Page 97 of Line Change

I’ve waited while he worked through curious, then friends, then exclusive as long as nobody said what any of it looked like. I told myself that was fine because he kept choosing me. Last night he came to Marlowe’s and then home with me, and this morning I woke up thinking we might walk into practice together.

I don’t care whether he calls himself bi, queer, or nothing. He can take all the time he needs to work that out, but I’m not going to be the special dick he lets himself suck while he insists he’s straight or a way for him to keep everything else exactly the same.

The line about a straight guy getting fucked stupid is right there. I could say it and watch it hurt him. I don’t want to win that badly.

I pull a clean shirt from my dresser and strip off the one I’m wearing.

“Nolan?”

I drag the clean shirt over my head. “Then figure it out somewhere else.”

Ben goes still. “What?”

“I’m not doing this with you anymore.”

“Because Bobby walked in?”

Of course that’s what he thinks happened. Bobby walked in, Ben panicked, and I’m punishing him for being scared. It would be easier if that were true.

I grab jeans from the chair and step into them. “I never asked you to say shit to the team.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

Ben stares at me. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

I pull up my jeans and fasten them. My hands only shake once, when the button slips away from my thumb.

“Nolan, come on.”

The name almost gets me. I wanted him to use it. I wanted a lot of things I was trying not to ask him for.

“I mean it.” I sit long enough to shove my feet into socks, then get up and take my shoes from beside the bed.

Ben watches me tie them. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.” I tighten the second knot and stand.

“Because I said I’m straight?”

“No. Because you called this some weird exception.” My voice nearly goes on the last word. “I’m not doing that.”

His face tightens. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” I get my practice bag from the closet. “Figure out what you meant.”

He steps into my path when I head for the door. His shirt is still inside out. I can see the flat seams and the tag at the back of his neck, where I had my mouth while he was coming last night. Now he can’t look at me without looking scared.

“Can we just talk about this after practice?” he asks.

If I stay, I’ll let him touch me. He’ll kiss me, and I’ll take whatever answer lets him come home with me again. Then I’ll spend another week pretending I’m not waiting for him to want the same thing I do.

I move around him.

“You better call an Uber,” I say. “You’ll be late to practice.”

“Nolan.”