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He still gently strokes my hand with his thumb in silent support.

“I’ll get a job then. Maybe at least it will be something I don’t hate.”

Dad shakes his head. “I see you made your choice, Aaron. Just don’t come crying to us when you can’t pay your rent.”

Mom looks as though she wants to say something, but then sneers when Dad pulls her away and they walk off, no doubt discussing my uselessness and downfall. I know that they actually want me to fail and run to them, so they can be all benevolent and throw I-told-you-sos my way, but while many people would have said I’m throwing away opportunities, I can no longer live a lie.

I turn to Vex with a nervous smile, still shocked by what I’ve just done. “I guess you’re stuck with me now…”

He smiles and kisses the top of my head, making me melt with love for him. “I guess I am. Will they come around?”

I hug him as nerves take hold of me. “I don’t know,” I say with a lump in my throat. “They’ll probably speak to me again, but I don’t know what will happen now,” I say as my parents march back to their car, not sparing me a single glance. I know that in their minds, they’re doing this to help me, but I’m done with their ideas being forced on me.

“You will check if your dorm and meal plan are paid for the year or not. But if you want, you can also move in with me. And I know you hate my taste in decor, so feel free to add your own touch.”

My lips stretch into a smile. “You have no taste in decor.”

“My studio looks amazing.”

I laugh. “Yeah, ‘cause Yasmin decorated it.”

He gives me a kiss. “That is true.”

A part of me stiffens when someone whistles from afar, but I choose to ignore it this time. “I’d love to move in with you. I’m… I’m a little scared of what will happen now.”

He puts his arms around me, and I feel safer already. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s gonna be okay.”

Epilogue

Vex

Three months later

My whole body aches from carrying heavy items while bending into contorted positions, on account for the narrow staircase leading up to my apartment. I would love for someone else to do it for me while I drink cool lemonade with my boy tucked under my arm, but hiring movers would have been a waste of money when I can do the job with the help of Aaron’s friend.

The fact that the huge mattress is the last thing we need to bring upstairs fills me with relief.

Matt, who got the wrong end of the stick and is pulling the damn thing up while I carry the greater part of its weight, grunts, and as bright light from the nearby lamp catches his features, he looks red and shiny like an apple dipped in sugar syrup.

“Just a few more steps,” he mutters between one huff and another. “Couldn’t you pick a lighter mattress?”

A jolt trails up the back of my thigh as I twist in order to push the foam-and-box-spring bulk past the last curve of the staircase. The conversation might be using up the oxygen I need to continue the climb, but it’s distracting at least.

“I did want to, but Aaron said this one’s much better,” I say with a huff as we stall to let our hands rest for a few seconds. “Gotta admit it's much sturdier.”

Matt chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows. “I hear you, bro. This one time me and my boyfriend rented a yurt, and the bed was only a camping cot. We actually broke it and had to sleep on the ground, and there were ants everywhere.”

How this blond jock in a neon yellow sweatshirt is Aaron’s best friend will forever be a mystery to me, but I’m not complaining, because his muscle mass is very useful right now. For all his lovely qualities, Aaron’s arms are noodles, and he’s of better use getting us iced coffees as we’re dealing with the mattress.

I take a deep breath and push. “Yeah... it needs to withstand... substantial movement,” I say just as Matt reaches the landing. Getting it to the bed—because yes, Aaron decided the pallet bed is out—will be a piece of cake in comparison to dragging it to my apartment.

Ha. I’m discussing gay stuff with an acquaintance.

That escalated rather quickly, but while my public coming out after years of hiding who I am inside was a nerve-wracking experience, I regret nothing.

Actually, I do. I regret ever pretending I was into all those girls and leading them on for the content it produced. The crowd I attract have their hearts in the right place, and most of my subscribers stayed. In fact, I’ve gotten through to an even larger audience since. Not a single sponsor dropped me, and I was asked to give a talk at a Pride event this summer.

Things are looking good for me. In every way.