Chapter 6 TARAN #3
Jesus, what kind of guys was he dating before? I wasn’t especially kind, not by any stretch of imagination. I was just a dude who didn’t completely suck. “You know I want you, right? I mean, you look at me and I get hard.”
He smiled slowly, smugly. “Yeah.”
I relaxed a little. “So obviously I’m not mad about it. I just don’t—I don’t want you to actually think you have to always be… available like that. And if I’m doing something that makes you feel like I expect it, I wanna know.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re not. You’re a perfect gentleman.”
I snorted. “For certain values of gentleman, I guess. Do I make you nervous, somehow? Or uneasy?”
“No,” he said immediately. “I make myself nervous and uneasy. Always fucking have.”
That sounded miserable. All I could do was ask, “Can I help somehow?”
He slid his gaze up and down me again, this time even hotter. “You can certainly take my mind off it.”
We spent the afternoon taking each other’s minds off just about everything. For once, my brain didn’t keep heading to the past when he triggered a memory; I felt completely in the moment. And I wanted more.
I didn’t want to push him to talk to me. But it was obvious we needed to do a lot more of that, or we were never going to move forward. I wanted so, so badly to be his boyfriend.
And maybe that was fair, seeing as he’d wanted to be mine all those years ago.
As he was getting ready for work that evening, I pulled on my clothes and then picked up my phone for the first time all day. The messages app had a few pings, so I opened it—and then frowned.
He glanced over from the mirror, where he was fixing his hair. “Bad news?”
I shook my head. “Jennie. Again.”
She’d texted:
Jennie
I know you’re conflict-averse, but I deserve a reply from you.
I mean, did she, though? I could see how she’d be annoyed, after asking me a direct question three weeks ago. But deserve felt like a strong word from someone who cheated a week after accepting the Tiffany ring of her choice from me.
Diego frowned. “Wow, have you even heard from her since we saw her at the Benedum?”
“She texted the next morning.” I held out the phone.
He took it, then read silently. “Yikes. And you left her on read?” He handed it back.
“I was going to text back, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. And then you came over the next night and fucked my brains out. So…”
“Pretty cold not to even reply,” he said, voice gone tight of a sudden. He glanced away, back to the mirror.
“I’m not obligated to give her any…” But I trailed off as I realized why he was uncomfortable suddenly. Not because it was about Jennie—he didn’t give a fuck about Jennie.
But because I’d ghosted him. That was how it’d ended, in fact, with me simply not replying to his text. I closed my eyes and sighed. “Shit.”
He turned away and went back to his hair.
I followed, coming up behind him. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head hard. “Forget it. I’m sorry. That was—stupid.”
“It wasn’t.” I slipped an arm around his waist, relieved when he allowed it. “We’ve still got a lot of stuff to talk about, is all.”
“After I finally convinced you that you don’t need to jump through fuckin’ hoops…” He rolled his eyes, then looked at his watch. “Ah, fuck. I’m running late.”
“I’ll drop you off.”
“No, a walk would be good. I’m sorry, dude. I think stuff is just starting to leak out without my permission now.” He sighed and leaned more heavily into me.
I kissed his temple, inhaling the scent of his hair product. “We finally broke the dam, huh?”
“Fuckkkk.” But he laughed and sagged heavier in my arms.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Mmm?”
“It was fun to pretend we don’t have baggage for a few weeks,” I said. “But I’m here for it. All of it.”
He nodded and stood taller, pulling away gently.
I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t want to kiss him goodbye or get into my car and leave the city. But I also felt surer of myself, of him, than I ever had before.
***
I fell into bed almost the second I got home. I had no idea how Diego was going to work a full shift; I was blissfully exhausted. And a little bit chafed, if I’m honest. I slept so long, I slept through my alarm on Sunday morning and almost didn’t make it to my lunch date with Mom.
We tried to meet up at least once a month for lunch.
She’d moved out of the house I grew up in a few years ago and was now living her best life in a fancy apartment complex one town over.
Still about forty minutes from me, but if we met at my favorite Greek place in Weirton, it cut the drive in half. Win-win.
Especially when I was running late. I got through the door, though, and found her at her favorite table by the window, two glasses of wine already on the table.
Yeah, I have a wine mom. It’s pretty great.
“Honey.” She laughed and stood for a hug.
“Sorry, sorry.” I wrapped her up and squeezed.
“It’s fine. Thank you for texting, though.”
I kissed her cheek and pulled her chair out a little more for her to sit.
“You look very fresh.” She floated down into her seat elegantly.
I slid into mine. “Do I?”
“Yes, very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Or is that just from being in a hurry?”
“Not really. Sort of.” I grabbed the water before the wine, though. Was still a little dehydrated from a full day in Diego’s bed.
So very, very fucking worth it.
“I ordered for you.”
“Thanks.” I chugged half the glass of water.
She cocked her head slightly. “So, what have you been doing this weekend?”
“I grabbed Diego after work on Friday. We hung out at his place. Really nice, low-key.”
She smiled. “So, it’s getting serious?”
“On my end it is.”
She frowned a little. “I see.”
I sighed. This talk was a long time coming, and since I was breaking dams all over the place, why not? “Go ahead. Ask.”
Her smile was still soft, though, her eyes bright. “Since when?”
I wasn’t sure if she meant Diego in particular or if she meant me liking guys in general. I went with the former. “Since high school. We used to hook up in secret all the time, meet up after practice, leave parties at the same time. Teenager stuff.”
Her eyebrows went straight up, though she looked like she was about to laugh. “What?”
“Yeah.” I picked up the wine, in spite of having a totally empty stomach. I needed it for this conversation. “I’m not proud of keeping it secret back then, but there it is.”
She shook her head and gave a little chuckle. But she must’ve seen something in my face, or maybe just had a thought herself, because she sobered quickly. “Honey. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us.”
I took a deep breath. “I wish I had.”
The little muscle in her sharp jaw flexed. She’d always been beautiful, with incredible bone structure and bright blue eyes that put mine to shame. But she was getting more beautiful as she aged, I could’ve sworn.
I sighed. “Dad said some crazy stuff, sometimes.” He called everything he didn’t like faggy.
“So did the team, the locker room, the coaches, the scouts. And there was the pressure. I thought it’d hurt my chances, if I’m honest.” Because he told me it would, if not in so many words.
But I’d had a mind of my own, back then, so it was no excuse. “Again, not proud of myself.”
She hesitated. “It… probably would’ve. Maybe not now, but then it would’ve.”
I shrugged. “There’s not a single out player in the NFL to this day, Mom.”
“That can’t be true.”
I shrugged. I’d looked it up. Every year for the decade, at least.
She shook her head. “But you could’ve told me. You know that, right?”
I nodded. It would’ve been hard on her if I’d asked her to keep it from Dad. I don’t think I could’ve done that to her. But the truth was, “I haven’t been with another guy since. He’s still the only one, actually.”
“Oh.” Her brow creased. Then smoothed out, eyebrows high once more. “Oh.”
I flushed and took a swig of wine to hide it. “I don’t know why he decided to give me a chance, but I want to do it right this time.” It felt good to say it out loud. Sounded less like I was jumping through hoops and more like I was just really, hopelessly smitten.
“I don’t remember; was he always that handsome?”
I smiled. “I thought so. But he’s definitely gotten—yeah. Even more handsome.” That was one word for it.
“You have good taste,” she decided.
I chuckled. “Yeah.”
“I’m happy for you. I worried about you for a while. After Jennie.”
Our food came right about then, which gave us both a minute to breathe. I was thinking about how I should invite Diego to one of these lunches, to keep things lighthearted while he got to know her.
When the server left us with our plates, Mom asked, “So, about the crazy stuff your father used to say…”
Dammit. Thought I’d managed to sneak past that one. I took another drink, trying to think of the gentlest way to word this. “He raised me to be anti-racist, anti-classist, liberal-leaning, compassionate in general. The homophobia is kinda baffling, honestly.”
I couldn’t get my head around it. How had the guy who’d sat on the couch with his arm around me doing Lord of the Rings marathons every other month been the same guy who’d dismissively declared Mickey Mouse a faggot? It didn’t fucking compute, and for a long time, I just lived with that.
But I didn’t want to anymore. Not because of Diego, but because of me.
Her mouth tightened. “It was like that, in our time.”
“Yeah, I know.” I tucked into my moussaka. Maybe acting like this wasn’t a high-stakes conversation would help it feel that way, huh?
“He loved you so much,” she said quietly. “He would love anyone you did, too.”
“Maybe. Eventually,” I allowed. “He really didn’t like the Marshes though. He told me as much a few times. And said some shit about Diego being… effeminate.”
Still couldn’t make myself say it. Jesus, what a baby.
“I know he would’ve come around,” she said after another silent moment. “He wasn’t hateful.”