“There could be,” West interrupted. “There are many things I still want to do to you. It’s just sex, Bashful. No one would know.”
But it wasn’t just sex. I cared about him, and I couldn’t come out. Being with him would make me want more, and there was too much at risk. “You know I can’t.”
“You actually could if you wanted.” There was a sharp edge of bitterness to his voice. “Shit. I don’t know why I said that. Maybe we’re both a little off our game tonight. The us game, not the football one, because you fucking killed that. Let’s start over.”
“Yeah, okay.” I didn’t want to contemplate what any of my feelings meant, so starting over sounded like a good fucking plan to me. “You aren’t having Thanksgiving?”
He shrugged. “Nah, I ordered some food. My mom called. She got off the phone in less than five minutes. My dad wouldn’t talk to me. Just another day in our dysfunctional family.”
I thought about my family, about our meal the next day and having Darren and Mia over to join us. Regret blanketed me, weighed me down. Made me want things I couldn’t want—inviting him home with me, sharing a holiday with him. “What about Jeremy?”
“He’s busy with his husband. It’s fine, Bashful. It’s not a big deal. This holiday isn’t really important to me anyway.” But it was. It was a big deal to me. “You guys are having dinner tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, Mom invited Darren and Mia.”
“That’s his sister?”
“Yeah.”
“The one who wants you? Not that I blame her. Doesn’t your mom have the two of you basically married off already?” There was something stiff in his voice, something unlike West.
“I wish I could be with you,” I admitted.
“You’re getting us back on track for a conversation you don’t want to have.”
“And you do?”
“Yes and no. I want you. I’m not asking you to marry me, to get down on one knee for me after you come out. I just… I want you. There’s no other way to say it. And I’m being strangely emotional right now. I blame my cock. It misses your mouth.”
I knew what he was doing—trying to lighten the mood. So I chuckled.
We talked a while longer before West said, “I should go. I still have work to do.”
“Okay.”
“See you later, Bashful.”
He moved to hang up when I called out, “West?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you too.” I hung up before he could respond.
Our family Thanksgiving was exactly what I expected it to be. Carly was great. She was sweet and beautiful and completely crazy about my brother. It was clear in the way she looked at him. Mom was enamored with her. She loved having another woman around, doting on her and telling her stories about Elias and me when we were young.
Would she do that if I’d brought West home? Tell him how I went through a phase where I’d rip off my diaper and run around the house naked, or how I used to stockpile cookies in my bedroom? Would she invite him to have lunch with her sometime and make plans to get to know each other? Would she tell him how good a couple we made? If we were really a couple…
They asked about my “mystery girl,” and I tried to change the subject. Mom nudged me toward Mia more than once, the two of them getting along just as well as she and Carly did.
I talked football with Elias, Darren, and Mia, and thought about how much easier my life would be if I could love Mia, if I could want her the way I wanted West.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t.
Instead, I spent the whole time wishing West was there.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Weston
Early December
“What the hell are you wearing?” Jeremy asked when I answered the door.
“It’s traditional football gear from many generations ago. It’s called a jersey. You see, they—”
“One day you’ll realize you aren’t funny.” He came inside.
Maybe it was dumb to wear it in front of Jeremy, but I liked to wear Anson’s jersey when I watched him play. Okay, so there was no maybe about it. Wearing his jersey was stupid and silly, like a schoolyard crush, but I really fucking wanted him, damn it. I liked to feel I was supporting him in some way, even if I couldn’t do it publicly.
“This is your fault. You’re the one who took me to that game, and once I paid attention to the men in football pants, I wondered why I hadn’t always been watching. I’ve become a bit obsessed since.” There. That made sense. It wasn’t as if Jeremy would see me in the jersey and automatically assume Anson was in the closet and that we were secretly sleeping together. Not that we were still sleeping together or ever would again.
“I’ve just never seen you wear one, is all. It’s weird, but then you’re weird, so I guess it makes sense.” He grinned at me.