Chapter 6 #3
But Gray doesn’t take it. “I know you’re responsible; that’s not the problem.
The problem is me. Apparently, I’m a colossal fuck-up.
I’m sure that’s a news flash for you, since you’re the one who found me doing watersports on a public street, but in case you had any doubts, I’m such a wonder-fuck that nobody can trust me with their money, probably because I’ll blow it all getting cocaine enemas or whatever the fuck they think I’m doing.
They can’t trust me to do the right thing, or to change, or not to—not to be that guy.
” He’s almost talking to himself when he says, “To be somebody different.” Then his voice comes back stronger, and he says, “So, instead, they’re going to let WISP collapse.
And that’s why I can’t do anything for you. ”
I’ve never seen him like this before. Angry, sure. And…dark. For a long time after he got hurt, he was like somebody else, and that other person was scary. But hurting, no. Almost ashamed, but not that either.
“Anyway,” Gray says, clearing his throat, “if I’d been a goody-two-shoes like you, this wouldn’t be a problem, but here we are, so—” He stops. And then his eyes seem to refocus, like he’s seeing me for the first time. “You are a goody-two-shoes.”
“Not really,” I say.
“You totally are, especially since you started sucking up to John-Henry.”
“I don’t think I suck up to him.”
“Yeah, you do.” But the answers are defaults, like he’s not even thinking about them because he’s thinking about something else. “And you are responsible.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“And you’re smart. John-Henry says you are, at least. And you’re hot, so that would make it believable.”
The room in the air seems close now, but I say, “Make what believable?”
“God, it would actually be perfect. Wouldn’t it? It would. I mean, you’re such a fucking nerd.”
“Okay, well, I don’t think I’m a nerd either—”
He shushes me, but it’s that same absent way. He leans forward, plants his hands on his desk, and says, “Okay. You want a project, right?”
I nod. “I can help you with whatever you need. I want to be able to show some initiative and leadership and a strong relationship to the community.”
He does smile now—like he’s about to laugh. “Oh, you’ll definitely be able to say you have a relationship. And I need to look responsible and centered and well-behaved and all that bullshit.”
“Uh, right. Okay. Well, I guess I could—are you thinking I should help you with your social media or something? Like, public relations?” It’s not my strong suit, but Axel Ryder says passion is purpose, so I guess if I work hard enough at it, I could do it. So, I say, “I can do that.”
“I want you to be my boyfriend.”
The air is close now. And for a moment, I’m sure I didn’t hear him right. “You want—”
“I want you to be my boyfriend. Pretend boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Long-term, committed, serious boyfriend. Just long enough to convince these fuckwads that I’m a model of family values or whatever the fuck they want.”
So many things try to get out that I can’t say anything. And then what I do finally say is “But I’m not gay.”
“What part of ‘pretend’ did you not understand?”
I open my mouth to respond, All of it, but nothing comes out. It’s that log-jam feeling again. So I shut my mouth.
“Look, I get it,” Gray says. “You’re straight.
It’s weird. But I’m not asking you to hop up in a sex swing and spread your legs for some Boy Cam time.
All I want you to do is hang out here at WISP.
Let me introduce you to some people. We’ll cook up some stories about how we’re basically the most boring couple ever, like family dinners and board games and on the weekends, we only do missionary with our eyes closed, and everybody will realize I have changed.
We’ve got a fundraising dinner in a month, and once we get through that, it’ll be over. ”
I still can’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure I can feel the blood rising in my face.
“Kinda need an answer,” Gray says.
“It’s a small town.” It doesn’t sound like me—not to me, anyway—but somehow, it’s surprisingly steady. “People know I’m not gay.”
Gray actually snorts. “Oh yeah? Because you date so much? For all people know, you are gay.”
“But I’m not.”
“Then tell people you’re bi. It’s 2022; everybody’s bi.
Fuck, it’ll give you something to talk about with John-Henry next time you’re playing patty-cake.
Or tell people you were the straightest little straight boy until I swept you off your feet.
But make sure they know I was a perfect gentleman about it.
” He frowns. “Wait, are you into any kinky shit I need to know about? Like, do you want people to put you in one of those sleep sacks and store you under the bed at night? Because if that shit comes out, the family values club isn’t going to donate to me. ”
Somehow, I shake my head.
“Good. I mean, that’s cool if you are, but that’s not the point of this whole thing.”
“People will find out,” I say. It’s still not really me talking, so I guess it’s somebody else. “Even if it’s just at a few events, everybody’s going to know.”
“What, so now you’re homophobic?”
I honestly don’t know what to say to that.
“Fuck them,” Gray says. “Who the fuck cares what anybody thinks? When it’s over, you can tell everybody you were just helping me out. Once donors start contributing, it won’t matter.”
But Gran. And Dad.
“It wouldn’t be honest,” I say.
Gray opens his mouth, but whatever he sees on my face stops him. He gives a smile that’s surprisingly tired, and a little shake of his head. “Okay. Got it. Sorry; it was a dumb idea.”
He is tired, I realize. And more than tired, hurting. And it’s for a good cause.
And then I say, “I’ll do it.”