Chapter 8 #2
My stomach performs an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine as I weave between tables. It's been exactly nineteen hours since Tyler texted asking if I'd like to "grab coffee sometime," and sixteen hours since Sylas analyzed every word of that message like it contained nuclear launch codes.
"You do realize this is an actual coffee date, right?" Sylas had demanded, snatching my phone to scrutinize Tyler's message for the fifth time. "Not a study session, not a friendly hangout, a real date with the hunky psycho who carried you off into the night."
"It's just coffee," I'd insisted, though my frantic wardrobe excavation suggested otherwise. "Besides, he probably realized I was a disaster and wants to let me down gently."
Now, watching Tyler's face light up as he spots me, I'm not so sure about that theory.
He's wearing a simple blue Henley that makes his eyes look even warmer, and he's somehow managed to make just sitting there waiting look good.
Meanwhile, I changed shirts three times this morning and still ended up in my "safe" green sweater that Sylas insists brings out my eyes, but probably just makes me look like I'm trying too hard.
Remember: act normal. Whatever the hell normal is. Don't mention medical oddities. Don't ramble about hospital procedures. And for the love of God, don't bring up Ryan.
The pep talk I've been giving myself all morning plays on repeat as I approach the table.
I've survived clinical rotations, overnight shifts, and that one horrifying incident with the bedpan in freshman year.
I can handle coffee with a hot frat boy who's already seen me at my glittery, post-breakup worst.
Unless this is some elaborate prank, or he's changed his mind. Or aliens abduct me in the next thirty seconds, which honestly might be less stressful.
Tyler stands as I walk up, and I'm momentarily distracted by how his shirt stretches across his shoulders. Focus, Barrett. Eyes up.
"Hey," he says, looking genuinely happy to see me. "I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I got you a latte. But I can get you something else if you'd prefer."
He got me coffee. He was here early, and he remembered from our brief conversation at the party that I like lattes.
This man is interested, or he's the most dedicated prankster in PCUniversity history.
"The barista says you usually get an extra shot?"
"You asked the barista about my coffee order?" I slide into the seat across from him, surprised and a little touched.
"I figured if I'm going to do this. You know, get to know you properly, I should at least know how you take your coffee." Tyler pushes the cup towards me, looking pleased with himself.
Wrapping my hands around the warm cup feels good. "I'm a little surprised you suggested meeting here. It's pretty much the campus hub."
Tyler's eyebrows rise slightly. "What? Did you think I'd suggest meeting in a dark corner somewhere?"
"You have no idea… It would be nice to not be introduced as 'my friend' for once." I offer a small smile to show I'm okay. "This is definitely an upgrade."
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I mentally kick myself. Way to bring past relationship baggage to our first real... whatever this was.
Instead of looking offended, Tyler leans forward. "I'm not that asshole."
"I know. I just..." I take a sip of my perfectly made latte to buy some time. "This is all very new."
"For both of us," Tyler says, then smiles. "Though probably in different ways."
My body starts to relax as I study him across the table. In daylight, without the chaos of the Halloween party, I appreciate how his brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He wears a simple Henley that somehow makes his shoulders look even broader.
"So," Tyler breaks into my thoughts. "What made you choose nursing?"
The question catches me off guard; most guys I'd dated have never bothered asking about my academic choices.
"I've always wanted to help people," I say. "And I like the science of it, how the body works, how it heals. There's something amazing about being there for someone on possibly the worst day of their life and making it better, even a little bit."
Tyler nods, clearly listening. "That makes a lot of sense. You seem like you'd be good at it, calm under pressure."
"Oh god—" My shoulders shake with laughter. "If you think this is bad? First clinical rotation, I was so wired on anxiety and caffeine I fumbled an entire tray of sterilized equipment. The doctor that day still calls me 'Butterfingers Barrett.'"
"But you kept going," Tyler points out.
"What about you? Last night, you mentioned engineering?"
"Environmental Engineering," Tyler says. "I want to design sustainable water systems."
My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. "That's... not what I expected."
"So you're not just a pretty face with amazing shoulders," I add, immediately regretting the "pretty face" comment.
Tyler grins. "There's that, but I also have a brain. Shocking, I know."
"No, I just—" I backpedal.
"It's fine," Tyler laughs. "Most people expect Business or Sports Management. My dad owns a construction company that specializes in commercial buildings. I grew up on job sites learning about infrastructure."
"That's cool," I say, meaning it.
Our conversation flows surprisingly easily after that. Tyler talks about his family, three sisters, a supportive dad, and a mother who had "expectations" that he tries to meet. I share stories about my parents, who are accepting but sometimes overbearing in their enthusiasm.
"So your parents know you're gay?" Tyler asks.
"Since high school. My mom asked me if I wanted a rainbow cake for my 16th birthday."
Tyler bursts out laughing. "That's... supportive."
"Mortifying at sixteen. I don't think she wanted to do it, to be honest. It was like she'd read 'Parenting Your Gay Teen For Dummies' and was following a checklist," I say, running my finger along the rim of my cup. "My parents are... performatively supportive, if that makes sense."
Tyler tilts his head, waiting for me to continue.
"They send me articles about LGBTQ healthcare inequality, my mom's way of acknowledging my career choice and sexuality in one efficient email. They put a rainbow magnet on their car and tell all their friends about their 'gay nurse son' like I'm some exotic pet they've adopted."
Pausing, I realize how bitter I sound. "Sorry, that's harsh. They're trying, I guess. They've never kicked me out or anything dramatic. Just... they support the idea of me more than the actual me. Every phone call feels like we're reading from different scripts."
Remembering my mother's most recent call, her carefully measured questions about "dates" while never asking for a name or details. "They're the kind of parents who attend PFLAG meetings but still change the subject when I mention an actual boyfriend."
"That's got to be confusing," Tyler says, his expression thoughtful.
"It is what it is," My shoulders lift and I'm suddenly self-conscious.
"Lots of people have it way worse. Sylas's parents didn't speak to him for two years after he came out.
Ryan's family would probably perform an exorcism if they knew.
" I wince at bringing up Ryan, but push forward.
"By comparison, I hit the mediocre-but-not-completely-terrible parent lottery. "
"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt," Tyler says quietly.
Something in his understanding tone makes my chest tighten. "At least they haven't disowned me for choosing nursing instead of medical school. That's their other great disappointment."
"What about your parents? Do they know about..." I gesture vaguely between us.
Tyler's expression grows more serious. "My dad probably suspects. We've never explicitly talked about it, but he's pretty perceptive. My mom..." he hesitated. "That's going to be more complicated."
"Because you've only dated girls before?"
"Because she has very specific ideas about my future. Including my ex-girlfriend, whom she adores. They still have lunch sometimes."
There's a familiar sinking sensation. "Oh."
"It's not like that," Tyler quickly adds. "I'm not hiding this. I'm just saying it might take her time to adjust."
Before I can respond, a booming voice interrupts us.
"VP!" A tall guy in a Delta Psi sweatshirt approaches our table, flanked by another frat guy I vaguely recognize from the Halloween party. "Thought that was you. We missed you at the house meeting this morning."
Tensing up, I wait for Tyler to pull back a bit, to play off our coffee as just a casual thing.
Instead, Tyler leans back in his chair. "Guys, this is Ethan. We're on a date, so make it quick."
My eyes widen at his directness as he introduces them. The two frat guys, Marcos and Brian, barely react to the declaration.
"Cool, man. We just need to know if you approved the budget for the alumni weekend," Marcos says, pulling out his phone to show Tyler something.
Tyler quickly checks whatever they are showing him, makes a decision, and sends them on their way with a friendly but firm dismissal.
After they leave, I stare at him. "That was... unexpected."
"What part?" Tyler takes a casual sip of his coffee.
"The 'we're on a date' part. The them not freaking out part."
Tyler shrugs. "I told you. My brothers respect me."
"And you're just... out now? Just like that?"
"I'm not big on labels, but I'm not hiding either." Tyler reaches across the table, briefly touching my hand. "I told you I'm not ashamed of this."
Something in my chest unravels at his words, like a tension I've been hauling around for so long I'd stopped noticing its presence. After Ryan's constant paranoia about being seen together, Tyler's easy confidence feels like stepping out of a dark room into sunlight, disorienting but warm.
I've spent so much time making myself smaller, less visible, and adjusting to other people's comfort levels that I've almost forgotten what it feels like not to apologize for existing, for wanting, for being wanted.
"You okay?" Tyler asks, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Yeah," I manage, swallowing past the unexpected lump in my throat. "Just wondering if I'm still passed out in the haunted house and this is all some elaborate concussion dream."
Tyler laughs. "If it is, we're having the same one. Besides, my brothers already saw me carry you off like some caveman with his prize. I think the cat's out of the bag."
His casual certainty, the way he doesn't flinch at the comparison to Ryan or try to distance himself from what happened at the party, feels revolutionary. It feels like possibility.
We fall back into conversation, discovering to mutual delight that we both had an obsession with competitive baking shows.
"Wait, you watch Great British Bake Off too?" Tyler looks genuinely delighted, his brown eyes lighting up with unexpected enthusiasm.
"It's soothing! All that precision and creativity under pressure..." I trace the rim of my coffee cup with my finger, smiling at the shared interest. "Something about watching people make intricate pastries while maintaining British politeness is so calming."
"And the disasters. Don't forget the epic disasters," Tyler adds, leaning forward eagerly. "Remember when that guy's baked Alaska melted and he just tossed the whole thing in the bin?"
"That's the best part," I agree, laughing. "That and when something unexpectedly sexual is said, and everyone in the room is trying not to laugh. The innuendos are half the reason I watch."
"Exactly!" Tyler snaps his fingers. "Like when they talk about—"
"The Beaver!" we both say simultaneously, then start laughing so loudly that people at other tables are glancing at us from nearby tables.
Tyler's laugh is deep and unreserved, nothing like the careful, measured persona I'd expected from Mr. Perfect VP of Delta Psi Omega. There's something disarming about how his eyes crinkle at the corners when he's genuinely amused.
"God, the faces they make trying to keep it professional," I say, wiping at my eyes. "Paul Hollywood looks stern while Mary Berry tries not to giggle."
"And then there's always that one contestant who has no idea why everyone's laughing," Tyler adds, his shoulder brushing against mine as he reaches for his napkin.
Two hours and another round of coffees later, I realize we've been talking nonstop, about everything from baking shows to our favourite campus shortcuts to the worst professors we've had.
The easy conversation flows between us, punctuated by shared smiles and occasional brushes of our hands across the table.
It's only when Tyler checks his watch reluctantly that I realize how much time has passed.
"I have class in twenty minutes," he says. "But I want to see you again."
"I pause, torn between playing it safe and how much I want to be with him. "Tyler, I—"
"Look, I get it," his voice softens. "You just got out of something rough, and now here's a guy who was supposedly straight until last week asking you out. That's a lot to process."
"Plus the whole frat thing," I add, trying to keep my tone light.
"There is that," he acknowledges with a smile. "But I like spending time with you, Ethan. And I'd like to do more of it."
"More coffee?" My heart speeds up despite my attempt to sound casual.
"More everything," his eyes hold onto mine. "Coffee, talking, kissing..."
Heat rushes to my face, flooding my cheeks with warmth that I'm certain makes me look like a human tomato. I can feel the blush spreading down my neck as I whisper urgently, "We're in public!"
Tyler's smile is confident but gentle. "And I'm still saying it. That's kind of the point, Ethan."
As we gather our things to leave, Tyler rechecks his phone. "I have to run to make my seminar, but are you free tomorrow evening? Maybe dinner instead of coffee?"
The way he looks at me, hopeful, earnest, and completely unguarded, makes my carefully constructed walls feel suddenly flimsy.
"Yes," I say, before I can overthink it. "I'd like that."
Tyler's answering smile is bright enough to light the whole coffee shop. "Perfect. I'll text you." Then he leans down and kisses my cheek softly.
As he jogs off towards his class, I stand for a moment watching him go. I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Sylas.
I think I'm in trouble
His response is almost immediate.
Sylas
The hot, muscular kind of trouble?
My lips curl into an involuntary smile.
Exactly that kind!