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"Yesss," I hiss out quietly.
I set down my phone, trying not to pump my arms in victory because my football coach might acknowledge my presence by jerking off on my face or whatever it is he has in mind. The last time I tried to get him to fuck me, he backed way off and hasn't seemed interested in our arrangement anymore.
I've been trying to do things his way, maintaining my grades and athletic standards the way he wants, but I'm considering taking drastic measures again. I just don't want to screw up everything I've accomplished so far just to get his attention, so I've been biding my time, hoping I can find a way back in.
My tutor, the fucking nerd, rolls his eyes at me and continues droning on about the fundamentals of different styles of poetry. American Literature is honestly not the worst class, and I actually even like the reading part. I struggle with writing some, but I'm managing. I wasn't sure a tutor was even necessary until we started learning about prose and poetry, which I find to be a complete fucking snooze fest.
Then again, maybe it's just this tutor. Emily made everything a lot more interesting, even if I felt like I was dodging hands pretty often. She got fired after a professor caught us making out in a dark corner on the top floor of the library. I feel a little bad, seeing as I brought her up there on purpose, so we might be seen by a few of my teammates. Grant Gipson and a couple of his friends are always hanging out in the library for some reason. They certainly aren't looking at books, but they've always got their eyes on the hot librarian.
Luke gives me an exasperated sigh. "If you're not into this today, I'm just going to pack it in a little early. I have a date."
I snort, because for some reason the idea of him going on a date is funny. Or maybe I'm just being an asshole because I'm not going on any dates. I'm not interested in dates. The most action I'm getting right now is sending dick pics to my football coach and having them be ignored. I don't want to hang out with most of the guys on the team, and I'm avoiding Aniyah like she might be transmittable. I'm still a little worried she'll tell someone I got soft when she was sucking me off a few weeks back, but she was drunk and I think she thought I was, too. I managed to redirect her attention to someone else's dick, so for all I know she might have thought he was me.
"Where you headed?" I ask, trying to make conversation since I was so outright rude.
Luke's eyebrow quirks up and then he rolls his eyes. He does that a lot around me. "Monster truck rally," he says, sounding a little exasperated.
Now I'm really laughing. "Doesn't seem like your thing."
He shrugs, because I'm right. "It's his turn to pick."
His turn?
"You're… gay?"
Luke straightens his spine, staring back at me with his chin raised. "Yeah, what of it? If you have a problem with it, you can–"
"Slow down, dude. I have no problems. I just didn't realize."
"Does it matter?"
I think about that for a moment too long. "Nah, man, it doesn't. Have a good time. I'll see you next week?"
It doesn't matter to me if he's gay. It never mattered to me. Only now have I realized that maybe the fact that I never thought it mattered was a sign. I come from a backwoods Alabama town where there is definitely not even one openly gay person, and words like fag, fruit, and homo are thrown around like fucking confetti. I'd grown up in that environment, and I'd never even considered that it was wrong. It just was what it was. But then when I moved away to college and experienced a slightly more progressive atmosphere, I didn't bat an eye to see a dude wearing a rainbow shirt or two girls holding hands in the quad. Okay, that's not true. I definitely thought about what I'd do with the two girls holding hands with the quad… and did them whenever the opportunity presented. Bethany and Cora were freaks.
To me, someone being gay was more a novelty than a fact about their lives that had real consequences. I never considered if someone in my hometown might be gay, living their life afraid that someone might find out, or maybe someday being brave enough to stand up for themselves the way Luke just did. I certainly never considered that I might be gay. I'm still not convinced I am—can you be gay for just one person? Am I bisexual if I'm attracted to pretty much all women and one guy?
I have a lot more respect for Luke when I consider it all this way. Part of me wishes I were brave enough to ask him questions, try to learn more about what's going on with me. But I can't risk people finding out, and I don't think he likes me much. Not that I blame him. I've kind of been a dick.
"You seem lost in thought," comes a soft voice next to me. The librarian, Miss Wilson, smiles down at me kindly, concerned curiosity etched in her pretty face. Raking my eyes over her soft features, smooth brown skin, and curves for fucking days, I think I'm wrong about myself. I can't be gay. Because damn.
"I guess I was," I say, giving her a flirty grin.
She leans on the corner of the table and looks down at my books. "What are you studying?"
My nose crinkles. "Poetry for American Lit."
"I take it you aren't a fan?" she says, chuckling.
"It's not my favorite. None of it makes any sense to me."
She smiles and nods understandingly, then holds up a finger. I watch her hips swing as she walks away, disappearing into the shelves of books. When she returns, she has a book in her hands. It's a worn paperback with a green cover, gold letters and some kind of design. She hands it to me.
Leaves of Grass
"Walt Whitman is probably one of the most important poets in American history. He was all about celebrating the ordinary, doing things his own way, and free love—that sort of thing." She shrugs and smiles at me. "You might find it interesting. Or you might not. It's worth a try, right?"
"Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks," I say to her back as she walks away. One of Grant's friends is at the reception desk, watching us with narrowed eyes.
