Chapter 7
Bo
Fuck me , I cannot do this.
Is this my second drink, or third? I think second.
I’m just on the edge of feeling tipsy. I should probably pay attention.
I’m more distracted by my best friend across from me in this booth.
He looks hot. So hot. Cam wears gym shorts with either sweaters or tank tops depending on the weather, but when he tries .
. . Dammit. He looks criminal right now.
He’s wearing a buttoned up, nearly black dress shirt with the top three buttons loose, showing off slivers of flawless brown skin.
He smells amazing. He looks amazing. To add insult to it all, I think he spent a total of fifteen minutes getting ready, while I was in the bathroom for over an hour and I still look like a washed-up carcass.
Okay, no I don’t, but still! Could he at least look like he put in zero effort?
I stumbled and faltered around in the bathroom, showering and scrubbing every single part of my body raw—couldn’t do a damn thing for my stringy hair—and nearly caused myself to have a panic attack that almost morphed into a fully blown asthma attack.
“You look cute, Bo.” I don’t want to look cute, Camden!
I want to look sexy and irresistible. I want to look like him .
. . strong and confident. I want to melt panties the way he does—well, I guess briefs in my case, but still.
I want someone to find me irresistible and sexy.
“If at any point you want to go home, text me and I’ll come get you. ”
“So you can stop mid-thrust and take me home?” I snort. Okay, yeah, I am still a little bitter. I grab my second or third drink, taking a healthy sip. Oh this jealousy is not cute. I don’t know why I’m feeling more and more annoyed sitting here. I’m so nervous.
“Bo, this was your idea. Why are you acting like this?”
My attitude softens. My edges are mine to smooth and it’s not Cam’s fault. I feel so high-strung right now. “I’m nervous, okay. Sorry.” I try on a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You deserve to have fun, Bo. Just be careful. I’m here if you need anything, alright? I don’t care what—”
“Or who—”
He blinks, looking at me flatly. “I don’t care what I’m doing; I have your back.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I want to go home.
I want to go home and watch one of his unnecessarily long animes and listen to him nerdsplain about digital media and why it’s not great.
I want him to turn my kitchen upside down while he makes crazy good but also somehow healthy food that I can actually eat without my body rebelling against me, all while I steal kisses from him in the kitchen.
I want him to beat me at Monopoly and fall asleep in my arms while the spicy scent of whatever ungodly cologne he’s wearing right now floats into my head.
I want him to make out with me with no end in sight.
I want the hugs he gives me to be romantic, and when he says “I love you,” I want him to mean it with every breath he takes.
And that is exactly why I need to do this.
I find way too much comfort in this six-foot pain in my ass, and I need to let go. We’re almost thirty, and life is going to come collect him one way or another. It’s useless. He’ll find someone permanent and I’m going to hate her.
Unless she loves him right, then maybe I’ll hate her a little less.
Someday Camden will get married and have kids, maybe, and I’m going to be there loving them all just as much as I love him.
I want that for him more than I want him for me.
No one deserves it more.
Although . . . all these years and I’ve never pictured that person being a guy. Seeing him kiss a man may very well end me, but I will support him. No matter what. “You smell really good,” he says softly.
“Huh?” He’s looking at me and I can’t place the emotion etched on his face.
He’s so beautiful—strong jaw, full lips, lopsided smile when he says something corny.
Which is often. Beautiful, beautiful, soft golden eyes that make me feel more things than I want to.
He has a small scar under his eye from when he fell over the handle bars of his bike in third grade.
He nearly lost an eye. My mom gave him butterfly stitches for the cut and a popsicle for the crying.
“You look good, Bo. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” I grab my drink, swallowing the thick feeling in my throat.
On a good day, bars are not my thing. Honestly, people are not my thing, but you can’t get laid alone so here I am.
I am here and I am going to let someone fuck me.
Cam is fucking someone. Everyone is fucking someone tonight.
Love that for both of us.
“Thanks.”
“Whoever you hook up with tonight better worship the ground you walk on,” he warns. His eyes pin me in place. Seriously, he’s fucking with my head. It’s unfair. My eyes begin to burn. “Bo, what’s wrong—”
“Camden?” A deep voice startles me as a man appears at our table.
For fuck’s sake.
Of course he’s gorgeous! Just like the damn women he always ends up with.
I am officially the biggest idiot on the planet.
This right here is all I need to know. Of course I wouldn’t even be his type if he liked men.
This guy, Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him?
His dark brown hair is neatly styled, he’s wearing a silky maroon button-up shirt, and his black dress pants are hugging his thick thighs.
His soft brown eyes are pretty. I somehow pull my gaze away from this gorgeous Greek sculpture and nearly flinch finding Cam staring right at me. “Cam?”
“Didn’t know this was a group thing,” the guy laughs nervously. “The more the merrier, though, I always say.” He grins, winking at me. “What’s your name, cutie—”
“No, he’s um, he’s here for someone else.” I’m going to be sick. This is too mean. Too unfair. “This is my best friend Bowen.”
The man leans against my side of the booth with a wicked grin, holding out his hand to me. “Hello, Bowen. I’m Max.” I take it. Soft strong hands. Soft strong hands that are going to be wrapped around my best friend’s cock most likely. “I seriously don’t mind if you want to come too.”
“I said he’s here to meet someone.” Annoyance flickers in Cam’s eyes.
It’s brief but I catch it. Of course he doesn’t want me there.
Why would he when he can have this sculpture carved from the fucking gods all to himself?
Stupid Max just smiles. With his stupid face and his stupid white teeth and his stupid olive skin tone that practically fucking glows! Why couldn’t he be pasty like me?!
I hate literally everyone and everything right now.
The reality is like a throat punch. He has tattoos up and down his right arm, and I just know Cam is going to lick every single one of those slutty tattoos. Why can’t he look like a bridge troll? He even smells delicious, like spiced vanilla and cinnamon. I hate cinnamon! This asshole. “Bowen?”
“What?”
“We’re going to head out. Are you okay?” Am I okay? No, Camden. I am not okay. He’s about to fuck this actual real life Superman.
A bitter taste floods my mouth. “Go,” I force out. “I’ll be fine.” I try and smile. “I’ll be fine.” We’re only a few blocks away from my apartment. Suddenly my chest pulls tight. I’m struggling. I can’t do this. I can’t meet someone. I’m not this person! I’m not Cam.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I forgot my inhaler.” My mind is a mess but I didn’t think I’d need it. I should have brought it.
Cam reaches into his pocket, pulling one out. I have a couple, and Cam always carries one on him. “You brought it?”
A soft smile spreads on his lips. “I figured you’d forget.”
I take it from him, squeezing the plastic in my hands, then shove it into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“I can stay for a bit . . . until you find someone . . .”
I glance up at Max, who’s still standing awkwardly between us. Cam doesn’t even look at him while he waits for me to get my shit together. I’m just nervous. It’s normal to be nervous.
And heartbroken.
No. This is good. This is what we need.
“Go. Without you here I’ll look available.” He purses his lips, looking around the bar. “Go,” I say.
“I mean it, Bowen,” he says more softly.
“Oh my god, why are you so obsessed with me? Go.”
That makes him smile. “Damn right I am.” He ruffles my hair, standing up.
“Don’t worry, Bowen, I’ll have him home by midnight.” Max winks.
“Ha, so funny!” Asshole. I hate him.
Finally I’m alone. They walk off, leaving me with this disgusting mold growing in my stomach. Taking a few deep breaths, I need to pull myself together. This is great. This is a reminder. Cam is not my person, so I need to find mine. Not tonight. Probably not tomorrow either, but I have to try.
This isn’t a queer bar, but there are several inclusive queer flags around the place.
This is the trick, though, isn’t it? I have to actually find someone.
Looking over the bar, my eyes stop on a White man nursing his drink at the bar.
His curly brown hair is tousled, but I can’t see much of his face from here.
He’s wearing an ombre-red shimmery top that looks see through under the light.
I can see his back muscles, though, and okay . . . hello, delicious.
See. I can do this.
Now I just need to talk to him and not choke to death on my tongue.
You can do this, Bo. We got this. I grab my inhaler, taking a puff and letting it settle for a moment, before taking another. With my eyes closed I try to calm the rattling in my chest that has nothing to do with my shrinking lungs. I can do this. I can.
Downing the rest of my drink, I slide out of the booth and walk over to him.
I feel safe approaching him. I see he’s looking at his phone .
. . frowning. Then he puts it down with a sigh and takes another drink.
Even closer now, I see he’s wearing blush on his cheeks and subtle eyeshadow on his lids.
It looks nice and clean. He’s very pretty.
This is my shot. You can do this, Bo!
“You looking for something? Or maybe someone? Maybe I can help you find it?” Holy shit, I am so bad at this. The man’s green eyes land on me, and with the eyeshadow they really pop. They’re gorgeous, and shining a bit. Running my fingers through my hair, I stand here in awkward silence.
“That’s so weird.”
“Why’s that?” I frown.
“I think I just found him.” I look around then realize . . . No shit. He’s talking about me. A slow smile spreads across his pretty lips, and yeah. Yes. I can so see myself doing this. Or doing him. Or him doing me, whichever he prefers.
He reaches his hand out to me and I take it. Warm and soft. “Bowen Zhao.” Fuck, why did I say my last name? I’m not applying for a damn job. “I mean, you don’t need my last name, I guess. That’s weird. I mean, maybe. I’m not applying for a job. I just . . . I’m—”
“Nervous.”
His kind eyes sparkle and I feel myself relax. “Very.”
He squeezes my hand. “Noah Gaitlin.”
“You can call me Bo. My best friend does.” Oh god, why am I bringing up Cam? No. No Camden thoughts. None! “I hope I’m not bothering you. You’re just . . . I mean, if you’re not here for—”
“I am here for.” He smiles wider, and those emeralds do a slow crawl over my body. Noah looks about the same height as me, but there’s definition in his arms and stomach that I definitely don’t have.
“You’re really hot. And also alone. I didn’t know if you were waiting for someone.”
“Oh, I was waiting for someone.” He sticks his tongue between his teeth teasingly.
“Oh.” I go to get up as a joke, before Noah laces his fingers around my bicep.
“Thankfully I just found him.” Noah flags the bartender down for another drink. He slides it to me and I pick it up. I clink my glass to his, ready to get things going.
This should work just fine.