“Definitely.”
A ball bounces in front of us, kicking up bits of sand. “Hey,” one of the college boys with thirty-seven abdominal muscles calls. “Toss it back?”
Corey stands and does just that. It’s a good throw, and Corey looks good doing it.
“You want in?” the non-gay college boy asks with a completely flirtatious smile as he sizes Corey up.
“In more ways than one,” Corey calls back. The college boys laugh and wave him over. Oh, college boys. You’re so progressive.
“You okay to stay here?” he asks me.
I roll my eyes. “I think I’ll survive while you go join the pseudo-hetero parade. Also? I’m insulted that instead of asking me if I wanted to join, you assumed I wanted to stay here.”
“Do you want to join?”
“Ew. They’re all sweating. Of course not. How dare you ask me.”
“Do you think one of them will give me a piggyback ride if I ask?”
“I’m pretty sure they’d do a lot more if you ask. Straight guys are so gay.”
“Think about what I said, okay? About Dominic.”
“Bite me,” I grumble at him. I don’t plan on doing anything of the sort. As soon as Corey goes on the prowl, I’m going to take the car keys and leave him here and cross into Canada to begin my long-standing dream of becoming the French-Canadian Zamboni driver named Pierre. Nothing will stop me. Nothing will keep me from realizing my dream. Nothing at all.
And then he says something so stupid, something so ridiculous, something so fucking life-altering, that I can’t even begin to process what it means, and my dreams of becoming a Zamboni driver disappear as if they were never there at all. “And besides,” he says, “I’m pretty sure he’s at least bisexual. You were too busy resolutely ignoring him to see, but his eyes never left you the day we got arrested. He watched you like you were the only thing that existed in the world. For him, I’m pretty sure you were. For at least those moments. Who knows what could happen?”
I gape at him as my synapses misfire. I’m pretty sure I can smell the burning coming from inside my head.
“Close your mouth, dear,” he says. “It’s unattractive.”
“You… there’s… motor skills failing….”
“Don’t read too much into it,” he warns. “It could be nothing.”
“You… bastard….”
He sighs. “I knew I should have kept that to myself.”
All I can do is nod in agreement.
Corey leaves to go play gayball, and I am left to ponder that just when I think everything is going well, that I have my life in order and things are looking up, all of a sudden I find myself in a position where I am so completely and utterly fucked.
It’s inevitable, it whispers, sounding just like Dominic.
13. Where Tyson Decides to Man the Fuck Up
WELL, SORT of.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” I ask Corey, sure I’m close to a complete freak-out. I’m pretty sure my voice is so high-pitched that I sound like a mosquito. “Seriously. Let’s do this later. Like tomorrow. Or never.”
“Or you could do it now because you told me you wanted to.”
“How do you even know this is his house? This could be the wrong address and I could end up interrupting some kind of séance where an elderly woman is trying to communicate with her husband who died suddenly and without warning. I would feel so terrible about that.” And I really would too. Unless her husband turned out to be an evil ghost. Then I would feel like I saved the world. It’s a precarious line to walk.
“It’s good to know that even when you’re on the verge of panicking, you sound so completely sane.”
“It could happen! How do you even know this is where he lives?” I know where he lives, but Corey shouldn’t. Unless he’s stalking Dom.