straight. I’ve only dated women. Only been sexual with women. Only really thought about being with a woman.
But then Oscar entered the picture, and my flirty jokes and banter that I have with just about everyone felt different with him.
I would anticipate it happening again and again. My heart would float like I was breathing in helium. I felt…
I feel…
I swallow hard. He’s staring at me. Waiting for me to speak, and I bide time by pulling the pen out from behind my ear and twirling it between my fingers.
You’re straight, right? he asked.
I nod slowly.
FYI: I feel chicken-shit scared in this moment. To believe one thing for so long about myself and then have to reassess is not even close to easy.
Uncomfortable silence still hangs, so I try to play it off like nothing’s changed between us. “Well, if you did ask me if I found something I liked, I would’ve told you that I like your look.” I motion to the rolled blue bandana tied around his forehead, pieces of his curly hair falling over, and my blood heats. No, actually, my dick pulses. “You’re an attractive guy, and you’d be good on TV.” Do I sound choked?
Oscar pinches a powdered donut between three fingers. “You’ve told me that before. And the answer still hasn’t changed.”
Selfishly, I just want to grill the fuck out of him.
He pops the donut in his mouth, and my stomach lets out a loud groan. I’m about to laugh the noise off when Oscar frowns deeply. He rubs powdered dust off his lips with the back of his hand. “You hungry?”
“I had to run out the door this morning, so I missed bre—” I don’t even finish my sentence before Oscar is moving back to the kitchen.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. Dude, shut up. Something inside me is utterly enamored with how easily and quickly he just moved into action for me.
“Bro, your stomach is screaming at me,” Oscar says. “It’d be a crime not to feed you.” He bends down to his bottom cabinet. Back turned to me, his drawstring pants pull tight around his ass.
Jesus fuck. My stomach squeezes. And my dick almost rouses. Stay down.
I cage a breath. Don’t breathe. Don’t speak. My composure is teetering on the edge of a diving board, and at this point, I’m questioning if I even know how to swim.
Me, Jack Highland, a collegiate swimmer at Penn.
I manage to sit on a wooden barstool across from Oscar without completely losing it. My body acts like he’s the hottest thing to ever step foot on this Earth, and my brain has trouble catching up to these feelings.
I’m laps behind.
Tensely, I take off my messenger bag and pull out a contract. I set the paper beside my spiral notebook and abandoned donuts on the marble bar counter.
“I can just have a donut,” I end up saying. “You don’t need to get me anything.”
Oscar stands up with two boxes of cereal. “Baby donuts will hold you over for five seconds.”
Baby donuts. I smile.
He shakes the boxes. “Pick your poison, Long Beach.”
Organic granola cereal or Lucky Charms.
I hesitate, my smile faltering.
Something intangible stretches the air. I hate that uncertain, uncomfortable feeling because it means other people feel uncomfortable and uncertain. I pride myself on erasing doubts and fears and tension in any room.
But lately, I realize, if it’s just me and Oscar sharing space, I can’t seem to let out the words to ease this thing between us. I let it fester for a second too long.
Oscar frowns. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that overthinks things. And not for nothing, Long Beach, but it’s just cereal.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I just don’t know what I feel like.”
“So have both.” He opens the flap to the Lucky Charms.
My head spins. “You’re right, you know. I don’t overthink things.”
More tendrils of his hair fall over his rolled bandana as he shakes cereal into a bowl. “Look, I didn’t want to bring it up and make it more awkward, but I’m not a twelve-year-old, and I won’t avoid it.” He closes the Lucky Charms box and opens the granola cereal. “I think you’re hot, but I think a lot of people are hot. Me asking you for a kiss isn’t a big deal. We don’t need to make it a big deal.”
My stomach overturns.
Disappointment. Devastation. Wrapped up nicely in a little ball.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, appeasing him, and then I quickly add, “You’re not the first