Chapter 11 #3
Connor knew he needed to wash off the tacky evidence of their tryst, feeling the mess drying on his stomach, but there was something erotic in that he didn’t know what was his, what was Nate’s.
He’d hated that last night. Not now. He trailed his fingers down the pale length of his chest, his stomach, and let his arm fall. Of course, Nate was watching his every move–not like a predator, but like prey.
Rather disconcerting, seeing that look in someone else’s eyes. Knowing that he was the cause of that look.
You haven’t done anything wrong, he thought but couldn’t bring himself to say. It wasn’t true, not for either of them.
Everything about this was wrong.
“So you’re gay,” Connor said after a long silence. It wasn’t an accusation, more an observation. Seeing himself mirrored in another, wondering if the reflection he saw was really there.
But Nate reacted as though he'd been slapped, his arm twitching against Connor. And then he pulled back, sitting up in bed.
“No–I mean, yes–I mean, look it’s–it’s not like–Iike–”
“Like what?” he asked, colder than he meant to sound. The bedsheets fell back as Connor sat up, frowning at Nate.
Maybe some part of him was expecting Nate to say it’s not like I bottom.
“I’m not out,” was what Nate said instead, biting at the inside of his cheek. “I’m gay, yeah, but I’m not–no one knows. It’s not like you.”
Connor could only imagine the face he made because Nate flinched as though he’d been slapped.
“I mean, how you told me. You told me so easily. And you didn’t have to tell me. You could have just–just let me think whatever. That’s what I would have done, I wouldn’t have said anything. I mean, that’s what I do. I let people think what they want.”
“You think that was easy?” he scoffed. “It’s never easy. It’s not the first time, and it’s not the fifteenth time either.”
Nate’s face crumpled.
“I wouldn’t know, okay. Why did you even tell me, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Connor admitted. “Yeah. I guess it would have been easier if I let you think I had a girlfriend.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” he repeated, irritated. “Consider yourself special enough to know.”
There was a beat between them, where neither man said anything at all. But the energy seemed to shift, for the better.
Like some unspoken weight disappeared.
Connor wasn’t sure, but he thought Nate might be smiling. And that unsettled him, so he decided to break the silence.
“No one knows you’re gay?”
“No one.” And Nate had a pained expression on his face. “I mean, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“No one I’d tell.” He’d meant it to sound reassuring, but Nate’s expression told him he wasn’t convinced.
“I think there’s a few people you could tell,” Nate said darkly. Connor rolled his eyes.
“Not in California. Not in 2026. This isn’t Ohio,” he spat.
Nate was quiet for a long while, something unreadable in his expression.
“I can’t imagine the wrong people wouldn’t care, you know, that we got together and–”
“We’re not together. We work together.” Connor cut in. Nate flinched.
Harsh? Maybe. But he needed to set the record straight. Right now, before lines blurred unnecessarily.
“Okay, but maybe we could–”
“We can’t. I don’t get involved with men who aren’t out.”
It was a cruel, cold thing to say. But what else was he to do? Cold was his defense. Cruel was his protection. If he’d been crueler with Devore then none of what happened ever would have happened.
“Okay. Okay. So we’re not together. We just work together.” Nate was quiet for a moment, looking away from Connor, like he was thinking something. Then he asked, “What if we were friends?”
“You want to be friends?” Connor asked, more surprised than anything else. He had friends; he knew how to make friends. But he’d never treated Nate with so much as an ounce of warmth.
Why on earth would Nate want him as a friend?
He certainly hadn’t been the kindest to Nate. He was often impatient with him, quick to frustration, snapping at him while helping him with–
But that was it, right there, wasn’t it?
So Connor hesitated, curious.
Would it really be so bad to be his friend? He pondered the question to himself, though his silence seemed to signal impending rejection to Nate.
“I’m not asking to monopolize your life or anything like that. I don’t have any friends in California. Everyone I know is still on the East Coast.”
“And you’re not out to any of them.” It wasn’t a question, and Connor knew he shouldn’t have said it. But Nate smiled wryly, clearly not insulted.
“Not one person.”
“Am I the first man you’ve been with?” He asked.
Nate shook his head.
“No. Uh…” He looked genuinely embarrassed now, not meeting Connor’s gaze, crossing an arm over his chest to rub at his neck.
“You know, in East Harlem, there’s kind of this…
there’s a good scene. Latin clubs, guys who want to dance and–just have a good time so there isn’t a lot of…
but it’s been a while and I haven’t tried the clubs here, so much. ”
He seemed to chance a cautious glance over at Connor, like he was worried what he might think. Not that Connor sat in any position of authority to judge Nate. What did it matter if he liked to cruise?
Did he cruise? Looking at him now, he seemed more the type to just dance than to cruise all that much. Not that Connor was an expert.
“Not missing much,” Connor shrugged. “Not unless you go up to West Hollywood.”
“I guess you'd know, right?” Nate asked, still not looking at him.
Connor bit the inside of his cheek.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe you could show me. I could use a friend who knows where to go, where to avoid around here,” Nate said, clearly trying to sound more confident in his ask, like he wasn’t making himself so vulnerable.
Vulnerable.
When was the last time a man let himself be so vulnerable in front of Connor? When was the last time Connor had reciprocated?
God knew, he needed more friends. More allies. Once upon a time, he’d had plenty in Alarie. Then Devore started taking up more of his time, and his friends started moving on.
On, or up.
Connor felt his expression soften, tension in his shoulders fading away.
If we’re friends, that means you’ll help me, right? That’s what he wanted to ask. Because of course it would be transactional–what wasn’t in their world?
Nate had already started helping him. Just twenty-four hours ago, he’d pulled Connor along to share in a moment that was just for him to enjoy. Given the chance, he hadn’t betrayed him–just the opposite.
If Nate wanted to hurt him, he could, and very easily at that. If Nate wanted to use him and discard him, no one would have known.
So perhaps he was being genuine. Somehow. Even a little.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Connor wasn’t looking at Nate when he said it, finding his own reflection mirrored in the black screen of the television instead.
“Yeah?” Nate echoed, like he was daring to hope.
“Yeah.” Connor cleared his throat, looking over at Nate. “I’m gonna go… take a shower.”
“Okay.” Nate didn’t look like he knew if he was being kicked out or not, so Connor sighed, his expression softening.
“Look,” he said, “It’s not room service at the Les Grandes. But you could stay, if you wanted. We could DoorDash something.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re paying,” Connor said, cracking a smile that came easier than expected. Nate grinned wide and genuine. It was a great look on him.
“Only if I get the shower after you.”
“Deal.”
Connor didn’t linger in bed before he was rising and making his way to the bathroom. But this time, when he felt Nate’s gaze following him, he decided he kind of liked it.
Friends.
He could live with that.