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“You know what’d be better?” I say with the start of a soft smile.
“Food.”
I laugh. We left Woody’s without ordering cheesesteaks. “Yeah, and it’d be even better if you spent the night with me.” I feel smooth in my come-on, despite the stress of tonight. Which I delight in since I’ve been more rattled around Oscar lately.
“I wish I could…” His voice is strained, lips downturned, and his deep-brown eyes return to the road.
My pulse plummets.
Fuck.
“Charlie’s temp told me he’s back home,” Oscar explains fast. “It’s early for him, which means he’ll probably be awake at the crack of dawn. I need to be in New York.”
No lie. That hurts a little.
I swallow down a lump in my throat and press my skull to the headrest. Right as I drop my arm off his seat, he tells me, “Come stay at my place tonight.”
My head lazily rolls to the side to meet his eyes. He glances from me to the road, then to me with apprehension. I start to smile.
He sees it. “That a yes?”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s a yeah.”
He matches my grin. “Good.” He takes a hand off the wheel just to clasp mine. I thread our fingers, and his chest rises. He adds, “I’ll stop by The Walnut so you can grab your things at your apartment.”
“No need.” I have to let go of his hand as I rotate, the seatbelt cinching over my bare chest. I wrench my backpack from the backseat and drop it on my lap. “I have everything right here. Even a toothbrush and a suit. I heard around town that Oscar Oliveira gives good advice, so I thought I’d listen.”
“Sounds like I’m dating a smart guy.” He checks his rearview as an SUV rides our ass. “And I’m legitimately surprised you packed clothes.”
I thought about purposefully forgetting just to steal yours. “I surprised myself too,” I smile, but as I shove the backpack to the ground, pressure that I haven’t felt in a while sits on my chest.
“You have that look again,” Oscar says, worry hardening his face. “What’s bothering you, bro?”
I rake both hands through my hair, leaving them on my head and leaning back. “I really haven’t given a lot of thought to what I’m supposed to tell my family or the public.” I clarify, “About my sexuality. And I honestly haven’t had time to mull over a label. People are going to ask what I identify as, and I don’t have an answer.”
“Just say that.”
“Without one, I’m afraid I’ll keep getting asked, are you sure? over and over. Or people will think it’s a phase.”
“They could think that even if you say you’re bi,” Oscar tells me.
I nod. Also true. “You know, if I really sat down with my feelings for longer than a few minutes, I think I’d know that I’m attracted to people. Flat-out. No matter the sex or gender. It’s probably always been like that, but I cut myself off to anything outside of my narrowed frame of what I thought my life would look like.” I let my hands fall to my thighs, expelling a breath. “I’m trying to hold onto what you told me about my sexuality having nothing to do with where I’ve been or what I’ve done. It’s just who I’m attracted to. But sometimes I feel like if I call myself pansexual, I’d just be a fraud. Like I don’t serve the label well enough. I’m twenty-seven. I’m too late to the party.”
Oscar’s face breaks. “You aren’t too late. Do what you feel without letting judgment cast you aside. So whatever label you choose—or don’t choose, you don’t have to have one—don’t let anyone take that from you. Live your truth. And if someone tries to check you on it, I’m going to check them back in the fucking mouth.” His grip tightens on the wheel, veins spindling in his biceps.
I can’t look away from him. He’s hot as hell when he’s defending me. “You’re Team Jack Highland?”
“Let’s put it this way—whatever president was sitting at the top of the Jack Highland fan club has been dethroned by me.”
My heart swells. “What a coincidence. The Oscar Oliveira fan club president was usurped by me.”
We’re both grinning.
I roll down the window. Letting the summer night rush into the car, and I expel another deep breath, pocketing my phone for right now.
Oscar notices. “Is there something that helps you stay on the bright side?” He must be concerned about me since the onslaught of negativity is just beginning.
“Confidence, breathing, sometimes surfing.”
“And when that fails?”
I stare at the cord to my car’s entertainment system. Plugging in my phone, I tap into Spotify. “Blaring music.” I pause before clicking into the song. “I’m about to be painfully California, but this is my dad’s favorite band and I grew up listening to them.”
