Page 86 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
The wrench slipped out of my hand and landed in the gravel. I cursed at it, at the whole damn situation, and sat back on my heels, feeling defeated. “Maybe always, definitely since high school. Colette was my last-ditch attempt at making sure I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t.”
“And still you didn’t say anything? You could’ve told me.”
“No. I couldn’t have. I didn’t want this. This conversation. This awkwardness. In high school, I liked being one of the guys. You remember what happened when Ben Grady came out? All of a sudden, he had to take separate showers after soccer practice and none of the guys, including you, ever treated him the same. It was like y’all were afraid to pat him on the back or hang out with him for fear you’d catch the gayness. He even lost his babysitting job he had in the summers because the parents got all freaked out—like gay equaled pedophile. Screw that. It wasn’t worth it.”
Malcolm’s frown deepened. “I didn’t treat him differently.”
I looked up, squinting in the sunlight at him. “You did. Even if you didn’t realize it. And I didn’t want that from you. Now I guess I’ll see what it’s like.”
“That’s bullshit.” Malcolm rolled the new tire toward me, his jaw set in that way that I knew meant he was getting past annoyed and moving into pissed. “I saw you kissing a guy in his car two months ago.”
My ribs cinched.
“I’ve known for a while. Have I acted weird around you?”
I took the tire, the past weeks scrolling like a slideshow through my head. He’d seen me kissing that bartender. He’d known all this time. I couldn’t even wrap my brain around that. Malcolm hadn’t shown any signs. He’d treated me the same as always. He’d still gotten dressed in our room in full view of me, even though I usually looked away so I wouldn’t react. He’d still asked me to go out with our friends. He’d still grabbed me out of bed this morning and tossed me in the shower, insisting I come with him on this trip. A trip where I’d sleep in the same bed as him.
He knew I was gay. But he didn’t suspect how I felt about him. Thank God.
Part of me relaxed. “No, you haven’t.”
“So you’re the one who wins the asshole award for not telling me, for not trusting me to not be a douche bag.” He squatted down next to me and helped me get the new tire on with his good hand. “And man, Colette is going to be bummed.”
I snorted, happy to be in familiar territory of joking around. “Believe me, I was nothing to write home about. I’m only glad she was a virgin, too, so she didn’t know how bad I was that night.”
Malcolm laughed. “Have you gotten better?”
I gave him a droll look and put my hand out for the wrench. “You didn’t just ask me that.”
He shrugged, a sly smile touching his lips as he passed the tool over. “Hey, gay, straight, or bi, I can’t have a wingman who doesn’t have game.”
“Yeah, you just took the douche bag award back.” I turned the nuts on the tire, the conversation veering into the no-fly zone again.
“Come on, things must’ve gotten better after you figured everything out.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said, securing the last nut and standing up. “Haven’t gone down that road yet.”
Malcolm’s brows lifted and he stood. “Really?”
I couldn’t pinpoint his odd tone—judgment, curiosity, disbelief, I couldn’t tell—but I was done having this conversation, so I turned it around on him. “No, unlike you, who has his dick on a two-girl-a-week regime of meaningless sex, I’m too busy with school right now to worry about all that.”
Big. Fat. Lie. I hated those girls in his bed. Hated that they had what I wanted so damn much and could never have. Hated that they didn’t even realize what kind of person Malcolm was. Just like he saw hot girl, nice body, those girls saw hot guy, nice body. It was all so stupid and empty on both sides. And they got to touch him, to hear his whispered words against their ears, to feel him inside their bodies—all the while, never knowing or even caring that the guy they were kissing was the best guy I’d ever known. A guy who’d defended me from bullies in third grade when I’d gotten glasses. A guy who’d secretly had Star Wars sheets way longer than was socially acceptable. A guy who had refused to let his best friend sit alone in a dorm during the first Thanksgiving since half his family had died.
I suddenly regretted the comment I’d made.
Malcolm’s eyes met mine for long seconds. Then he turned on his heel, kicked a shredded piece of tire out of his way, and went back to the driver’s seat. The sound of the door slamming echoed through me.
Leave it to me to thank my best friend for being so cool about my big revelation by calling him a man whore. Nicely played, Bates. Now I just needed to find a puppy to kick to finish my day.
I tossed the tools in the back of the truck and climbed back in.
It was a few long, silent hours to Alabama.
Three
I SAT IN the grass a few yards from the bonfire, sipping a cup of spiked hot chocolate and trying to warm up from the chill that had rolled in when the sun went down. The evening had gone all right. Malcolm had acted like nothing was wrong once we got to his parents’ farmhouse, putting on the everything-cool face for everyone. His mom had buzzed around us, feeding us the best food we’d had in months and asking us endless questions about school. When she’d asked me if I was taking time to have fun and date, not just study, Malcolm’s gaze had lifted and met mine, almost daring me to say something. But I’d just dodged the question.
I’d been tempted to leave and suffer a stay at my dad’s, but when it’d come down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to go over there. So when Malcolm and I had gone upstairs to put our bags in his room, I’d cut things off at the pass. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
