Page 45 of Shattered Dreams

What if I don’t want things to go back to the way they were?

“Thanks,” I say. “Have a safe flight.”

And with that, I don’t wait to hang up, both relieved and guilt-ridden about getting my ex-wife off the phone.

It isn’t until I hear the sound of Dre’s breathing, his footsteps, that I realize he’s in the room.

I sit up.

“How long have you been there?” I ask with panic.

“Long enough,” he says carefully as he opens his drawer and pulls out clean underwear, jeans, and fitted white tee. I let my gaze drift up and down his back, taking in his physique. The curve of his biceps, the swell of his ass.

My stupid cock jumps back to life and I absent-mindedly adjust myself as I try to not gawk at my best friend, even though I can’t deny he looks really good in those damn sweatpants.

“What did your mom want?” I ask, forcing myself to get up and do the same.

“I usually go for breakfast every Sunday before taking Rylee back home,” he explains.

I pull on my neon green tank—courtesy of my new wardrobe—because I would not let Dre buy me an entire closet full of clothes. I’m a simple guy when it comes to clothes; like Mack. I don’t need much, not like a walk-in closet like Alex or a room full of sneakers, like Dre. I just need some polos and jeans, some basic athletic wear—ball shorts, track pants, tanks and some Under Armour from time to time, and a good pair of running shoes, and I’m set. Maybe a couple pairs of khakis—some basic ones for work, and a dressy pair for holiday parties and football banquets.

“Oh,” I say as I slip on the matching black with green stripes satin athletic shorts. Bright colors always make my tan look darker than it is, which I appreciate.

And then I realize when I look at the clock how late it actually is. It’s almost eleven am. Shit.

No wonder Amelia was worried about me. I never sleep in this late.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Dre holds up his hands. “It’s fine. Really. But we should, uh… probably head over there soon because my mom’s got a lesson at noon.”

I can’t play instruments for shit, mostly because I can’t read music, but I envy those who can. Dre’s mom is one of those people. She’s been playing piano for ages and runs lessons out of her house. Which she was doing before Dre moved in with Rylee after he lost Victoria. Now with him out of the house, I guess she’s back to the grind of teaching little kids how to play piano. And clarinet, and whatever else the kids want to classify as an instrument these days.

“Right, of course,” I say, clearing my throat. Dre watches me intently, and I meet his gaze. The tension, the silence is awkward, but not in a bad way. More like an… unfamiliar way.

I wait for him to move, but he doesn’t.

I’m not sure if he wants me to make a move… on him, or out of this bedroom. Maybe a little of column a; maybe a little of column b.

I take a step forward, though I wish I could stay here, in this little spotlight of bright sunlight shining through the windows, towards the door, and only when I hear Andre’s sigh of relief behind me, following me, do I feel like I can finally breathe.

The drive over to the Taylor’s is quiet, save for the sound of the radio. Not that we always talk, but it feels like we’re avoiding it. Or rather the elephant in the room. Finally, because I can’t stand it anymore, I blurt out, “This doesn’t have to be awkward or weird, you know.”

Andre doesn’t answer me, so I keep talking, mostly out of nerves but also because I can’t help but feel like I need to for the sake of my sanity—or whatever remains of it.

“I’m not, like… secretly into guys or anything.”

“I know that, Paul.” Andre clears his throat.

“But I don’t regret what happened, if that’s what you are worried about.” The words fall out of my mouth without warning. “I’d do it again.” Heat rushes through me. “If you wanted to, I mean.”

Andre is quiet for a moment, and I worry I just did the opposite of what I’m trying to avoid, and made it fucking awkward.

Good job, Paul.

“You would?” His question feels unsure, which isn’t like him.

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I would. Would you?”