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I’ve never been baby. Never particularly liked cutesy names, but I sure do like them from Coop.
Right now, I just want to go and press against him, let my hands slip across his stomach as I pull him against me. But I don’t. I don’t fucking move. I just stand there, waiting to see what he will do, working my bottom lip between my teeth, my hands clenched in the pockets of my sweatpants.
Coop’s gaze shutters, and he turns his gaze back to the stove as he continues stirring whatever he’s cooking.
He doesn’t even make a move to hug me.
Nothing.
Fuck, did the blow job ruin things?
I think it ruined things.
“How was work?” he finally asks, and I sigh, running a hand over my tired face. I just want to go to sleep and end the day. I don’t want to deal with this.
“Fine.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes still settled on the food before him.
Makes my stomach clench uneasily. Why isn’t he talking more, laying into me, anything? Since when does Coop hold anything in?
It must be really bad then.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” I reply and then move away from him and settle at the island, fiddling with my phone, trying to distract myself. This is better than mooning over him.
I will not moon.
A moment later, a bowl of pasta is set in front of me, and I glance down at it.
“Garlic prawn pasta,” he explains, and I peer over at him, watching as he unties the apron and sets it on the counter before settling down next to me.
Too far away.
Shit. I want a hug. Real bad.
Coop grabs his fork and pokes at the food before asking, “So, what happened at work? Tell me something exciting.”
I clear my throat, trying like hell not to get all blubbery. It’s just been a long day. I’m just fucking tired. That’s all I want to say, but instead I say, “Well, uh, the booger kid, Brixton came up to me after class and asked if it was okay that he liked guys and girls.”
Coop glances over at me, his fork clattering against the side of the bowl.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. And I told him it was fine. Of course.”
Coop’s face brightens and he reaches out, clasping my hand gently.
“Good job, Matthew. You did so good. Teenage years are bad enough. Being confused about your sexuality makes it even worse.”
I nod as he pulls his hand away, settling it next to him. I feel cold, empty, almost distraught at the thought of him being so distant.
Why doesn’t he want to touch me?
What’s wrong with me?
“I wish I could have given him more advice,” I admit. “But I had none. I don’t even know what you’d call that? Being bi?”
