Fake Friends - Saxon James Page 0,28

don’t know who I’m going to marry, but I won’t be choosing based on reproductive parts. This isn’t The Handmaid’s Tale, you creep.”

I laugh. “But wouldn’t it be easier that way? Man, if I could be attracted to anyone I wanted, I would definitely choose to fall for a woman.”

Circus slowly lowers himself onto his stool, and this time I have his attention. “Is that how you think it works?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Well, you tell me. How does it feel when you meet someone you’re instantly attracted to? Or even someone who you grow an attraction to over time? Do you go out looking specifically for someone to meet a certain criteria, or does it just happen?”

“It just happens.”

“It’s exactly the same for me, man. Sorry to break it to you, but I can’t force myself to fall for any one gender, just like you can’t force yourself to be straight.”

I sigh and pretend to be checking the bottle. “I’ve tried, you know. To be straight.”

His lips flatten. “I’m not surprised. And how did that go for you?”

“Not … well.” I cringe when I remember the massive shit fight I left behind in Portland. Walking away was the right thing to do, but I probably could have handled ending my relationship better.

“Sorry, I guess. I still don’t think you should be trying to change who you are, just to make other people happy.”

“You’ve made your thoughts on the whole thing very clear.”

My tone makes it obvious the conversation is over. And as much as I’d be happy to sit here and talk about anything with Circus, there are only so many times I can rehash how my family feels. I’m trying, so hard, to leave all those bad thoughts and negative images behind me. I’m trying to shake the voice. But every time I’m reminded of why those thoughts exist in the first place, it brings them back stronger.

I want to enjoy my time with Circus, without the homophobic thoughts poisoning it.

We spend a couple of hours at Leita’s, before we walk back to my place to get my car. Thankfully no one seems to be home, or at least not around to question where I’m going and who with. I strap Circus’s bike to the roof and drive us both back to his place in the forest.

I still can’t get over the size of it.

The big family thing sort of explains why he’d want so much room, but surely when partners and offspring come into the equation, he’ll be looking to move back closer to town. I wasn’t joking when I asked him if he got scared—that wall of glass overlooking the valley is exactly the sort of setup a serial killer would love to exploit.

When we get inside, I grab a glass of water and follow Circus into the studio. There’s a large box on the floor with a whole bunch of colorful material spilling over the top.

“What is that?” I ask, holding up a tie-dyed tank top.

“Mine.” He snatches it from me. “I’m sure there were matching shorts in here somewhere.” And true to his word, he pulls out a pair a moment later.

“You’re going to wear those?”

“Hell yeah, they’re awesome.” He pulls his shirt over his head, putting all that warm brown skin on display for me, before pulling the tank top on. And of course, if anyone can pull it off, it’s him.

The rest of the selection follows a similar kind of hippy theme. Beads and tassel vests and earthy colors.

“Here.” Circus hands over a brown leather vest and flowy animal-print pants.

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“Definitely not.” He crosses his arms, and I don’t know when he changed his shorts, but I am sorry I missed it. “They’ll look hot.”

Hot? Well who am I to be arguing with that? He doesn’t let me pull on an undershirt, so my chest is on full display, and I’m hyperaware of the way Circus shamelessly drinks me in as I strip. I might even flex accidentally-on-purpose to really give him a show.

“In the chair.”

I do as I’m told, relatively used to this by now. He fusses with my hair and starts to roll up a bandana that he wraps around my head and ties at the back.

“I look like I’m wearing a sweatband.”

“That’s the point.” He circles me, fussing with my hair some more, and when he steps directly in front of me, leaning forward so he can make the thing sit right, I’m swamped with his scent. Something manly and