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“Yeah.” I don’t stop him as he refills my shot glass a third time. “What made you think of that?”
“Oh, I thought about that once a night for ten years,” he jokes.
“I mean today,” I say. “What made you think of that today?”
“I got to thinking… why do girls do that?” he says. “Why do they experiment with each other like that? And I realized it’s because they trust each other. They’re comfortable with each other. And that made me think of us.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Thad.”
“And I think—“
“Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”
“That we should have a sleepover.”
I drop my hands. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not sixteen-year-old girls!”
“So what?” He shrugs a shoulder, calm as ever. “So what, Max?”
“How much of that bottle did you down before I got home?” I ask.
“None. Don’t deflect.”
“I’m not deflecting. I just don’t think your idea is very well thought out.”
“What am I missing?” he asks. “Talk to me, Max. What do you need?”
“I need you to let this go.”
“Why? So you can lie awake ruminating on it all night long some more? Give Phoebe more reason to worry about you?”
“You’re not bi, Thad,” I say.
“I don’t think you are either, Max.” He tilts his head. “Are you attracted to any other men besides me?”
I hold my breath. “No.”
“Do you think that, perhaps, these feelings aren’t because of some arbitrary box you fit into and are actually, maybe, because we’ve been sharing a bed for two years? Because we’ve been having sex for two years?”
“Not with each other.”
He squints. “Are you sure about that?”
I pause, unsure of what to even say.
“Max.” Thad leans forward. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. You are the most important man in my life, and until our high school reunion, you were the most important person in my life, too. I care too damn much about you to let you go through this alone.”
“And that means spending the night together?” I ask.
“No hate. No shame. No judgments.”
“No Phoebe.”
“She’ll understand,” he says.
