Jameson
Ican’t describe how happy I am to see Travis here tonight. I thought for sure he wouldn’t come, but I was hoping he would all the same. He looks relaxed and happy, and I know it isn’t because we won the game tonight.
He couldn’t care less about football.
“Hey. You made it.”
He grins, shrugging his shoulders, wearing that old ratty hoodie he’s worn since our freshman year. He loves it, and it reminds me of him. “I did. I figured we needed to celebrate. That was an epic win.”
“Hell yeah, it was.” I feel proud of the win tonight. Plus, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders ever since I talked to Travis and he acknowledged me in school and at practice again.
Hell, maybe it’s more than even that. Talking to Dixon about being bisexual.
Talking to Trav the other day about our types.
Everything just feels . . . lighter somehow.
Even though it’s still my biggest secret, and there’s no way in hell I plan to come out anytime soon.
Still, to be able to talk about it feels good.
Even with Dixon, the goofy bastard. I’m starting to think a lot of things I didn’t like about him before were, in reality, just his plain ignorance. It’s easy to get lost in the small-town world around here. Where we’re told from a young age to be a man and that some things are just not acceptable.
When we hear our fathers talking about gay people as if it’s some sort of epidemic overrunning the big cities, like there’s no one gay around here, and it’s some sort of sickness.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but I’ve done a lot of my own research.
I delete the browsing history like crazy on my phone when I do, but thankfully, I know neither of my parents is very tech savvy.
Dixon walks out from the area where we were talking, and Trav must notice that’s where I came from, too, because his eyes are full of suspicion as he looks at me. “What the hell? Is he stalking you or something?”
I chuckle at that and wrap my arm around his shoulder like I’ve always done. He momentarily flinches from the touch, like he’s worried people’s eyes are on us, but he quickly relaxes into it as I steer him toward the drinks. “Nah. Like I said, he’s really not that bad.”
“Bullshit,” he coughs playfully into his hand, and I shove him as we laugh together.
I grab a red cup and pour a beer from the keg, handing it to him, still reveling in that same light feeling with a grin on my face.
I grab a beer, and we find a log around the fire to share, both of us talking about the game with some of the other guys from the team and their girls.
I notice Zach is here now, but he isn’t with a girl and is just hanging with some guy friends. Chloe’s words from earlier hit me in the chest again, forcing me to think about Becky. She’s here tonight with a few people from school but not sitting around the fire.
She didn’t say hi to me earlier when we saw each other, but usually we’re fairly friendly. I still think Chloe and Dixon are crazy. She doesn’t seem like someone who’s pining for me. We dated, we broke up, and now we’re friends. That’s all there is to it.
I didn’t use her.
I liked her.
But I still feel a hint of guilt in my gut, and Travis notices, nudging my arm. “You okay?”
Dixon and Oakley settle across the fire from us.
Dixon has his guitar, strumming on the strings with no particular song picked out.
I catch his eyes briefly, and he sends me a smile, his hair scruffy and his eyes sparkling.
I force myself to look back at Travis and nod.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Chloe Howe was pretty upset earlier and said some shit about Becky. ”
Trav frowns but doesn’t say anything else. He was never really a fan of hers, but I don’t think he wants to talk about relationships or anything close to what we discussed in his room the other day.
And I get it. We’re friends now, and that’s all I need.
We all listen to Dixon play—and I hate to admit this—but he’s not bad. I don’t hate it nearly as much as I want to. He’s good. His fingers are graceful as they strum the strings of his acoustic guitar, pulling out a beautiful melody as Oakley sings horribly off-key to an old Stevie Nicks song.
No one seems to care, though, with the alcohol flowing and the fire roaring. After a full rendition of “Friends in Low Places” with what seems like the entire party, Trav ducks out, stating that he can’t stand any more of Oakley’s ear-plundering.
After a while, the party dies down, and I’m starting to sober up after switching to water a while ago. But I’m surprised when Dixon plops his ass down next to me, still drunk off his ass, and I assume it’s because he’s planning to stay the night.
“What’s up, Dixon?”
“What’s up with you and Travis?” he slurs, and my entire body tenses as I look into his eyes. He said he wouldn’t say anything, and I believe him. But he’s drunk, and there are still way too many people around to be having this conversation.
“What are you talking about? We’re friends.” I grit my teeth in answer, silently warning him not to push it. I swear I can feel Oakley’s eyes on us.
“I know, but you looked so damn happy when he got here. Couldn’t wait to get away from me.”
He seems almost hurt, and I nearly laugh at his pout. He’s fucking ridiculous. “Not all that weird, Dixon. I’ve felt like that for years when we’ve been around each other.”
I’m teasing him, but he only frowns. “But we’re friends now.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I laugh.
“You like him, huh?” Again, I think he’s talking about more than friendship, and it makes me uncomfortable. You never know who’s listening around here.
“He’s my best friend.” I lock eyes with him. “Like you and Easton.”
He looks over at Oakley, like he just realized he’s still here along with everyone else, and then looks back at me.
“Oh. Yeah.” His voice is quieter as he leans in closer, and I suck in a deep breath from the close contact.
His breath smells like whiskey—not overpoweringly so, but I can’t believe he’s this close to my face.
Doesn’t he care what that could look like?
The guy has no self-preservation instincts whatsoever. But I guess being a straight guy, he’s never really had to worry about that.
“But you know what I mean.”
I move back a little, pushing his big-ass shoulder with my hand to gain some space. I keep my voice low when I say, “I’m not talking about that with a bunch of people around, and you really need to shut the hell up.”
He looks around the party again with bleary, red eyes and then focuses back on me. “If we were alone? Would you talk to me then?”
He sounds almost childlike with his hope that twists me up. Why he’s so worried about my relationship with Travis, I have no idea. I told him we’re just friends, and even if we weren’t, why the hell does he care?
Still, for whatever reason I can’t even blame on the alcohol, I shrug and laugh. “I don’t know.”
But giving Dixon that sort of in was stupid.
And I should have known that.