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“More than date.” I let out a jagged sigh that turns into half a maniacal losing-my-mind laugh. “Fast forward another year later—as in, last week—and the two dickheads just got engaged.”
Chad lets out a gawping clap of laughter and slaps his steering wheel. “No shit! Oh, man. You serious?? Engaged??” He scoffs and shakes his head. “That’s some fuckin’ Jerry Springer shit right there. Phew, boy …”
“Tell me about it.”
“Wow.” He lets out another short laugh, then comes to a stop at a four-way. There isn’t another vehicle in sight, but he sits there awhile and eyes me. “Man, you must have a real big heart in that chest of yours.”
I look at him. “Why do you say that?”
“To endure all of that from your best friend … and still call him your best friend.” His blue eyes stare searchingly into mine. “You gotta have some part deep inside you that actually wants them to be happy, despite who they both are, Sal Pal and this ex of yours. Otherwise you wouldn’t have just let it happen. You could have told ‘em both to fuck off or … or given this Sal clown an ultimatum that he ain’t allowed to date your ex … pull the ‘bro card’ or somethin’, I don’t know.”
I give it a thought, then glance ahead at the aisle of light in front of us, created by his headlights.
Either I do have a big heart, or I’m some kind of total emotional pushover doormat.
“Makes me think about my first time,” Chad says suddenly, then continues on through the four-way intersection.
I turn back to him. “Your first time?”
“Yeah. After Tanner came out, and then I kinda … came out to myself. Those first few trips to Fairview to meet random dudes I met online …” A shiver of a sigh escapes his lips, his bright blue eyes showing the fear he felt. “I was not a comfortable dude. I was probably the worst date they’d ever had. Sweaty. Clammy palms. Barely said a word. Nervous as fuck.”
“I’m sure you were fine.”
“I’m sure I wasn’t.” He laughs. “I can only imagine what they went back and told their friends about me. ‘Oh my God, I met the most clueless country boy in the world and had the worst date ever…’ Damn embarrassing, really.”
“I still can’t believe you couldn’t find yourself a boyfriend all these years.”
“It’s ‘cause so many men just want a hot one-night thing, or a quick get-off, or a …” He shrugs it away. “I mean, I guess I can’t blame ‘em. A lot of ‘em have been havin’ sex with guys their whole lives. I haven’t. It ain’t easy finding anyone like me, who’s … not known for all that long. I was new at it.” He makes another slow right turn, leaning over the steering wheel to get a better look at the dark road. “I’ve never been in a relationship with a guy. Like, a serious one. There were one or two guys in Fairview who wanted to see me more than once, but they fizzled out. No one wants to date the closeted rancher boy from Spruce.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true. You have your charms, too, y’know,” I say—which is something I thought I’d never in a million years say about a guy like Chad. “Not just what you’re packing in those pants of yours.”
Chad snorts. “Just one little taste of my dick and you can’t get enough, huh?”
I love when he talks crudely like that. That’s something I miss on the west coast; no one talks dirty to me. Everyone in my little world over there is made of glass, plastic, or collagen. “Well, to be fair, I haven’t exactly tasted it yet.”
“Oh, there’s still time for that.”
I curl my lips inward and glance toward him.
My eyes drop to his crotch.
He’s driving with his legs spread comfortably apart, one foot lazily on the gas, the other off to the side, and the tight crotch of his fitted slacks in full view. The shine of his buckle is like a giant traffic sign pointing my eyes right to his treasure.
I wonder if he’s sitting like that deliberately.
“You started to say something in the gym closet,” I tell him after pulling my eyes out of his crotch and bringing them back up to his face, which is watching the road and pretending not to have noticed where I was just ogling. “You said ‘I hope I didn’t …’ but didn’t finish your sentence. What were you trying to say?”
He bites his lip, shrugs, then says, “I hope I didn’t make you feel cheapened or … used in any way.”
“Cheapened?”
“Yeah. I mean …” His hand starts to massage the stick shift, indicating some kind of inner frustration. “I’ve spent years having these flings here and there with guys. I don’t want you to feel like just ‘some other guy’ I messed around with. Whatever’s goin’ on between us … I know it’s deeper than that. It’s more meaningful.”
