13. caleb
13
caleb
Nathaniel continues to surprise me.
One second he's blushing about admitting how inexperienced he is, and the next he's half-dancing, half-laughing, lip syncing to Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan in the middle of a crowd of sunscreen covered strangers while queens in sky-high heels strut across the outdoor stage in TD Square.
Okay, it took a couple of coolers to get him there—but still. It worked.
The air hums with bass and body heat, matching the buzz of energy around us. All different colored flags wave from vendor booths, and strangers bump hips in time with the music. I haven’t seen Nathaniel this... alive in years. Not since we were just kids, hanging out in my dad’s basement theater room, sharing dumb jokes and snacks. It was always so easy when we were alone. And for some reason here, even if he still hates me, it feels easy here too.
I glance at him, his head tilted back in a laugh, cheeks flushed, strong arms pumping in the air at the same time as the music and my chest tightens.
He’s…fun. Like, really fucking fun to be around.
Back then, he was my other half. We were so different but somehow it all made sense—like opposite magnets, always drawn together or something. I used to think he could read my mind before I even spoke. Sometimes I wonder if he still can. But, the best part was that he used to look at me like I hung the moon. And he was all mine.
My heart sinks at the memory of it all. But that was then.
Now, he barely wants to be around me. Not since I hooked up with his ex. Right. Sarah.
I blink, remembering. "Check your phone!" I yell over the music.
"What?" He cups his hand around his ear and leans in, his cap now backwards on his head. He leans in just enough that his strong neck is mere inches from my face. His scent catches me off guard—pine, apples, and something warm and sweet. Something just him.
Fuck, he smells good.
"Sarah!" I shout again, pointing to his front pocket.
He gasps like he just remembered her existence, too. "Shit, right!" He laughs, handing me his drink as he fishes out his phone.
It’s been hours. The sun’s moved from overhead to westward. How did we forget?
"Fuck," he mutters, tapping his screen.
"What?!" I lean closer.
“She posted a story an hour ago. Restaurant. Lunch.” He tilts his phone. Sarah, sitting in a booth, posing with a plate of calamari. Dammit— I love calamari.
“An hour ago. She might be gone, but... wanna check anyway?” I shrug.
He nods, and just like that, we’re weaving our way out of the crowd.
***
The gastropub is nearby, tucked between a gelato shop and an overpriced fashion boutique. Inside, the AC hits us like a blessing. The clink of cutlery and hum of quiet indie rock fill the small space. It looks like many people were thinking of stopping for lunch too. It’s packed in here.
We scan the room, immediately clocking in the fact that once again—Sarah’s not here.
“Hi! Table for two?” a hostess asks brightly. She’s stunning—winged eyeliner, shimmer shadow, a gem-studded lanyard around her neck and a shiny ‘You are loved’ orange to pink colored pin attached to her shirt.
I glance at Nathaniel. He shrugs. “Might as well eat. I’m starving.”
We follow her to a booth near the back, the faux leather seats sticking slightly to our skin.
“Must’ve just missed her,” I mutter once we sit.
“Eh. At least we know she’s around.” He shrugs, picking up the menu like we didn’t just spend the last 24 hours orbiting around the idea of maybe, possibly, bumping into her.
I study him. He doesn't seem upset at all. If anything, he seems... relaxed. Lighter. I wonder if he’s noticed.
“That was fun,” I say, nudging the subject.
He doesn’t bite. Just flips the menu. “I’m thinking a burger. You?”
I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, the server comes to take our orders. We both settle on the cocktail called the Fuzzy Azz, mostly for the name.
“Damn, Nathaniel. Never knew you were this adventurous.” I laugh.
He frowns. “What do you mean? I’ve always been like this.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You ordered chicken fingers last night at one of the bougiest hotels in the city. You were with the same girl for four ye—”
“Okay, okay, we get it,” he says quickly, laughing.
“I mean, come on. So what, we both like the same girl. It happens.” I wink.
He shakes his head, but he's smiling.
When the drinks arrive, I nearly topple over laughing. They come in a giant round glass, a peach slush topped with a cocktail skewer stacked with fuzzy peach candies.
“Oh, come on, this is incredible,” I say, sipping mine. It’s sour and shocks my tastebuds right away. “Fuzzy Azzes just may be my new fav thing to put in my mouth.” I smile, biting back a laugh from my own joke.
“You’re really comfortable with all this... gay stuff, huh?” he asks, half-laughing as he eyes his drink.
Hm. I guess I never really thought about it. Now that I have…yeah, I guess someone’s sexuality never really mattered to me. I shrug. “Love is love. Doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“It gets complicated sometimes,” he says quietly, too quickly. Like the words slipped out before he could stop them.
His cheeks flush as he lifts his drink again.
I watch him closely as he shifts in his seat.“Yeah. I guess it can.”
There’s a pause.
Then, unexpectedly, he asks, “So what did you mean earlier—about Sarah being into... particular stuff in bed?”
I blink. “Thought you didn’t want to know.”
He shrugs, suddenly interested in the condensation on his glass. “Just curious. Wanted to compare notes, I guess.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Well, she sure liked it when I talked dirty.”
His eyes go wide. “You… talk dirty?”
“I do a lot of things. Depends on who I’m with. But that? That was definitely one of her favorites.”
He chews on that for a moment, looking both stunned and weirdly impressed.
“Yeah, no. We didn’t do that,” he says finally, rubbing the back of his neck.
I sip my drink again, watching him carefully.
“So, what’s your thing?” I ask, biting my lower lip, suddenly feeling wildly intrigued. To think of Nathaniel losing himself over to what feels good? Yeah, I want to know.
He hesitates. Our eyes lock.
“My thing?” he echoes, voice soft.
“Everyone has one.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“Or maybe you just haven’t found it yet.”
His gaze flickers down to my mouth, watching the way I nibble on my lip. It’s subtle, but I see it. He always watches me like that.
It’s intoxicating. I feel like I’m on stage, getting that same rush from the audience that I love.
“What’s yours, then?” he asks, breath slightly uneven.
I lean back, folding my arms behind my head, considering him.
“I like it a little rough,” I say finally.
His expression twists—not in disgust, but in disbelief. “You’re into like… bondage?”
“No.” I laugh. “I mean, I like being lightly choked. Maybe a little biting. My nipples are—whatever. Why are we even talking about this?”
He laughs too. “Yeah, I don’t know.”
As if summoned by fate, our food arrives.
Hunger wins. We both dive in.
“For what it’s worth,” I say between bites, “knowing what you like? Exploring someone’s body. It’s powerful. And it’s really fucking fun figuring it out.”
Nathaniel watches me for a beat. Then nods, slowly. Thoughtfully, before taking another bite of his burger.
Well, I guess that was that. I only hope that won't be the last time we visit that conversation.