Chapter 8 TARAN
Wednesday morning, I woke up with Diego big spooning me and Shortcake warming herself on my feet. I waited as long as I possibly could before trying to disentangle, but alas, I had to work. Diego grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back down, sending Shortcake running.
I laughed. “I have to shower. I can’t stumble into work with just-been-fucked hair.”
“Why not?” He shoved his face into my armpit from behind. “You smell amazing.”
“I do not.”
“Just five more minutes,” he whined, tightening his arm around my waist.
So, obviously, I got to work late and with zero regrets. Cuddly Diego wasn’t an entirely new phenomenon, but he was especially sweet that morning, and goddamn if I wasn’t defenseless against him.
He texted me at lunch to say:
Diego
I can’t stop thinking about last night. Just sitting on this couch makes my dick hard now.
I grinned and leaned over my phone, shielding it just in case someone popped in to chat. My door was always open for lunch; it was kind of a thing in the office.
It’s probably still wet. I drooled a lot.
I’m wet just thinking about it.
Jesus, he was gonna kill me with the midday sexts. And I was gonna love every second of it.
Save it for next time.
Oooh, did we unlock your dominant side?
I frowned. I hadn’t thought of teasing the hell out of him as especially dominant… but it made sense now he said it. It was usually him setting the pace; I’d just finally given in to my constant urge to pin him down and make him scream. Which was a lil dommy, yeah, okay. Fair.
And either way, he’d liked it. No, he’d loved it. I’d never seen him just go limp after an orgasm like that, just fucking falling into my arms. I could spend a lifetime just working for that, right there.
Alas, capitalism. So I texted back:
We’ll have to find out.
Love that for me.
This softened the blow of him telling me he picked up a shift that night. He apologized and reminded me we’d have the whole weekend,.
It was probably good, though. Spending two nights in a row at Diego’s, I would find it even harder to leave than I had this morning. And seeing as there was no word on the boyfriend front, I’d have to be content with that.
For now.
***
Before I left to pick him up that Saturday, Diego texted me:
Diego
If I dress like myself, is it gonna cause you work issues?
To which I said:
Fuck em if it does.
But like not in a performative way.
I genuinely just do not care.
Lol u good babe thx.
So when I rolled up in front of his apartment to see him in a crop top featuring an anthropomorphic pierogi with a green purse and baseball cap, I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was always gonna be delighted. “Oh my god, where did you find t-shirts with the pierogi racers on them?”
“Jalapeno Hannah is my girl,” he said mysteriously, sliding into the front. “Honestly, tho, Giant Eagle. I just doctored it up a little.”
“You’re amazing.” I started the car back up. “And hot as fuck.”
“Thank you, darling.” He pretended to flip long hair he didn’t have over one shoulder.
I was about to ask him when the last time he’d been to a sporting event was, but he suddenly said, “So, about the boyfriend thing.”
My heart leapt. Then plummeted.
Why did I still feel like a fucking teenager around him all the time? I wasn’t sure if I loved it or hated it.
“So, I gave it a lot of thought, and I do think it’s a good goal. But I don’t think I’m ready to declare boyfriends yet.”
I nodded, trying to digest it before I said anything. “Good goal” and “yet” were the words I was clinging to.
Not that I was in a hurry. There was no reason to hurry—I was where I wanted to be, and if he was too, great. And not like I hadn’t earned a little pain, seeing as it was him in this position last time we—
I cut that thought off. This wasn’t about the past; it was about now, and what we both needed to give this a real shot.
“Is it okay with you if we revisit in a month or two?” He bit his bottom lip.
“Yeah, absolutely.” I was disappointed; I couldn’t help it. But I was also aware that he was probably right and going too fast wasn’t gonna set us up for success. Which I wanted way more than to be able to call myself his boyfriend, ultimately.
“Okay. Thanks. I know it seems stupid, because everything is, like, so good right now. But that’s kind of why I think we should keep going with it and not put a lot of pressure on it. And you’re not really a labels guy anyhow, right?”
I wasn’t?
I must’ve looked confused, because he said, “You know, like, you don’t care if you’re bi or pan or whatever.”
Was queer not a label?
Okay, anyhow, totally beside the point. “No rush. I didn’t tell you because I needed it to be tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that’s where my head is.”
“That’s wonderful, and I love it,” he said seriously.
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
“Taran…” His voice got a little warning tone in it.
Right. I was being honest. Open. “Is there someone else?”
He smiled. He smiled so big, he actually covered his mouth with one hand to try and hide it.
“What?” I asked, though for some reason that made me smile too. “It’s a fair question.”
He laughed. “Girl, I spend all my free time on your dick; do you think I have room for another one? The fuck kind of gaping hole am I?”
I snort-laughed, which was poor timing since I was at the Ft. Duquesne exit. I made it, though, mostly because traffic was slowed down to a crawl for the game.
“What if there was someone else?” he wondered. “Just, hypothetically.”
Admittedly, knowing there wasn’t made it a lot easier to think the question through logically. “I guess I’d have the same question I do now, which is, are you looking for something committed with me, and what do you want that to look like?”
“Oooh, nice answer,” he said. “Would you be open to something—uh, open?”
Again, I considered. “If it was something you needed to really be true to yourself, yeah. I know some people don’t get monogamy, and that’s fair enough. It’s kinda weird, and we all know it.”
He chuckled.
I shot him a sideways look. “Is that what you want?”
He shook his head. “No. I want to be your boyfriend. In the weird traditional sense. I approach each relationship or cluster of ships individually, instead of coming at them from monogamy or polyamory. Just makes my life easier, as an amorously flexible human.”
I laughed, feeling like a huge knot in my belly had just come undone at last. Apparently, I’d just wanted to hear him say I want to be your boyfriend. The rest was all good. “Good to know.”
“Could you really be in an open or poly relationship without sacrificing who you are, though?” he wondered.
“I never tried, but I would,” I confessed. I hadn’t known that about myself until recently. “I said that to Jennie, that if she’d just been upfront about not wanting to be exclusive, I would’ve given it a shot. It was the lying that sucked. But I’ve never been very jealous.”
“Mmm, yeah, well, the hottest, most popular guy is rarely troubled with jealousy issues,” he said.
“First of all, I was not the hottest.”
“Mmm-mmm.”
“And second, anyone in their late twenties who’s still living by high school social standards is a lost cause.”
“Okay, that’s true, at least.”
We eventually got into a parking garage and started down the street to the Clemente bridge, which was always closed down for pedestrians on game days. I held out my hand for him and he slid his into it easily.
I’m not saying we didn’t get any dirty looks crossing that bridge.
There are all kinds in every city. But I will say we got a lot more smiles and nods than I ever got holding hands with Jennie anywhere, which was heartening.
I’d noticed it when we’d been out in other places too, of course, but this was the first big, crowded city event we’d done together, so the difference was interesting.
Baby’s first experience getting clocked as queer in a big way, I guess.
Couldn’t help but be proud when people gave Diego a second, appreciative look, though.
Women in particular would high five him or tell him to slay out of nowhere, and he glowed and had something nice to say back to them.
And a couple of guys whistled, which was definitely for him and not me.
“What’s with the traffic cones?” he asked about halfway over the bridge.
Lots of the crowd were holding them—real or fake—and a laughing crowd of girls nearby brandished traffic-cone shaped plushies.
I laughed. “It’s a new thing this season. No one’s really sure where it started, but I heard it was a shirt misprint. Instead of hoist the colors, they printed hoist the cone. So everyone ran with it, and here we are.”
“If the Bucs were sucking, it wouldn’t have stuck. But since they’re playing well…”
“Yep.” I chuckled. “Gonna be a thing now. For years to come.”
“What’s hoist the colors?” he wondered.
“Like a pirate flag. The colors.”
He frowned.
“Jesus, have you not watched Black Sails?”
“No. Is it gay?”
“It’s so gay.”
“I’m in.”
“Hell yeah, girl, werk!” a long-legged person in a pirate hat and booty shorts yelled at Diego.
Grinning, Diego blew them a kiss. “All right, Captain Slay.”
Yeah, far from being jealous, I loved him getting attention. Of any kind, so long as it made him light up like that.
We finally got into the stadium, and I vaguely remembered where to go from last year’s event.
It was a buzzy semi-outdoor bar off right field, but they made it private for any event willing to shell out 10k or so.
We didn’t have a lot of mandatory fun at work, so at least the one event we did have was decent.
“Oooh, I didn’t even know this was over here,” Diego said as the ticket lady let us into the bar area.
“I know. I think it’s always open, but I’m not sure if you need a special kind of ticket to get in when there’s no event,” I said.
“I feel so special. Hello, what are you drinking?” he asked the first person who came up to greet me.