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“I’m messing with you,” I say. “I don’t care what your reasons are. It’s fine. I get it. Don’t worry about it. You made it very clear what you were here for, and I said yes. So there’s no problem, alright?”
He looks skeptical and keeps on explaining even though I don’t need him to.
“It’s just that the school wants me to do that field trip,” Luke says. “So I’ll be back at the café at some point. We’ll probably see each other. But it’s for work. I can’t know you. We can’t know each other. It’s for the kids.”
Right, as though this generation isn’t even more queer-friendly than mine. Every successive generation seems to care less and less about this stuff, so I really doubt his high schoolers would be scandalized — even the ones who tagged the shop.
I put up my hands in surrender. “We will be complete strangers, Luke. I promise. Once you walk out that door, it’ll be like we never met.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry I have to ask you for this.”
I wave away his apologies. “I’m used to it. It’s not a big deal.”
“You?” Luke says.
“Are you surprised?” I snort, not caring how ugly and bitter it sounds. “I’m a dancer. Guys at the club take me home for the night, but they don’t want me there in the morning. We all know the score. It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luke says.
For about half a second, I almost let myself believe him, let myself believe he really is sorry that this is the state of my life. But there’s nothing to cry over here. I’m young. I have lots of sex with lots of hot guys. Where’s the tragedy in that? Besides, it’s not like I can force anyone to want to keep me. I’m temporary fun. That’s how it has been; that’s probably how it’ll keep being.
“I’ll survive,” I say. “Anyway, you probably need to get going, I assume. I’ll walk you out.”
Luke has the grace to accept my offer of an exit from this conversation and this night. I don’t bother getting dressed. I’ve never had any shame about my body. When I lead him out of the room and through my little apartment, I do so shirtless and with my pants barely covering my ass. If he cares, he doesn’t say anything about it, though part of me kind of hopes he’s at least taking the opportunity to check out my ass one last time.
We reach the door and he stops to pat himself down, making sure he’s got all the pieces of his cozy, normal life.He’s lingering a little too long in the entryway, though, and it’s starting to freak me out. This should be a simple transaction. There’s no reason to drag it out.
“Listen,” Luke says, and my heart sinks. Here we go. “This really isn’t about you, Sebastian. You’re amazing. I enjoyed our conversation tonight. I hope you know that.”
“You don’t need to reassure me,” I say. “You told me what you wanted. We had a fun night. That’s not a crime. If you want to live your life in the closet, it’s not my problem, man.”
He watches me for a moment, but thanks to the dark, I can’t make out whatever’s on his face. He’s a towering, blank silhouette, but I can feel his eyes picking over me like he’s looking for some kind of answer. I’m not his damn therapist, so after a couple uncomfortable seconds of this, I open the door.
It’s like peeling away the protective plastic on this fantasy world we ran away to. The night air trickles in, cool against my bare skin, as streetlights poke nosy spears of illumination into my entryway.
It’s a bit too much of the real world for Luke, which is kind of what I was banking on. He finally says goodbye and makes his way out of my place, and I don’t let myself loiter there watching him go like some lovesick kid. I shut the door, cutting off my view of him and the courtyard and the streetlights trying to pry open my apartment and dig out my secrets.
Better luck next time. My secrets are my own, and they aren’t all that juicy anyway. Just another closet case to add to the collection. Luke is hardly the first. Plenty of guys like him leave their truths on the floor of my bedroom and never return to pick them up. It’s a sad reality of the world, even in modern times.
But none of that is my damn problem. I saunter through my apartment, and this time I flick on the lights. I’ve got nothing to hide from myself. I scrub out my mouth in the bathroom and clean myself up for bed, but the moment I dive under the sheets, Luke’s scent rises from the comforter. Ugh. Of course it does. He was just here. And that … that washot. That was really hot, even for a hookup.
I groan and roll over, wrapping the sheets more tightly around myself, but it seems I’m not dislodging him from my sheets tonight. Worse yet, the scent immediately brings up the memory of his big, strong hands, his thighs parted around me, his thick cock filling my mouth. There is just so muchmanto play with when it comes to Luke, and if I had the opportunity, I’d play with each and every inch of him. Normally I can shake off a guy pretty quickly — like what’s-his-name after the club the other night — but Luke isn’t leaving my head so easily, even after he’s long gone.
“Really? Ugh. Come on, brain, we’re better than this,” I grouse at myself.
The grumbling isn’t getting me anywhere. Despite all my flippant words to Luke, I toss and turn for what feels like the entire night, chased by thoughts of what we did, thoughts ofhim. He’s so sweet, so kind. He doesn’t seem like the type to hit it and leave, but that’s exactly what he did. It just … it feels wrong somehow, contrary to his nature. Maybe this is wishful thinking, but part of me feels that if Luke got to do whatever he wanted with no fear of repercussions, he’d be the sweetest, most loving boyfriend on the planet.
Not for me, of course, but for someone out there.
I mean, even without his weird hangups, there’d be no reason for him to choose me for that distinction. I’m not the kind of guy you date; I’m the kind of guy you fuck. Everyone seems to smell it on me immediately. They never try to stay. They never talk about dating me or seeing me again. I have nothing to offer someone as sweet and earnest as Luke, even if he came out. There’s no world where I get taken on dates and treated to little gifts and adored. The last time I dated a guy, it lasted a couple months and we only went on a single real date. That kind of stuff has simply never been in the cards for me, so all I’m doing by fantasizing about it is setting myself up to get hurt.
But a boy can dream, right?
And tonight, it seems all I’m doing is dreaming of big strong arms and a shy flicker of a smile.
Chapter Eight
Luke
