Chapter 11 #2
“Didn’t think he could have you, but that didn’t change his mind, at any point, during what . . . how old were you when you met? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Sixteen, yeah. So, um, it’s been six years.”
“Six years.” Cam threw up his hands. “And you don’t think he’s in love with you.”
Trevor winced.
“And if he’s in love with you, he wants to be with you. Wants to be in a relationship with you, so I’m unsure what the issue even is. Tell him you’re crazy about him.”
“But what if I’m not? And then there’s the thing with our parents,” Trevor reminded him.
Jordan reappeared with their drinks, sliding back into the booth.
“Thank God you’re back, we need a judge’s ruling here,” Cam said to Jordan.
“What? Me?” Jordan looked shocked. “How fucking desperate are you?”
“Pretty fucking desperate,” Cam said.
“Ouch.” Trevor took his drink from Jordan and tried not to sulk about it.
“You have a crush on someone for six years, someone you don’t think is ever going to return your feelings, because they aren’t even interested in guys, until out of the blue they tell you they’re actually thinking they might be queer, and they’d be into fooling around.”
“That’s not what I told him,” Trevor argued, though he supposed the subtext had been there.
He’d told Lane about his interest in men because he trusted him, for sure, but also because there’d been a part of him, maybe deeply buried, but hoping that Lane would do exactly what he’d done and suggest they have sex.
“Maybe not out loud,” Cam said. “But it’s what you actually told him.”
“Yeah, dude,” Jordan agreed, which was really the nail in the coffin for any kind of plausible deniability.
If Jordan thought it was obvious, then what chance did Trevor possibly have of continuing to pretend it wasn’t true?
“So what, I should just go to him and say, hey, we’ve never actually talked about what we’re doing besides you know, experimenting, but you must be into me. Wanna be my boyfriend?”
Cameron looked over at Jordan. “Please tell me that when you finally get with a guy you are not going to be this obtuse.”
“Obtuse? What?” Jordan looked confused.
“Oh my God,” Cam said. “And you went to college!”
“But not to class?” Jordan admitted.
Trevor shook his head, trying not to laugh. Also trying not to have a panic attack. He’d been doing so good just doing. Why couldn’t he just keep doing that? Sharing Lane’s bed and his condo and his life? Why did they even need to label it?
The answer was painfully, horribly crystal clear: because if they didn’t, they were never going to be able to tell anyone else, and with their parents coming into town, surely they would pick up the subtext and wonder what was going on.
They needed to be able to tell them something.
And if they didn’t figure out what the hell that something was first?
Well. Well.
“Trevor,” Cam said, turning to him, after the brief debate he’d just had with Jordan over how he shouldn’t just be admitting to anyone that he’d gone to college but barely ever bothered to attend class. “You good now?”
He was freaking out now. A little. Or maybe a lot.
But the conversation had, at least, forced him to realize that he and Lane couldn’t keep going this way.
He was going to need to stop doing—or not stop doing, but stop only doing—and actually bite the bullet and have what would probably be a very awkward, very painful conversation with Lane about what they were doing.
But still, there was one big thing that they hadn’t addressed.
“What if I don’t end up loving him, not the way you think he loves me?”
Cam’s expression turned contemplative. “Do you think that’s gonna happen? After all, you called us all here to figure out how to make things with Lane more serious.”
He was right; Trevor had.
“That’s . . . that’s a fair point,” Trevor admitted.
“You want things to get deeper with him. Maybe you’re not where he is, not right now, but you’ve only been doing this thing with him a few weeks. You can’t compare your feelings to his.”
“Listen to Cam,” Jordan inserted. “He’s smart as shit.”
“I get what you’re saying,” Trevor said.
When he thought about Lane, he definitely felt all sweet and gooey inside.
Affection and lust comingling inside him.
Plus, there was nobody he liked hanging out with more.
What did that all add up to? He wasn’t sure yet, but surely, it was something.
A feeling that if it wasn’t love now, could grow into love.
“Is there anybody you like as much as him?” Jordan asked.
It was a strangely perfect question, coming from someone who was deep in the search for a hot hookup.
“Um, no. No. Not even close.”
And that, that did make Trevor feel better. Maybe he wasn’t in love now, but he thought it wasn’t as crazy as it might have been once, assuming that he’d get there eventually.
“Well, there you go,” Jordan said, grinning.
“Wow,” Cam said, turning to him. “Where did that come from?”
“To be honest? I’m really not fucking sure, but hey, it worked, right?” Jordan turned to Trevor. “Right? You totally relaxed just then. I could tell.”
“Yeah, I think so. I guess so. I’m still panicking, a little, if I’m being totally honest, but I know what I need to do. Do I wish we could just wait to figure it all out with unlimited time and space?”
“Obviously that’s ideal, but that’s not how real life works,” Cam said sympathetically.
“Right. ’Cause my dad and his mom are coming into town and that’s gonna throw a wrench in.”
“You want to figure that out first,” Jordan advised.
Cam looked over at him, arching an eyebrow. “And when did you become an expert?”
“Hey, I’m listening and learning. I can do that.”
“But not attend any college classes, apparently,” Trevor teased.
Jordan squawked out his outrage, and everyone—including Jordan—burst into laughter.
“There’s never an ideal time,” Cam said when they’d finally stopped all giggling about it. “There’s never gonna be an ideal time. There’s just this time, and if you want him—”
“I do,” Trevor interrupted, because he did. That was the one thing he knew, no question marks at all. Lane was who he wanted. He wanted to keep doing what they were doing, over and over and over again.
Cam smiled softly. “Yeah, you do.”
“Shut up,” Trevor said, flushing bright pink. “I just . . . what we are is so good. It can’t be only me that sees that, right?”
“It’s not,” Cam agreed.
“Definitely not, bro. He’s so into you. Didn’t even glance my way once,” Jordan said, a little mournfully.
It was impossible not to laugh about that, too.
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you fixed up,” Cam said, reaching over and patting his arm. “Pull out your phone. Show me everyone who’s messaged you.”
Jordan grumbled, but he did it, setting it on the table between them. Trevor took a long sip of his drink and prepared to listen to their friend make a hundred excuses about why every single hot guy in his inbox was not going to be the guy to initiate him.
Lucky, that’s what Trevor was. So fucking lucky. And it was about time to share that exact fact with Lane.
“I can’t believe you held out on me for all those months, letting me cook shitty meals,” Lane joked as he stretched out his legs on the couch, sore and tired from a tough workout this morning.
They’d shared a big pot of really delicious Cajun chicken pasta, and the whole time he’d been enjoying it, Lane had been thinking, why didn’t we start out this way? Why haven’t we always been this way?
He knew, obviously. But while obviously the sex—and the kissing and the cuddling and the sharing a bed—hadn’t emerged as a possibility until January, Trevor totally could’ve started cooking for them all the way back in the summer.
Trevor jolted a little at Lane’s words. “Uh, yeah,” he said.
Lane had been preoccupied himself, during dinner. Mostly thinking about how nice the last seven or so months could’ve been, but also focused on the Wolves game from the night before that Trevor had put on while they ate.
But now that he thought about it, mind rewinding through the last hour, Trevor had been quiet, too. Like he was thinking about something. And if he rewound further, Trevor had been pretty quiet since he’d gotten home after his rookie outing last night.
Before, Lane would’ve never, never asked Trevor what he was thinking. Too afraid of hearing something he didn’t want to. Too afraid of the other shoe dropping. Too afraid of upsetting the apple cart and ruining the status quo.
You are a fucking cliche, Lane told himself firmly. Trevor hadn’t reacted badly to his confession. He’d actually taken it pretty well. Cuddled even closer last night, even if he had been quiet while he did it.
So instead he just pushed his fear aside and asked. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Trevor jolted again and Lane watched as he physically seemed to force himself to relax against the couch cushions again. His feet were in Lane’s lap and for a second Lane was afraid he’d move them, so he subtly reached out, circling Trevor’s bare ankle with his fingers.
Stay, stay, stay, he wanted to beg.
But he didn’t. At least not out loud.
“Um, just . . . thinking about some stuff.”
Lane had to force himself not to jolt. What if he’d just finally convinced himself there was nothing to worry about, only for all his worries to suddenly become justified? That would fucking suck.
“What stuff?” Lane tried to keep his voice normal and even, but it was a struggle. He wanted to panic. To beg. Don’t leave me, don’t leave. God, not yet. I’ve just . . . I’ve just gotten you, after all this time.
But Trevor looked over, and when their gazes met, his brown eyes were soft and fond. Full of affection. Not rejection. Not denial. “This is really good, isn’t it? I didn’t think it could be like this.”
Lane had always been afraid it could be like this. That it could, and it might, and he’d never get it, anyway.
“Yeah,” was all he could get out, though. He’d already confessed too many closely held truths.
“You like it?” Trevor asked.