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Peeling away the fingers he had clenched on the steering wheel, he opened the door again, this time forcing himself to relinquish the safety of his sedan. This was just like any other day. He’d say he was sorry and retreat back into the quiet solitude the job had always given him.
It didn’t matter if he wanted to tell someone about the drunk guy who serenaded his girlfriend on top of a table at the bar. Or how he couldn’t wait to try the new free download from PlayStation, which would be available tonight.
Keeping to himself wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was good at it. It came easy. Or at least, it always had before.
Simple. He’d just keep his mind on his work. The seams in the ceiling sheet rock where he’d spread joint compound yesterday needed sanding, and if he wanted it to look smooth, he’d have to do it by hand. Too much pressure would gut the mud into valleys, not enough and the whole thing would look lumpy.
He abandoned the car and tackled the master bedroom first. Situated out of the way, no one would cross his path unless they made a point to do it.
Setting up the extra-tall ladder, he alternated sanding with double checking his work with a flashlight. Earbuds piped his favorite Otis Redding and Sam Cooke playlist directly into his brain. “I’ve Been Loving You” never failed to transport him to another place entirely.
A tug on the left leg of his khakis brought him back to earth. Popping the bud out of one ear, he glanced down…and almost lost his footing when he met Robby’s gaze. He disentangled from the music entirely and carefully descended the ladder.
“I was an idiot.” Robby spoke before Matt’s feet hit the floor.
Definitely not what he was expecting.
“You’ve never said or done anything to make me believe you would judge me for—being gay. I let my hang-ups take something small and turn it into something big.” Robby wrapped his arms around his waist, his ever-present clipboard conspicuously absent. “I probably imagined the whole thing.”
It would have been so easy to let Robby think their awkward moment had only been in his imagination, but it would make him a really shit friend, and this was his chance to make things right. “You didn’t imagine it.”
Robby reared back, and Matt held up his hands in supplication.
“Wait, please. Just hear me out.” He dragged his hand over his head. “I’m not great with people. Obviously.”
Robby stilled, watching him carefully.
“I only had one friend growing up, and she was a girl. Is a girl.” This wasn’t going well. “What I’m trying to say is—I froze. Not because you’re gay. How would I know if you’re gay? I froze because I hugged you without thinking about it, and then I was afraid I’d done the wrong thing. I overthink stuff. And you—you’re the first guy friend I’ve ever had. I didn’t want to mess it up, and, well, I went ahead and messed it up.”
“What you’re saying is,” Robby drawled, “you’re even more socially awkward than I am.” His face lit up. “That’s the coolest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”
Matt scowled. “You’re not making your life sound very exciting.”
“Ha!” Robby laughed. “You have no idea. Maybe I’ll tell you the story someday. And maybe you could tell me about the girl with enough game to manage to keep you all to herself.”
“Eh. Maybe one day.” Or, hopefully, never. “Are we good, Rob? ‘Cause I’m really sorry I kind of freaked out on you.”
“Yeah. We’re good. Especially if you can overlook an occasional, irrational, emotional outburst, fueled by intermittent low self-esteem.” Robby punctuated the statement with an exaggerated smirk, and it was like a fifty-pound weight lifted from Matt’s shoulders.
“You need to work a little on selling yourself, Rob. Seriously.” He had never thought of his friend that way. He hoped Robby didn’t either. “I have a class tonight, but you want to game with me afterward? I think I’m going through withdrawals.”
Robby’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You see the new download? I’m so stoked to jump in.”
And just like that, the world was right-side up again.
Chapter EIGHT
Robby
Robby ran a dust-cloth over the TV for what was likely the fourth or fifth time in as many minutes, though calling it a dust-cloth was probably—no, definitely—an insult to dust-cloths everywhere. In reality, he dusted with an old tube sock which he’d worn a hole through the toe of months ago. It worked just as well.
The past few nights had been awesome, staying up late, taking out targets on the PlayStation with Matt. They’d gotten into a groove, logging on just after dinner and setting up a private chat on the headsets. Every night, the conversation started off about the game, but in bits and pieces, they evolved into more.
One night, he shared with Matt his love of all things Marvel. How he still couldn’t re-watch theAvengers: Infinity Warmovie and how it never stopped bothering him when Rhodey had been recast after the firstIron Manmovie. Matt liked Don Cheadle better in the role, but, heck, it just proved the man wasn’t perfect.
And it wasn’t like he hated all recasting. The Incredible Hulk was hands-down his favorite character, and he loved Mark Ruffalo. It might have been a good segue into how he always thought of Brick like the Hulk, but he kept that little nugget to himself.
He admitted his soft spot for a good romance too. Not the tearjerker kind, but the ones where the guy inevitably screwed up and had to make a grand romantic gesture and a promise to love the woman until the end of time.
