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Rubbingmy forehead to try and ease the ache,Istart digging in my brain for parts of himIhaven’t seen. “Areyou talking about your dick?Dallas,Iknow you’re trans.”
“No.Youthink you know, but you don’t.”Hisvoice gets hard and sad. “Allthe shit you’re attracted to, all the porn you’ve bookmarked with the massive cocks, the stuff you told me about how you like to play with a guy’s balls?”Hegestures bitterly to his lower half. “Noneof that.Zero.Youknow all the shit you aren’t attracted to?Thatliterally turns you off?Congratulations.”
“Slowdown.”It’smore of a plea than a demand.Bythe timeIfind the words for my feelings, he’s gonna talk himself off a cliff.Thereare thousands of boxes in my head.TheguysI’vefucked, the pornI’vewatched, it’s all carelessly dumped together into one messy, fun boxIopen whenI’mbored or need to get off.Dallasis in every single box.He’sthe world around the boxes, he’s the boxes, he’s everything.Ilove my best friend, with his hair and his smile and the body that fits against mine.Buthis soul could be inside anyone or anything andI’dstill need him until the dayIdie.Mythoughts are too big, andIdon’t know how to make him understand, becauseIdon’t even understand.ThebestIcan come up with is blurting, “Idon’t care.”
Hisanger drains away and he curls up in a tighter ball. “That’snot true.You’rea horndog.Youneed massive dicks likeScoutneedsOreos.”
Icross my arms. “That’sthe stupidest sentence you’ve ever said in your life.”
Heblinks, trying to process, then snorts loudly into his knees and starts laugh-crying so hard his narrow shoulders shake.
Hoppingover the yellow bath mat,Ipush the shower curtain aside and slide one foot behind him to rest in the tub by his right hip.Hedoesn’t react asIstep all the way in and sit down behind his back, nudging him forward until there’s enough room for me.
Hisbody relaxes a little asIcomb his endless midnight-colored hair with my fingers until it’s all hanging down his back.Amonth after he moved in, he taught me how to braid it.Ipracticed until my thick, clumsy fingers could get it right every time.Thenhe showed me all this elaborate shit–braids that go along your scalp, braids made of other braids, updos like celebrities wear to galas.Hedoesn’t expect me to learn all that, butIwant to, just soIcan turn him toward a mirror someday and see his face when he realizes whatIdid.
Everythinggets so stillIcan hear the chirp of crickets through the cracked-open window and the swish of hair across my fingers.Idon’t know how long we sit there–long enough for me to have a numb ass and three pretty decentFrenchbraids thatIwant to weave together into a single big one.
“It’scrooked, babe,”Dallasmurmurs sleepily.
“Nuh-uh.”Icock my head, studying the strands.
“Ican feel it.”
He’sright; the braid on the right side is smaller than the other two. “Fuck.”
Dalsighs deeply asItry to comb it all out without tugging. “Canwe just pretend none of this happened?” he asks without looking at me.
“No.”Itcomes out so instantly and firmly that it startles both of us.I’venever shut him down like that before.
Hesits up straighter with a frustrated groan. “Whatdo you think is gonna happen,Beck?Arelationship?Friendswith benefits?Exceptwithout any benefit?”
“Idon’t know,”Isnap, trying not to get pissed.Reachingover his shoulder,Icatch his jaw in my fingers. “Turnaround and look at me.”
Ithink he can tell from my voice thatI’mupset, because he unfolds his legs and scoots in an awkward circle to face me.Helooks scared, andIget it–inDallas’ life, change equals loss.Whathe doesn’t get is thatI’mnever going away.WhenIpinkie promised not to leave him, that shit stands for eternity.Theboy couldn’t get rid of me if he fucking begged on his knees, if he moved across the world and didn’t leave an address.Thatwas just as true beforeIkissed him as it is now.
Hesitantly,Ireach across and rest my hand on the side of his neck.Hisbig, worried eyes latch onto mine, but he doesn’t panic again. “Dal, it’s me.Wedon’t ever have to kiss again if you don’t want, but every single thing that happens between you and me–”Ipoint from my chest to his, “–is fucking sacred.I’mnot erasing any of it.AndIthink we should talk about us later, when we’re not feeling like shit.”
Hisjaw tightens and his voice goes all petulant, like he’s having a mini tantrum. “Timeisn’t going to change the answer,Beck.EvenifIcould afford bottom surgery,Ican’t turn into what you need.”
“Howthe hell do you know whatIneed?”It’sreally hard not to get mad when he keeps putting words in my mouth. “Whywouldn’tIwant–”
“Ican’t be the person who traps you in a life of never seeing another body that turns you on.”Hereaches up and squeezes my wrist tightly.I’veheard of people building emotional walls to protect themselves, but this guy just erected an entire fucking maze between us out of sheer panic. “Iwish to godIcould change, butI’mnot right for you.”
I’mno good at mazes, butI’lltake the whole damn thing apart one brick at a time ifIhave to.BecauseImade him a promise, and not even he can make me break it.Forthe first time tonight,Ifeel likeIknow what to do.
Hewatches me in confusion asIscramble out of the tub and offer him my hand. “Comeon, pretty boy.”
“Beck…”Inbed, he called my name like he wanted me.Nowhe murmurs it like he’s begging me to make sense of everything.
Iwaggle my fingers a little. “Allyou have to do is take my hand, okay?”
Aftera long pause, he reaches out and obeys, letting me pull him to his feet.Hemust be exhausted, because he follows me down the hall to my room without another word and watches blankly asIkick clothes around on the floor soIdon’t have to let go of his hand.Isnag my smallest pair of flannel pajama pants with my toes and offer them to him. “Putthose on,”Idemand asIsearch for my favorite sweatpants.
Givingme the side eye like he thinksI’mcrazy, he drags them up over his boxers.Hestretches out the waistband in an ornery, sulky gesture to show how loose they are. “Whydo we need a house?Allfour of us could take shelter in these.”Hissass is back, but it’s forced.He’strying to rewind time to before we kissed, even thoughItold himIdidn’t want that.
“Stoptalking.”Icome over and bat his hands off the drawstring soIcan pull it tight around his slim hips and tie it.Heshoots me a startled glance, but keeps his mouth shut.There’ssomething about that split second of obedience against all his impulses that helps me understand whatScoutsees in the whole dominance and submission thing.ExceptDallaswould cut off my balls ifItold him to wear a collar. “You’vetalked plenty.It’smy turn.”
Igrin when he arches a warning eyebrow at me.Hemakes a confused and slightly offended noise whenIdrag him toward the living room without another word.Roman’slow snoring doesn’t change as we sneak past them to the kitchen.Isilently grab my flip flops andDalshoves his socked feet into his four dollarBirkenstockknockoffs.
