Page 45 of Give Me What You Will

Frankie always loved standing out in a crowd—making a show of himself, getting all the attention. It’s why he supposed he had such a big personality because it drew people in. Attention mattered to him because his father never cared to give him any. It wasn’t until he met Sammy that he stopped caring about others' reactions to him.

He just wanted his best friend's approval.

His eyes on him in the arena, at the bar, in the garage…

Smiling for him, proud of him, looking at him like he was right fuckin’ now.

Mind whirling, heart racing, Frankie quickly snapped the cooler lid shut. “We should, uh… get goin’. Gotta meet up with Ryan.”

Sammy nodded, finishing the rest of his beer and adding it to the cooler before climbing into the car.

A strange awareness of how close they were settled over him the entire way back to the house. The faint smell of leather polish, beer, and Sammy—who smelled clean like basic bar soap. He didn’t wear fancy cologne or obnoxious deodorants, which meant he barely had a scent at all. He wondered how close he would have to get to smell the real Sammy.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, exhaling a little too loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Sammy asked quietly.

“Nothin’.”

“You’re quiet.”

He nodded, still not answering.

“Is it about last night?” Sammy finally asked the question that had been pulsating between them since they locked eyes today.

“Yeah,” he admitted gruffly.

Sammy nodded, silent.

He sucked in a breath. “I ain’t gay, Sammy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He snapped his gaze to his. “What do you mean?”

“You said it in a judgy tone.”

“I didn’t!” Frankie caught himself and straightened. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then explain to the gay man, who feels offended, what you actually fucking meant,” Sammy said irritably.

“I’m just sayin’, I ain’t gay,” he said, softer now, not understanding why his pulse was racing so quickly.

Sammy scrubbed his hand over his temple. “You could be bi.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“You don’t believe in bisexuality?”

“I believe you either like a man or a woman, can’t be both. On or off. That’s it. End of story. It’s impossible to like both.”

“Jesus Christ, Frankie. You sound like your dad.” Sammy's tone wasn’t harsh or angry. He sounded disappointed, and that stung a hell of a lot more.

He had always been sensitive around the topic of his father—both of them were.

Sammy’s dad had abandoned him with his crazy, drunk mother. Frankie’s father had neglected him to the point of abandonment, but whenever his father did finally show up, it was with a hard fuckin’ slap and a talking-to on how life really was, and that real men weren’t fuckin’ pussies.

And pussies, in his father’s eyes, were faggots.