Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I’m bi and I think I have a crush on the guy I enlisted to help me come out. Boom.
Geez, could it be that easy?
I didn’t think so. However, part two of the script called for gauging support of close friends and family. I think. I wished I could sneak a peek at Ash’s binder. I’d practically memorized it after he gave it to me Monday night, but still…
“Uh, well, I have a lot of papers to grade and exams to prepare and…” I continued with a snoozy play-by-play of the least exciting aspects of my job. Just when I figured I’d bored him to tears, I veered to lacrosse. “That game tomorrow is a big one. I need my beauty rest.”
“Yeah, you’re ugly as shit.” Ezra took a swig of beer, chuckling when I flipped him off. “How’s your team doing?”
“Great. We’ve been on a hot streak that should get us to CIFs without a problem. Our offense is on fire and our goalie is amazing.” I waited a beat, my eyes glued to the screen when I added, “You know, Carly just came out.”
Ezra hummed. “Yeah, Katie’s cousin. I know. Good for her.”
That’s it?
I waited for him to expand on that three-word nod of approval. Was it good because he didn’t know her, or was he being sincere? I couldn’t remember if lackadaisical acceptance was mentioned in Ash’s notes.
Which begged the question: Why the fuck did I care? I considered Ezra to be one of my best friends. If he had a problem with a major component of who I was, I should probably rethink my definition of friendship.
“It is good,” I replied. “I’m happy for her. She’s tough and extremely cool.”
“What did your uptight school have to say about it?”
“Nothing yet. They’ll probably wait till summer to address it. They don’t want to draw publicity by taking a stand one way or another…not during season with a championship game looming anyway.”
Ezra huffed. “Fucking hypocrites. Everyone’s a little gay. Or maybe technically bi.”
Oh. Okay.
“Definitely.” I stared straight ahead, my vision blurring at the edges and my heartbeat banging against my chest.
I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opening. This was it. I knew it.
I opened my mouth to spit out a secret I’d been holding on to for way too long just as the Giants’ shortstop hit a three-run homer. Ezra groaned aloud, then yelled a few choice obscenities at the TV and answered his buzzing cell. He put our friend Nolan on speakerphone so we could commiserate over a ball game I hadn’t paid any attention to, and just like that…the moment slipped away.
End result…I caved and went bar-hopping with Ezra. I had to get out of my apartment and out of my head.
I’d nursed one beer before switching to club soda and spent my night with a phony smile on my face, silently berating myself for being a fucking coward. I thought about texting or calling Asher when I got home, but it was late and I didn’t want to mar our ongoing breezy thread with negative vibes.
And yes, we’d texted every night since our “date” on Monday. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted us to be friends. I couldn’t explain his presence at a game any other way. We didn’t have to be best buddies, but I wanted him to feel comfortable around me and vice versa. So I made it my mission to engage in small conversations…silly ones.
Tuesday night had started with a simple, How’s it hangin’, Ash?
He’d replied ten minutes later. What are you referring to? What is hanging?
It’s just another way to ask how you are.
Oh. I’m well.
Silly responses only. Try again.
He’d gone radio silent for a while before answering. I’m hanging in there like a hair on a biscuit.
I’d barked a laugh. What the fuck does that mean?
I looked it up in Urban Dictionary. It means meh, which loosely translates to okay.
Why just okay?
It was a regular Tuesday. I have nothing to report.
Then tell me about a regular day in Ash-land, I’d suggested.
That will take too long to text.
Call me.
He did. He’d talked my ear off about nebulas and star clusters. At the end of our thirty-minute phone conversation, he’d asked the million-dollar question.
“Why did you want to talk to me?”
“I was thinking about last night, and it occurred to me that I might not feel comfortable sharing ‘feelings’ bullshit unless I know you better,” I’d replied logically.
“Ah, so you really do want to be friends,” he’d stated in a businesslike tone.
“Yeah. Is that cool by you?”
“Are you going to want to speak to me daily?”
I’d smiled at the confusion in his voice. “It doesn’t have to be every day. Whatever works for you, and no pressure.”
“Okay. Yes, we can be friends,” Asher had stated.
I wasn’t sure why, but I’d felt like I’d won a lottery.