And he had the distinct feeling that they were going to be tiptoeing around each other all day. Frankie didn’t do middle ground. He was either all in or all out. And he knew how hard it would be for him not to act like they used to.

But they couldn’t be chummy, affectionate pals anymore.

Sam had no interest in going back to the way things were.

He needed to move forward. He needed to be himself, gay and unashamed of his desires. And his desire had been Frankie for too fuckin’ long.

“Because you have a sensitive nose,” Sam clarified, eyebrows arched. “You could always tell when I changed deodorants. Gave me hell when I wore one that bothered you.”

Frankie, after a moment, visibly relaxed and shook his head. “Yeah, because you picked out shit like ocean breeze that smelled like salty ass.”

He chuckled, leaning against the backbar, gazing over those adorably cute pink flamingos on his chest. “Maybe I like salt and asses.”

Oh shit, did I just flirt?

Frankie quickly looked away as a slight, yet telling, flush formed on his cheeks. Something in that moment shifted within Sam, and his eyes narrowed over the nervous way Frankie shifted on his feet. He wondered, for a split second, if Frankie liked his attention.

No, that couldn’t be it.

It couldn’t be.

Or maybe there was something there. Just like there had been something there when he let him kiss him.

Stomping down the flurry of hope storming in his stomach, Sam cocked his chin to the side, eyeing his pink swim trunks. “You look good. Love the pink. I didn’t know it was a hula-themed holiday.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Frankie grinned boyishly at him. “What? You don’t like flamingos?”

This was the Frankie he was familiar with.

Playful, charming, obnoxiously handsome.

If Frankie insisted on making this friendship work, then Sam would have to be himself. Even if that made them both uncomfortable, he couldn’t keep protecting Frankie, not at the expense of himself. Not anymore.

“I love flamingos,” Sam drawled, unable to keep his eyes off his body. “They’re adorable.”

Frankie cleared his throat roughly. “Stop.”

“Nah, I don’t think I will,” he drawled coolly.

“Sammy…” he said in a warning tone.

“Sam,” he heard himself correct firmly. “Sammy was the version of me that could never tell you the truth. If you wanna be my friend,” he leaned forward, invading his space. “Then you’re gonna have to get used to the real me.”

Frankie lifted his chin defiantly. “The real you?”

“Yeah, the me that doesn’t hide that I want you.”