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“It’s good. You’re cute.”

I feel my face heat. What in the fuck is going on here? Is Desmond gay? Are football players allowed to be gay? That’s a fucked-up question, but I’ve never known any. But then, he’s also talked about girls. We’ve talked together about girls since we’ve been here. Was that an act? I like girls. I think they’re beautiful and soft and all these things I’ve always craved, but I like holding Desmond’s hand too.

“Are you…?” I let the question hang in the air.

“Bisexual,” he answers.

Oh. Shit. I guess that makes sense. There are more choices other than gay and straight. “Have you ever…with a guy before?”

“Nah. I think they’re fucking hot, though. Just never met someone I wanted to, like, be with, or whatever.”

Does that mean he wants to be with me? Do I want that?

“You?”

“No. I never even thought about it before. I didn’t know I’m… I guess that would make me bi too? I know I like girls. I didn’t realize…” I’m not even ready to let the words out, not ready to say I might like guys too—but clearly, I do. I like Desmond. I’m holding his hand, and I don’t want to let go.

“We don’t have to.” He tries to pull away, but I tighten my hold on him.

“I want to. I like it.”

I’m not even looking at him, but I can feel his smile.

“Shut the fuck up,” I add.

“I didn’t say shit,” he counters. “What did you think I was going to say? That you like me?”

“You like me,” I retort, even though the feeling is mutual.

“Hell yeah,” he says. “I do.”

I whip my head in his direction. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate Desmond admitting it, but he did, and it’s making all those weird-ass bouncy feelings from earlier resurface.

“I like you too,” I divulge, knowing there’s not another guy in the world I would feel safe enough with to disclose that.

Desmond smiles again—big and wide. I swear it takes up his whole face, like he can’t hide his happiness, and that’s the way it looks every time he smiles.

“I want to kiss you,” Desmond says.

I nod.

“Let me hear it, Oak. Let me hear you say I can.”

I expect the words to be stickier in my mouth than they are, but they flow easily. “You can kiss me. I want you to kiss me.”

“We’ll be each other’s first.” Desmond’s grin widens, and then he leans closer, taking my mouth with his.

It feels different from kissing Serena. He presses down harder, kisses deeper, and leads the way. It’s like wherever Desmond has gone this trip, I followed, and I’ve liked each journey more and more.

His tongue sweeps my mouth, and mine his, before he pulls away just slightly, forehead against mine. “Good?” he asks.

“Fuck yes,” I admit, before wrapping my hand around the back of his head and tugging his mouth to mine again.

We kiss like we have all night, but like we have no time left, too. We laugh and explore, Desmond rolling over on top of me. I feel his dick against mine, and it’s a mindfuck, but one I quickly realize I like.

We don’t do anything but kiss and rut together, but we do so off and on all night, only stopping to talk some more. Desmond will pull me close, arm around me, my head on his shoulder in a way I figure a lot of guys would think I’m not supposed to like, but I do.

It’s four in the morning when he says, “I should probably head back. My mama’s gonna kick my ass for being out so late.”