33. Orion
Orion
“Thanks for telling me.” Tyler smiles at me, and his auburn curls catch the last rays of sunlight, blazing in an exceptionally well-styled kind of way.
His eyes are filled with a gentle compassion I only let myself imagine when I pictured this moment on very good days.
“You know it’s all going to be okay, don’t you?
I know this feels big, ’cause it is, but this is a good thing.
You’re a good thing, and you’re going to start feeling free in ways you can’t imagine. You’ll see.”
I blink away the sting at the corners of my eyes and lean my shoulder lightly against his.
He asks the kinds of questions I’m expecting. How long have I known? Am I comfortable with other people knowing?
“I want people to know,” I tell him. “I’m tired of keeping it in. I… Andy mentioned once that you kind of told everyone he was gay when he came out, and I was hoping you could do the same for me. I want people to know, but like, I don’t want to be the one who has to tell them.”
“I totally get it and consider it done. I’m kind of an expert at this sort of thing.”
Andy and West are in the kitchen. West is taste-testing as Andy slices and dices vegetables for the salad he’s making. Jordan is standing with them, not moving or speaking. He’s looking at me in such a pinched, uptight way that I’m a little concerned he might be choking.
Tyler follows my gaze to Jordan and the hand on my knee taps again. Urgently this time.
“Immediately no,” he says under his breath. “Immediately no.”
“I know, I know.” I chuckle. “I’m not… I don’t… I’m working on it, I guess.”
Tyler shrugs ruefully, lowering his voice and cocking his head to where Andy and West stand. As we watch, Andy slices a piece of pepper, taking care to remove all the seeds before pushing it across the board with his knife and offering it to West.
“Oh, honey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Most of us fall for our straight friends at some point.”
“And the rest of us?” I ask hopefully.
“Well.” He pauses, eyes not leaving Andy for a beat before answering. “The rest of us fall for our gay friends, who are in love with their straight friends.”
We talk for a while longer before Tyler hugs me and sets about working his magic.
He moves from person to person unobtrusively, and minutes later, several pairs of eyes are smiling at me.
Over the course of the evening, each person makes their way over to me and embraces me.
The interactions mean more to me than I can say.
The shoulder squeeze from Andy. The bear hug from West. The slow, warm smile from Sarah.
By the time dinner is over, I feel floaty and light. I look around the table and let the events of the day sink in. This is it. It’s happened. The thing I’ve lived in fear of for most of my life has happened. It’s out there, and it’s okay. I’m okay.
I only wish I could enjoy the evening for what it is: a perfect night with wonderful friends. A life-changing night where people close to me have found out something important about me and accepted me. Not only accepted me, but supported me. Celebrated me.
Instead, I can’t stop obsessing about the fact that I’m sharing a room with Jordan later.
I’m being the biggest idiot on the planet about this, and I know it.
It’s a non-issue. We’ve shared a bed a ton of times over the years.
I’ve been on vacations with his family where we shared a bedroom for weeks at a time.
We borrowed my uncle’s RV the summer we graduated from high school and spent most of July meandering down the coast, stopping to camp wherever we liked.
We are currently roommates who share a bathroom—and have been for the past year and a half—for Christ’s sake.
I don’t know why I’ve made this into such a big deal in my head.
I know I’m setting myself up for disappointment. Yes, Jordan has been a little unpredictable lately, sure, but I know him better than anyone: he’s straight. That’s the constant. This whole sex and blowjob thing is the anomaly.
I’ve been getting my heart stomped on for years because of how much I want him, but this is in a different league.
Once you’ve been with someone, it’s completely different from wanting them theoretically.
Any pain I felt before from wanting Jordan and not having him pales in comparison to what will happen to me if I’m stupid enough to think I have a real chance of being with him.
Tyler is right. This is the epitome of an immediately no situation. Nothing but heartbreak, and possibly madness, lies down this path.
I’d do well to remember that.
Yes. I need to get with the program. I need to get back on track and start working on my plan to get over Jordan. For real this time.
The room is dark and quiet. The sheets are cool, a slight breeze from the lake disturbing the curtains and causing a ribbon of moonlight to flicker across the bed.
I turned the overhead light off when I came upstairs and killed the bedside light when I got into bed, despite Jordan still being in the bathroom.
The shower is running. It has been for four and a half minutes.
The hiss of the water stops abruptly, and I start severely second-guessing my decision to turn the lights off.
I mainly did it so Jordan couldn’t see my face when he walked in, but now it feels inconsiderate to make him stumble to bed in the dark in a room he isn’t familiar with.
Ordinarily, I’d have left a light on, but it’s been a long day, and I’m not sure I’m up to the task of keeping my expression neutral when he gets into bed with me tonight.
I’m really not. I’ve spent years not looking.
Years averting my eyes. I’m usually good at it, but I’ve tasted him now.
I’ve touched him. I’ve felt him. On top of me. Inside me.
That makes things different.
Harder to hide. Harder to deny.
The comforter is bunched at my feet, and the top sheet is pulled up to my chin. I’m wearing sleep shorts and an old tank. The temperature dropped sharply when the sun dipped below the horizon, but knowing Jordan is a few yards away, naked, has caused my temperature to spike.
I throw the sheet off myself altogether and then pull it back up to my waist hurriedly a couple of seconds later.
I hear the heavy thud of heels on the bathroom tile, and after a few minutes, the faucet runs again, but not for long. Jordan is brushing his teeth.
He’ll be out any minute.
He’ll be under the covers with me any second.
I roll onto my side, facing away from his side of the bed, and screw my eyes shut tightly.
I keep them closed when the bathroom door creaks open, and I keep them closed when the timber floor in our bedroom quietly groans to alert me he’s drawing near. The mattress slopes at a sharp angle, then levels as he gets into bed.
He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I.
He bunches his pillow, whacking it a few times to get it into the position he likes, and kicks his feet under the covers to loosen them.
He doesn’t touch me, but the air around my legs is disturbed by his presence.
The skin on the back of my thighs and calves is sensitized by his proximity, tiny hairs standing on end.
He’s so close to me that I can feel the distinct outline of him. The bulk of him. The heat of his body.
I keep my eyes closed and take care to keep my breathing even.
The ache in my chest is sudden. A stab. A serious wound. So sharp and so deep that I have to clamp my lips together to stifle my reaction.
God, I’m so stupid.
I’m a fucking idiot.
I spent all day telling myself not to get my hopes up, and look at me now. Gutted. Devastated. Distraught. All because Jordan and I are in bed together and nothing is happening between us. He’s on his side of the bed, and I’m on mine.
The space between us may as well be a chasm.
I told myself this would happen, but I went and got my hopes up regardless.
Darkness winds around me, weighing me down and laughing at me. Taunting me with things I know I can’t have but have been stupid enough to let myself think could be mine.
“You awake?” Jordan asks, startling me so badly I jump.
“Kind of.” I take care to use a deep voice that I hope sounds sleepy, but also, because I’m not done being an idiot, sexy in a mysterious, rugged way.
I don’t think it works because he goes quiet again. There’s something off about him though. He seems tense, and he’s breathing funny. Holding his breath and then releasing it all at once.
The shrill pain in my chest is accompanied by an icy dread that swims down my limbs when it occurs to me what’s happened.
Jordan is uncomfortable. Around me. I’ve made him uncomfortable by being gay and asking him to fuck me and sucking his dick.
I knew this would happen. I told myself it was a mistake, and now look, reality is playing out exactly like I said it would.
I can’t believe I have the gall to be upset about it.
I swear to God, I need to get a serious grip on myself.
I’m about to give myself the lecture of a lifetime when the sheet behind me rustles. I freeze, cocking my ears and holding my breath. The silence in the room is amplified tenfold.
It’s quiet.
Quiet.
Then I hear it again.
A soft sigh of cotton rubbing against cotton. But this time, it’s accompanied by a shifting of body mass that makes the mattress rock slightly.
My heart rate accelerates considerably. My skin prickles with anticipation and hope. My mind races, landing on a giddy conclusion: Jordan has moved closer to me. On purpose.
He’s not just close to me. He’s touching me, curling his body behind mine so his knees are tucked tightly behind my legs and his chest is pressed against my back. He’s so close that I can feel his breath in my hair and the heat from his shower on my skin.
There’s a wisp where his voice usually is. A soft, hesitant breathiness that expels three words on the back of a soft puff of air. “I-is this okay?”
As he speaks, his hand moves. A warm weightiness that slides down my shoulder in increments so gradual that I feel the world spinning beneath us before I’m able to eke out a response.
My mouth has gone bone dry, and any faith I had in my voice has left me, so I simply lean back against the lips pressed into my hair and nod.
The hand on my arm travels down, past my bicep, past my elbow, before leaving my arm and finding its way to my side.
I tingle from head to toe. His hand pauses at my waistband, hovering for a moment, before finding the hem of my tank and sliding cautiously under it.
Thick fingers splay out on my stomach, sending a bolt of heat through me.
They move painfully slowly, tantalizingly deliberately, mapping out my torso, bumping over my abs, until they find the whorl of hair around my navel.
They stay there for a while, smoothing my hair down in a languid circle before messing it up again.
Teasing. Provoking. Playing with me until my bones turn to jelly.
Jordan pushes himself up onto an elbow behind me, dipping his head so his words dance directly under the shell of my ear.
“What about this?” A husk rasps in the dark. “Is this okay?”
A big hand curls around the hem of my tank, knuckles dusting my pecs as he lifts it out of the way.
There’s no contact for a second. A steamy, swirly pause that briefly stops the room from rotating, and then his hand is on me again.
It stretches out, sliding down, palm flat on my skin, grazing hot pulses of heaven into me.
His hand turns, fingers pointing downward as they ease under my waistband.
I have a million reasons to say yes. Maybe more.
But one reason stands out above all the others.
Above the thundering arousal that roars through my veins.
Above the endless longing I feel for Jordan, and always have.
Above the fondness I feel for him. The friendship.
Above the yearning, the desire, and all the lonely nights I’ve lain in bed and fantasized about this moment.
That reason is this: as he lies behind me, with his chest pressed against my back, I can feel Jordan’s heartbeat… and it’s racing as wildly as mine.