“We’re not having a pillow fight.”
“You’re so boring.”
“You’re so…” I cocked a brow, waiting for him to continue. “Different than what I’m used to—from the guys I usually hang out with.”
“Good different or bad different?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll keep you posted.”
I stuffed the pillow beneath my head. “Well, you’re already funnier than you were before we became roomies, so I say good.”
I continued scrolling through Grindr while Jonathan kept working on his room. We talked about random things, nothing major. He asked about my job and my family, and I told him I was the youngest of three with two older sisters.
“You, um…came out in high school?” he asked.
“Yeah, I did. Monica was the first person I told. We’re the closest. My mom found out by accident because I was shit at hiding my jerkoff material. My dad was a dickhead who abandoned us when I was twelve.” Abandoned me. I shook that thought out of my head. He didn’t deserve space in my thoughts, to make me feel like I wasn’t enough.
“Your mom was cool with it?”
“Yep. And I get it—how lucky I am. Not everyone has the same story. My mom did worry about me coming out publicly, though. She didn’t think I should at school, not because she was ashamed, but because she worried. I was a lower-middle-class Mexican kid in the Georgia suburbs. She worried about adding queer Mexican kid to that, but I don’t really work that way. There’s nothing wrong with those who do. We all have to do what we can to keep ourselves safe, and we all deserve to come out on our own terms, no matter when that is, but those were my terms. I wanted to be out, so I was.”
Jonathan kept his back to me, kept working on emptying boxes and putting things away. “It was that easy?”
“Not really.”
“No one cared?”
“Some people did, yeah. It wasn’t perfect, but I was lucky. I was legit that popular football jock. I’d been going to school with the same kids my whole life. I’d done well at…well, being liked and constructing who I wanted to be. I know that sounds like I’m fake, but—”
“No. Fuck, no. It doesn’t.” He finally turned to look at me. “I wish I’d had the balls to do that.”
I set my phone on the mattress, rolled onto my side, and looked at him. “It has nothing to do with balls. It’s different for each of us, and we just do what we can to get by.”
“Still makes me feel… Never mind.”
“Feel what?” I asked. “If you can’t talk to your roomie, who can you talk to?”
His gaze darted toward the mattress before he said, “There’s a dick on your phone.”
“There are lots of dicks on my phone. Ass too. You should have dick and ass on yours as well.” I looked down at the screen. “Holy fuck. That’s a monster. Very scary. Too big for me.” I scrolled through. “Wow, this guy is very nice. Look.” Jonathan hesitated for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed with me and looked. “Normal-sized cock. Hairy chest—I like that more and more the older I get, and holy fuck, that ass. What’s your type?”
“Oh fuck. We don’t have to do this.”
“Of course we don’t. I want to.”
He groaned. “I don’t know exactly. Well…more now than I did at first. In the beginning it was so rare that I hooked up, and when I did find someone, it was basically orgasm and run. But now I guess…fuck. I can’t do this.”
I laughed. He’d gone further than I thought. “So let’s just browse and look at pretty boys.”
Jonathan surprised me again by nodding, and that’s what we did, looked at hot guys and lots of dick and ass, chatting about random things as we did so. Jonathan got more comfortable, laughing often and even pointing out guys he found attractive. He didn’t seem to be into twinks really, or bears. He was a middle ground kind of guy. After a while we put my phone away and he continued working on his room. I chatted his ear off, and we talked about getting more information this coming week about the baseball team.
“You hungry for dinner? Wanna go somewhere?” I asked.
“Nah, I’m good. I think I’m gonna finish up here.”
I stood and ruffled his hair. Jonathan rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. “Thanks for hanging out.”
I got all the way to the door before he said, “Weak. You asked earlier what not coming out earlier made me feel, and that’s it.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re not weak at all.”
Jonathan nodded, then moved to pick up a box. I gave a sad smile to his back and slipped out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jonathan
I spent most of the next day unpacking and organizing. Danny was out. He said he was going to play soccer in Piedmont Park with some friends, and he invited me, but I turned him down. I already felt like a pity friend to him. So I finished up in my room, put on basketball shorts and a tee, and looked up a nearby gym to join. I went down, took care of paperwork, had a good workout, then made my way back to the apartment. Danny still wasn’t there. I showered, changed, then sat at the bar, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.
Before my life turned upside down, when I was still back home, I would have called up one of my buddies to hang out or I would have spent time with Nolan or Brad. I hadn’t talked to either of them since a day or so after I stopped working with them.
I couldn’t believe I’d sat on the bed, looking at photos of naked men with Danny the night before. That was so out of my wheelhouse, it wasn’t even funny. But God, maybe that was good because in that moment, I simply was.
I’d also spent quite a bit of time jerking off afterward.
I picked up my phone and considered logging on to Grindr. Danny said I could have guys over…but I could also go to them. Maybe that was what I needed to do—fuck around more than I’d ever allowed myself to and just have some goddamned fun.
What I ended up doing was setting my cell down, picking up the pen, and doodling in the notepad Danny had on his bar.
I started with the apartment building, then some of the ones nearby. I winged it because I didn’t have a photographic memory, but before I knew it, I was looking down at my very own drawing of the neighborhood and…holy fuck, it had been a long time since I sketched. I used to love it. I was always doodling or drawing, and I’d get shit for daydreaming in class. Guys at school would give me shit too, and then I’d punch them in the face in the hallways. Dad never got mad at me for fighting, especially after the treehouse incident.
My gaze scanned over the paper in front of me. It was shit, really. I was so out of practice, all I could see were the imperfections, and then I wondered why I cared, because what the fuck did it matter if I could draw or not?
I ripped the page out of the notebook, balled it up, and tossed it in the trash can. My phone was still right beside me, so I called Will.
We decided to meet up for an early dinner at this Mexican place he and Jameson loved. The food was good, and it was nice to get out of the apartment and hang out with him some more, but when he asked, “Wanna come to our place for a bit?” I shook my head.