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I laugh, rubbing a hand over my face.Jesus Christ. “Sorry. I suppose it’s rude to ask if you’re straight. I had assumed you were, based on…” I almost saybased on the revolving door of women you seem to go through, but decide it’s best not to antagonize the driver.
“I am. I mean, I guess I am, I don’t know. But like I told you before, when I invited you to dinner, that place has great burgers.” Aggravated, he adds: “I wasn’t aware you had to be gay to be welcomed at a gay bar.”
“You don’t.” Opening my eyes, I try to adjust to the dim lighting in the car so I can look at him. He’s facing forward, eyes resolutely on the road, and both hands clenched on the steering wheel. I’m starting to feel a little bad, for assuming he’d be a homophobe when I barely even know him. “Sorry. For assuming.”
“It’s fine.”
It doesn’t sound like it’s fine. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll pay you for the gas.” I can see his fingers tighten on the wheel, even in the dim interior of the car.
“Not necessary.” He glances over at me, too quick for me to turn my own head away which means he’s caught me staring. “I’m assuming you didn’t drive because you expected to go home with your date, tonight? Or because you were drinking?”
I didn’t drive because my license was suspended after I was deemed to be legally blind.“Right,” I agree, because it hasn’t been a great night, and I won’t let this be the first time I say those words out loud.
“No offense, but you can do better than Brad.” He shoots me another look before focusing back on the road. I don’t take my eyes off of him, enjoying the play of the streetlights as they flash over his face.
“Oh? You weren’t impressed?”
“He was kind of…pasty. Maybe it was just the yellow shirt, but there was a definite air of uncooked pasta.” I choke on a laugh, and Anthony grins at me. “How’d you meet him?”
“Dating app.”
“Dude. There is no waythatguy was your best option.”
“You’d be surprised.” I shrug, though he doesn’t see it. The stiffness in the car has diffused, just like that. “I’m not exactly a catch.”
I wave a hand vaguely at my face and this he does see. A frown has replaced the smile. “Nah, scars are sexy. You’re dating the wrong guys.”
“Probably. What’s your excuse?”
“What do you mean?” He asks.
“You’re single, too,” I remind him. He jerks his shoulder in an agitated way. “Apparently, I’m not the only one dating the wrong people.”
He chews on this for a few minutes; enough time passes that I think the conversation might be over, but then he comes to a stoplight and looks over at me. The red light illuminates half his face and leaves the rest in shadow.
“My two best friends both have…” He bites his lip, uncertainly. “Well, they’re with people. It never really bothered me, before, that I couldn’t maintain a relationship. But now, watching them…”
He trails off, shaking his head and turning forward once more. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, which is a surprise. In my experience, big, tough hockey players aren’t exactly adept at talking about their feelings. Myself counted among that number.
“Why can’t you maintain a relationship?” I inquire. I’m genuinely curious—nobody with a functioning sex drive could look at him and be disinterested, and it’s becoming evident that he’s not bad company, either. When he’s not being vexing, that is.
“Hell if I know. Sometimes I meet people when we’re out of town for games and, sure, I’m not expecting that to last. But even locally…man, I don’t know.” The light has turned green, and he sends me a last, self-depreciating smile before he focuses back on driving. “I always thought I’d have a hard time figuring out who only wanted me for my money, but it turns out even that isn’t enough of an incentive to go out with me.”
“I guess we’ll just have to date each other. We can be miserable together.”
The words are out before I can even think about it, and I scramble for a way to backtrack. I don’t even know why I said it. I’d rather beat my head against a brick wall than date someone as infuriating as Anthony Lawson. Also, he’s fucking straight, which we established less than an hour ago even if he was vague about it.What the hell do I need to do to get this night to end, already?
“Sounds good to me.” He chuckles. “Maybe I’ve been fishing in the wrong dating pool all along.”
I stare at him.He knows I was kidding, right?“You know I was kidding, right?”
“Yeah.”
Oh my god, is that disappointment I hear?I turn resolutely away, pretending to stare out the passenger window even though I can’t see anything. A confusing cocktail of anxiety and desire is pooling in my stomach. Unbidden, fantasies of fucking him begin queuing up in my brain: my own personal hell and skin flick, all rolled into one.
We stay silent for the rest of the drive; the tension in the vehicle is no longer of the angry variety but more of a sexual nature now, and I don’t know which one feels worse. Rule #1 of being a gay man: do not develop a crush on your straight acquaintances. Boy, am I winning tonight. When we reach the campus, he slows. It’s quiet, with the majority of the buildings dark and the parking lots empty. Only one dorm is occupied, with the summer students, and it’s on the other side of the campus.
“Where do I go from here?” Anthony asks, peering through the windshield like he’s trying to find a sign. “I don’t know where the faculty housing is.”
