Page 8 of My Brother’s Best Friend

“Fine then,” Levi shot back. “Don’t meet a girl at the dance. Bring a girl to the dance instead.”

I sighed. This conversation was getting nowhere.

“You think that’s less intimidating?” I said. “Asking someone to go with me to a dance that the whole island is going to be at?”

“It’s only intimidating because you’re out of practice. And it’s not the whole island. It’s like, half the island.”

“At least three-quarters of the island,” I countered. “And it’s only two days away. How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Dating apps exist for a reason. We’ll just steer you clear of the hookup ones and find you a nice young lady who wants two-point-five kids and a dog.”

“I’m confused. Do you want me to get married, or do you want me to find someone to take to this dance?”

“At this point, I’d settle for you taking Friday Night Frieda, if it meant you’d actually come,” Levi retorted.

“Friday Night Frieda?” Deacon arched an eyebrow. “What the hell is that?”

“Friday Night Frieda is a who, not a what,” Levi said. When Deacon looked at him blankly, he sighed. “You know, the name for any of the girls who use the glory hole down at The Port Hole? Friday nights, after ten p.m.? I thought this was island-wide knowledge.”

“Pretty sure the island-wide knowledge is that The Port Hole is a not-so-secret gay hot spot,” Deacon said.

“What?” Levi shook his head. “Are we talking about the same Port Hole? Kitschy tourist trap at the Adair harbor, filled with drunk spring breakers and bachelor parties about to go terribly wrong?”

“Um, yeah. A tourist trap where locals can pick up closeted gay dads visiting the island with their families,” Deacon said. “I know it was rumored to have a glory hole in the men’s bathroom at one point, but that was years ago.”

“It’s not just rumored,” Levi said, “it’s factual. The walls in between those stalls go all the way to the floor, and it’s common knowledge that on Friday nights, any ladies who are feeling…lusty…can go in there and have some fun. Last two stalls in the row. I’m pretty sure the bar turns a blind eye because it keeps the place nice and crowded.”

“If the walls go all the way to the floor, how can you be so sure it’s women on the other side?” Deacon pointed out, but before Levi could respond, I broke in.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s women or men, because I’m not bringing someone I met at a glory hole to a dance that I’m not even going to.”

“You are going,” Levi said smoothly, “and that’s fine, you don’t have to meet someone at a glory hole or even on the internet—but that does mean that you’ll have to rely on me to introduce you to someone.” He grinned. “Lucky for you, I know lots of single ladies who would love to be swept off their feet.”

“More like have their feet stepped on,” I grumbled. “I don’t even know how to dance, you know.”

“Details, details,” Levi said airily. “You’re taking someone to the Founders’ Festival dance, and that’s final.”

I stepped outside and stared at the ocean after Levi and Deacon left. The sun was sinking towards the horizon behind me, giving the rolling hills of Summersea a golden halo. In front of me, the Atlantic crashed onto the shore.

After my mom died, I’d begun slowly selling off all the property my parents had accumulated. I had no happy memories of my childhood home, nothing but pain and fear attached to any of the places we’d lived.

By the time I was done, this piece of land on the eastern edge of the island was all I had left. Undeveloped and wild, it really was isolated, if not quite as remote as Levi made it sound. I was a ten-minute walk from the tiny hamlet of Tolliver, and a thirty-minute bike ride to the slightly larger town of Adair.

I’d built my cabin by hand, piece by salvaged piece, trying to figure out who I was, out of the shadow of my parents. Being out here by myself, no eyes on me, no judgement—usually it calmed me. But tonight, my nerves were as ragged as the ocean below.

Levi knew me better than anyone else, but there were some things even he didn’t know. Some things no one knew. And those things—those things made my life complicated.

For starters, I wasn’t just out of practice at asking people out. I’d never practiced. I’d never actually done it. Never asked someone out, or done any of the things that came after that.

I was thirty-one years old, and I was a virgin.

Oh—and I was gay.

There was that little detail too.

I paced the bluff, trying to corral my thoughts into some semblance of order.

It wasn’t like I’d intended to make it to this age without having sex. It just kind of…happened. And with every year that passed, it felt like it was getting harder and harder for me to change that.