Chapter 10
Axe a lot of questions
Sebastian
My phone buzzes while I'm elbow-deep in my closet, surrounded by every piece of clothing I own.
Gavin
Ready for tonight?
Me
You still haven't told me where we're going
Gavin
That's the fun part
It's a surprise
Me
I don't like surprises
Gavin
You'll like this one
Trust me
Wear something you can move in
I stare at the text. Something I can move in? What the fuck does that mean? Are we going to a gym? Rock climbing?
Why do I care what I wear? It's just tutoring.
But I'm already tossing aside my good jeans for older ones. The ripped ones that make my ass look—
Stop it. Not relevant.
Me
That's concerningly vague
Gavin
Pick you up in 8
Eight minutes? I look at the destruction zone that used to be my bed. Three different shirts are twisted together like they're mating. My roommates are going to think I've lost it.
Because you have. Over a maybe straight guy… or maybe bi. Whatever, he thinks you're his gay Yoda.
The door swings open, and Leo pokes his head in. "Hey, have you seen my—" He stops, taking in the chaos. "Whoa. Did your closet explode?"
"I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"Uh-huh." He steps over a pile of jeans to grab his allergy meds from the desk we share. "Hot date?"
"Tutoring session."
Leo snorts. "Right. That's why you've got that blue shirt in your hands. The one you only wear when you're trying to impress someone."
I look down. Shit. He's right.
"Wear that one," he says, heading for the door. "Brings out your eyes."
"I'm not trying to—"
But he's already gone, his laughter echoing down the hall.
I grab a plain black t-shirt. Change my mind. Grab the blue one that Leo says brings out my eyes. Change my mind again.
"This is pathetic," I tell my reflection, now wearing a grey Henley that may or may not make my arms look better.
Gavin
Make that 4
Traffic's light
"Fuck!"
Leo's head appears in my doorway again. "Grey Henley. Good choice. Shows off the arms." He waggles his eyebrows and disappears before I can throw something at him.
I hear laughter from the living room. My roommates are enjoying my crisis. I yank on the first jacket I see, my beat-up leather one that's probably too much, but whatever, and check my hair. Still a mess. Always a mess.
Gavin
I'm here so get outside
Unless you need more time to pick an outfit
My face burns. How does he—?
Me
I wasn't picking an outfit
Gavin
Sure Doc
Your roommate in the window says different
He's holding up scorecards
You got an 8.5
I'm going to murder Leo. Slowly. Painfully.
I grab my wallet and phone, storming past my cackling roommates. "I hate all of you."
"Have fun on your date!" Max calls out.
"It's not a—" But I'm already out the door, and Gavin’s leaning against his truck, grinning like he won a prize.
"8.5's not bad," he says by way of greeting. "Leo says the jacket pushed you over an 8."
"I'm going to kill him."
"Nah, he's funny." Gavin opens the passenger door for me, which… what? "You had to save me from him. I've been here for a few, but he gave me a whole rubric. Points for fit, color coordination, whether you remembered to fix your hair..."
"I always forget to fix my hair."
"I know." He says it with a smile, which does things to my chest I'm not examining. "I like it messy."
He likes it messy. Oh god.
I climb into the truck to avoid responding, very normal and not at all panicking. The cab smells like his cologne and something minty. There's a gym bag in the back. Is that a list?
He slides into the driver's seat, catching me staring. "Oh yeah, homework." He grabs the paper and passes it over. "Figured I should come prepared this time."
I scan the list. It's handwritten in his neat block letters: SLAY, YAS, WERK, GAGGING, SNATCHED, SERVING LOOKS, READING, KIKI.
"Did you seriously make a vocabulary list?"
"You made a PowerPoint," he reminds me, pulling into traffic. "Fair's fair."
"These are just... slang terms."
"Gay slang terms, according to the internet." He glances over. "Unless Google lied to me?"
"No, these are... accurate." I study the list again. "Very TikTok gay rather than, like, elder millennial gay, but yeah."
"There are subcategories?"
"There are always subcategories."
He laughs, taking a turn I don't recognize. We're heading toward the east side of campus, where all the bars are. My stomach flips over itself, that swooping sensation like missing a step going downstairs.
"So where exactly—"
"Nope. Surprise, remember?" He parks outside The Throwback, which is absolutely packed for a Thursday. "Hope you're okay with crowds."
"I..." The bass from inside thrums through the ground. "This is a bar."
"Yep."
"Our tutoring session is at a bar?"
"Not in the bar." He's grinning again, grabbing around behind his seat until he pulls out a hoodie, which he pulls on one-handed in a move that should not be as hot as it is. The hem of his shirt rides up, showing abs and a trail of hair disappearing into his jeans—
Mouth. Dry. Christ.
"You good?" He's watching me with those brown eyes, and there's heat in his expression like he caught me looking. Like he wanted me to look.
No he didn't. I'm just reading into it… relax!
"Fine. Good. Let's go."
The bar is wall-to-wall people, but Gavin navigates it like he was born here. "Hey, Matt!" to someone by the pool tables. "Looking good, Sam!" to a girl at the bar. His hand finds my elbow, guiding me through the crowd, and every point of contact burns through my jacket.
"You know everyone," I shout over the music.
"Not everyone!" He leans in so I can hear him, lips practically brushing my ear. "Just most people!"
We push through to the back, past the bathrooms, to a door marked "Private Event.” Gavin produces a key from somewhere.
"Did you... Rent this?"
"Perks of knowing the owner. Thursdays aren’t usually so busy, so this is normally closed until the weekend." He opens the door to reveal... lanes? With targets at the end? And—"Are those axes?"
"Welcome to your first axe-throwing lesson!"
I stare at him. "You want me to throw axes. Sharp axes. At targets."
"That's generally how it works, yeah."
"I've never even held an axe."
"Perfect! Neither had I until last month." He shrugs off his hoodie, no skin flashing this time, thank god, and heads to a lane. "C'mon, it's fun. Very stress-relieving."
"This seems like a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"That's why we signed waivers online." He grins at my expression. "I forged your signature. Don't tell."
"Gavin!"
"Kidding! I sent you the link yesterday. You clicked it."
I did click it. Thought it was spam and deleted it immediately after. "This is insane."
"This is fun." He picks up an axe, testing its weight. "Plus, we can work on my list while we throw. Multitasking!"
"The wrist," I repeat, like I'm capable of processing information right now.
"Exactly. Ready?"
No. Not even a little bit. His cologne is mixing with beer and sawdust, and I want to lean back into him. Want to see what would happen if I just—
"Doc?"
"Ready."
We move together, his hands guiding mine through the motion. The axe leaves my grip and… thunk, dead center.
"Holy shit!" I'm jumping before I realize it. "Did you see—"
CRACK.
The top of my head connects with his chin. Hard.
"Ow, fuck!" We say it in unison, me grabbing my head, him rubbing his jaw.
"I'm so sorry!" I'm mortified, still somehow excited about the throw. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He's laughing, working his jaw side to side. "Jesus, you have a hard head."
"You have a hard chin!"
"That's... not usually what people complain about." He's still rubbing it, grinning despite the impact. "Worth it though. Did you see your throw?"
My face is doing something embarrassing. Smiling. Definitely smiling.
He drops his hand from his chin, and there's a little red mark I want to touch. "Knew you'd be good at this."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"You're precise. Focused. Good at following instructions." His eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second. "Very good at following instructions."
The air between us charges. This feels like… but it can't be…
"So!" I step back, nearly tripping over my own feet. "The list! We should do the list."
There’s a flicker across his face flickers across his face, but he nods. "Right. The list." He grabs another axe. "First word?"
I read the paper with shaking hands. "Slay."
"Which means?"
"To do something really well. Like, 'you slayed that presentation.'" I take the axe, trying to remember his instructions. "It's drag culture originally, but mainstream now."
"Use it in a sentence while you throw."
I line up, feeling him watching. "Gavin slayed his psychology exam?" The axe goes wide, hitting the wall.
"Terrible sentence and terrible throw." But he's laughing. "Try again."
We fall into a rhythm. He reads a word, and I explain as I throw. He's genuinely interested, asking follow-up questions that make me ramble about queer linguistics and cultural appropriation.
"So 'yas' is just an enthusiastic yes?"
"More than that." I hit the outer ring this time. "It's about celebration. Affirmation. Like..." I search for an example. "When Ethan walks into a party in a fantastic outfit? That is a 'yas' moment."
"Tyler certainly thinks so. He almost swallows his tongue every time. But can you blame him?" Gavin lines up his shot. "Ethan always looks… what's the word? Snatched?"
"Exactly. Flawless. Put-together. Like he spent hours getting ready."
"Did you spend hours getting ready tonight?"
I fumble my axe. "What?"
"Just wondering if this Henley was a 'yas' moment or just luck." He throws and hits the inner ring. "Because you look snatched. Am I using that right?"
My face burns. "I—that's—you can't just—"
"Oh, good, you're here!"
We both jump. Tyler's standing in the doorway with Ethan, and three other guys I vaguely recognize.
"What are you doing here?" Gavin asks, but he's smiling.