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Something like: if I were to be in a gay relationship, wouldn’t he be the best damned thing to happen to me?
That last thought makes me laugh. As usual, humor coming to my rescue when I’m all fucked-up otherwise. The laughter fades quickly, though, and I’m left with a ringing uncertainty in front of my eyes that makes me almost run a red light. I have to slam on my brakes before tossing myself into an intersection like a lamb amidst a charging stampede of wolves.
Waiting for the light to change, I take a deep breath. A really, really deep breath. In the brief clearing of my thoughts, I can still see myself chasing after boys who just called Ryan my girlfriend, boys who abandoned the bikes they were escaping on because I had already long outrun them—and the feeling when my knuckles met their faces.
I think about the time I straddled Ryan in that boy’s bathroom and the boner I felt beneath me—his boner, throbbing, needing. I think about the hours I spent at home lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling as I reflected on it. Ryan, the boy who’s always chased me, who’s always cared about me, who’s always there.
Maybe people thinking that Ryan and I are an item isn’t the worst thing in the world. Not the worst thing by far.
14
RYAN
The whole time that Stefan and I eat my roasted chicken and vegetables at my tiny dining room table, he keeps giving me this … look.
I’m trying to watch TV and not notice it. But every time I laugh at the show that’s on, I turn to him to see if he’s laughing too, and instead, I find him just staring at me.
Staring at me with those bright blue eyes … and chewing.
Staring and chewing.
“What?” I prompt him, my mouth full of broccoli.
He presses his lips together, shrugs, then says, “Nothing.”
Nothing. Yet he continues chewing and staring at me, his eyes glistening beautifully under the hanging light.
I ignore him and return my attention to the TV, determined not to engage in Stefan’s weirdness tonight. Try as I might to ignore him, I still feel his fierce blue eyes on the side of my face.
“You do something with your hair?”
I turn to him and stop chewing. “What?” I grunt through yet another mouthful.
“Your hair.” He nods at it. “You do something to it? New look or … or something?”
I swallow, then lift an eyebrow. “Same as it always is.”
“Hmm.” He shrugs. “Looks nice.”
I narrow my eyes quizzically. “Thanks …?”
“So how was school today?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “You’re acting like I’m your kid who’s come home from his first day in high school. What are you? My daddy?”
“Hey, if you’re into that. Alright,” he grunts, snorting from his own dry attempt at humor. “Just don’t hide your bad report cards or I’ll have to put you over my knee.”
I almost choke on my bite of chicken thigh. “Alright. Well, that escalated quickly.”
Stefan kicks me lightly under the table, like a playful nudge with his foot. “You’re my best bud,” he tells me, his eyes sparkling and his jaw set tightly. “You know that, right?”
I stare at him hard. Seriously, where the ever-loving fuck is all of this coming from?
“Sure,” I reply tentatively.
“Good.” He shovels up his last forkful of carrots before rising from the table. “Going for seconds. Damn, you can cook.”
“The vegetables are just steamed,” I mumble.
“Then … you must be … one steamy … dude,” he sputters, his corny joke coming out slowly like he has to reach for every word through a fog of whatever the hell’s going on in his head.
I stare at his back while he serves himself some more from the kitchen. I don’t know who this version of Stefan Baker is and where he came from, but something’s definitely going on.
A couple hours later, Stefan and I have had our turns in the bathroom to shower, and now we’re stretched out on the couch. Stefan is mindlessly watching whatever’s on TV while I’m typing away on the laptop balanced on my thighs.
Truth be told, I’m paying attention to neither the TV nor the crap on my computer screen. All of my attention is on Stefan, who I’m trying not to look at. He’s wearing a white tank top and a loose pair of navy Nike sweat shorts. Of course he’s free-balling it, which I noticed the second he came out of the shower and walked down the hall. My eyes went straight to his crotch as I saw the outline of his cock swinging with his every stride. I had to look away, too certain Stefan was paying attention to what I was ogling.
Is he doing this deliberately? Is he trying to make me insane while he’s staying here with me?
