Chapter Twelve
Elliot had let Damon blubber into his shirt, and then they watched a movie until Damon was too emotionally exhausted to stay up any longer. He’d gone to sleep with Elliot’s leg pressed to his. Granted, he was above the covers and Damon was under them.
When Damon woke, Elliot was curled up on the futon.
He dragged his eyes away from Elliot’s sleeping form and stared at the ceiling. He wasn’t upset about being bi. He wasn’t ashamed. He knew his mother wouldn’t care. His dad, if he were alive, would have made some lighthearted joke about expanding his dating pool.
His teammates might be a little weird at first, but the locker room wasn’t hostile like he’d heard horror stories about at other schools.
No, Damon wasn’t upset that he was attracted to guys.
He was upset that he was attracted to his best friend.
That was the truth behind Damon’s obsessive need to prove to himself that he didn’t like guys. Behind his odd behavior toward Elliot. The truth he didn’t want to acknowledge.
His mind and body never equated the wrestling and touching that they did as sexual, until the day they finally did.
He scrolled on his phone all morning trying to understand the process of how the brain “can change what stimuli it associates as sex-related.”
He lived in—what the internet called—a heteronormative world. Basically, attraction to boys, bad; attraction to girls, good. He knew he was attracted to girls, so he unconsciously ignored the little inklings that might have told him something else.
He’d always wanted to touch Elliot. Wanted to be near him. Wanted to hear his voice. Listen to his stories. Be lulled by his peaceful presence.
Had always enjoyed their bodies tangled up together, Elliot’s chest heaving with laughter, the brightness in his eyes when he smiled.
And now, Damon wanted their bodies tangled up in a different way, wanted Elliot’s chest heaving for a different reason, wanted the brightness in his eyes to smolder with desire.
Desire for him.
Damon wanted Elliot.
And unless Damon turned these feelings off, he was going to lose his best friend.
Elliot stirred on the couch and turned on his side. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
Elliot sat up and stretched, yawning. His shirt rode up, leaving a strip of his stomach exposed. A flash of heat zapped Damon in the groin, so he fixed his gaze back to the ceiling.
“You ready to do this?” Elliot asked.
“Do what?”
Elliot threw a pillow at his head. “Prom.”
Damon caught the pillow and tossed it back at him. “Yeah. I’m ready to see you make a fool of yourself trying to dance.”
He laughed. “Okay yeah. Cause you’re such a great dancer.”
“I am,” Damon said, smiling.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure, okay. I need to run home to grab some stuff.”
“Like what? Your suit is here.” Panic flooded his veins. Elliot couldn’t leave. If he left, he’d think about what happened. He’d avoid Damon. He’d tell him that they needed to end their friendship because he was too weirded out now.
He could not leave.
Elliot shifted. “I don’t know. Underwear and shit? I didn’t think I was going to stay over. Didn’t really pack.”
“You can wear mine.” Damon got out of bed and grabbed some from the dresser and tossed them at him.
“Okay,” he said with a confused uptick at the end of the word. “Guess I’ll go shower then.”
Damon didn’t dare turn around for fear he’d see the extent of Damon’s obsession with him on his face.
Elliot left. The bedroom door clicked closed. He exhaled.
The shower hissed on from down the hall.
The image of Elliot undressing, Elliot wet in the shower, Elliot wearing Damon’s underwear distracted him for the next ten minutes.
He laid down, put his hands under his waistband, and tried to jerk the images out of his mind.
He was pretty sure it made everything worse.