22. Jace
JACE
Irun a hand through my hair as I stare at myself in the mirror after my postgame shower, watching a droplet of water journey down my bare chest. It collides with the towel wrapped around my waist before it could come into contact with my dick, but it’s like the water wanted to draw my attention to the traitorous appendage.
A grand slam in the third. A home run again in the sixth that brought in two more runs. Not a single runner on the other team stole a base.
Another amazing game… after Kieran blew me.
He barely even did anything, but his mouth wrapped around my dick was enough to send me over the edge with how turned on I was after getting him off.
I’d expected to hate it. I had approached the handjob as a transaction, a trade to get me the blowjob I was after.
But hate isn’t the word that comes to mind when I remember the feel of him in my hand.
I think it might be time to admit, to myself at least, that I’m attracted to Kieran. That it wasn’t some fluke because of his makeup or the situation.
It’s just… him.
I’d gotten David to drop me off at the mall after practice, telling my dad I needed to get a new shirt to wear for Easter this weekend.
He’d warned me not to get any bright colors that would make me “look gay,” and then I’d sat on that bench for hours obsessing over if I might actually be gay.
I’d made every excuse to myself about how I was doing it for the win, how it wasn’t gay if he was the one blowing me—it’s not like I’d had his dick in my mouth.
After thinking about Kieran and his mouth for so long, I'd gotten myself so worked up that I could barely walk to his car with how uncomfortably hard I’d gotten at the sight of him.
And then when he almost turned me down, I learned just how desperate I was when I willingly agreed to touch his dick.
Not just to touch it, but to make him come.
And it was so fucking hot.
I can’t keep pretending like it means nothing if all I’ve been able to think about was the way his release coated my hand. How I wished I had licked it off instead of using that napkin so I could know what he tastes like.
So, am I bi?
The question has been driving me out of my mind since the car hookup.
“Hey, David,” I call out as I head back into the main area of the locker room. “Could you drive me to the mall again?”
We have another game tomorrow, and I need to see Kieran again today. Maybe he can help me figure out what’s going on with me and keep up my streak.
“Sure, man,” he responds easily. “Did you forget something yesterday?”
“Yeah, but I’ll catch a ride home if you drop me off.” I try to say it as casually as I can.
“Nah, I’ll stay and hang out,” David says, looking at me funny. Why does he want to come with me?
“It’s really okay, man. Just gotta grab something quick,” I insist.
“Exactly, shouldn’t be long, so it’s no big deal. I feel like we haven’t hung out much lately. Besides, who else will bring you home?” he pushes.
Am I paranoid or is he suspicious? Does he know something? How would he know? And if he did, would he say something? He would, right? He’s got too big of a mouth to keep it shut.
“My mom’s meeting me there,” I lie through my teeth. His eye twitches, and I keep burying myself deeper in the hole. “She hated what I got yesterday, so she wants to help me pick something out she approves of. I figured you’d drop me off on your way home, so I said I’d meet her there.”
“Whatever you say, man,” David concedes. Finally.
“Be right back, I’m just gonna tell my dad we’re taking off,” I say, hoping to god David doesn’t follow me.
“Alright, I’ll meet you at my car.”
I smile and nod, waiting until he’s out of sight to heave out a sigh in relief before I go tell my next lie.
My dad is in his office, reviewing stats, when I tell him David and I need to work on our psych project tonight. He glares at me, but when I start rambling about the different parts of the brain, he waves me off, warning me to be home before curfew.
I’m waiting on the same bench when Kieran approaches me, scowling once again. The dark makeup around his eyes actually makes him look pretty intimidating with the artsy-slash-emo-slash-rock-band style, but I won’t be deterred from why I’m here.
“I need another ride home,” I say with a shrug, offering him a lopsided grin.
“Is that what you’re calling it? I’m not your chauffeur.” He huffs, turning toward the parking garage, so I grab my bag and jump up to follow.
“I need to talk to you,” I insist once again, and he rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t complain any further when I round his car to open the passenger’s side door.
He’s quiet as he starts driving, and I know I only have so much time to start this conversation, but I’m even more nervous to bring this up than I was to ask about a good luck blowjob.
It’s now or never though, so I force myself to go for it, blurting out the thing I’ve been obsessing over. “You said I might be bi. Or pan.”
He keeps his eyes on the road as he answers. “Yeah.”
I nod, unsure what to say next. I fold my arms over my chest, shrinking into the seat as much as I can. This is so uncomfortable to talk about. “What’s the difference?” I ask quietly.
He glances over at me. Probably confirming I’m asking seriously and not looking for things to give him a hard time about. “You could’ve Googled it.”
“Fuck that,” I respond quickly. “I can’t risk my dad seeing it in the search history. We only have a shared computer.”
He tilts his head considering that for a moment. “So, instead, you waited for the guy who’s now blown you in multiple bathrooms and the back seat of a car to finish his shift and hoped he’d drive you home again and define your sexuality for you?” he deadpans.
I groan. “God, don’t say it like that.”
“Which part? The blowjobs or your sexuality?”
“Kieran.” I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his actual name before, and it seems to surprise him.
“Okay, okay.” He’s clearly biting back a grin, but he finally answers.
“I’m sure other people might define it a little differently, but my understanding is that bisexual means you’re attracted to more than one gender.
Pansexual means you’re attracted to people regardless of gender.
The nuance kinda depends on the person, but that’s the gist.” I’m not sure how to respond to that, and he must see my trying to work it out in my head because he adds, “And no, they’re not the same thing. ”
I stare out the window, trying to think about what’s happened between us, and what that means for me.
I’ve never been attracted to another guy before.
But I also didn’t realize I could be attracted to Kieran until we were alone in that bathroom on Halloween.
It was like all the tension since the first day of junior year leading up to that night, and all the taunting and heated arguments, had come crashing into a violent realization that I was drawn to him.
Not because he wore makeup and that made him different from other guys in our school, but because I was attracted to him.
“But you’re gay, right?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around what label I must be if all I’ve been able to think about is hooking up with him again.
“Actually, no,” he answers, surprising me.
I turn more fully to face him as he continues, eyes still on the road.
“I used to think I was, because I’d been primarily attracted to guys, and I thought that made me gay.
But as time has gone on, and I’ve learned more about myself and the different labels, I’ve realized I’m pan. ”
“So, you’d date a girl?” I ask, unable to hide my shock, but genuinely wanting to understand him.
“If I liked her, yeah,” he says simply. “I’m drawn to people’s vibe, and I’m definitely drawn toward masculinity, but it’s not about gender for me. It’s about the person. I’ve mostly liked guys, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t date a girl if the connection was there.”
I realize I’m gnawing on the edge of my thumbnail as I consider if that means he’s met a girl he’s into. Could it have been a girl who gave him that hickey? “But you don’t? Like a girl?” I can’t stop myself from asking. I need to know.
“Not right now, no,” he says, glancing at me. “Why? You planning to introduce me to your cousin or something?”
“No,” I say quickly, scrunching up my face. “Gross.” I don’t want to picture Kieran with anyone else, let alone someone related to me.
“Relax. I’m not interested. I have no plans to date anyone until I go to college. Maybe I’ll find someone in New York City.”
He rolls to a stop at a red light and glances over again, continuing.
“So, what is this anyway? You’ve been a huge fucking asshole to me for over a year.
Are you implying that was all because you didn’t know how to handle being attracted to another guy?
And now you’re finally open to accepting that you’re not straight? ”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Well, just because we hooked up a couple of times doesn’t mean we’re friends.
” He pauses, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that.
Obviously we aren’t friends. “But I’m a much nicer person than you are, so if you want help figuring out your sexuality, we’re gonna have to talk about the parts you want to stay hidden. ”
I’m quiet for a long moment, trying to decide how to explain everything I’ve been thinking since Halloween. Finally, I blurt, “I think about that night. A lot.”
A slow grin curls at the corner of his mouth, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“I’m not. I’m flattered.” His tone is teasing but isn’t cruel, and I let out a groan. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shift again. “I can’t stop thinking about it. What we did.”
“You literally just said that.”
“Yeah, well”—I look over at him, waving a hand in his direction—“you seem totally fine. Like you don’t care, and it has had no effect on your life.”