Page 74 of Playboy For Hire

“No, Quinn’s gay.” I sighed. “But we’re not—he’s not—I’m just…it’s complicated.”

“I knew it!” Amir said triumphantly. “I knew something was going on between the two of you.”

“I never said something was going on.”

“That’s literally what ‘it’s complicated’ means. Or is there really nothing happening between you two?”

I looked down at my phone. “Well, not anymore.”

“You sneaky bastard,” Raf said. “You guysarehooking up.”

“Wait, is this you coming out to us, Ryder?” Amir asked. “Or are you just bullshitting?”

I looked at him with pained eyes, and his whole face lit up, the baseball game entirely forgotten.

“Holy shit, are you serious?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s happening between us. We were just having fun, it wasn’t supposed to be serious or anything.”

“Classic Ryder,” Raf said. “When was the last time you actually dated someone for more than one night?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“I’ve never seen you with the same girl twice.”

Now it was Amir’s turn to wiggle his eyebrows. “But we’ve seen your friend more than once. So what happened? Did he develop feelings? We could have told him that was pointless.”

“Our little heartbreaker strikes again,” Raf said, like a proud dad at a Little League game.

“I’m taller than you are,” I told him.

“Yeah, but you’re younger. That makes you permanently little.”

“Besides, you’re a baby gay now,” Amir put in. “Which means we’re contractually obligated to tease you for it.”

“I’m not gay,” I muttered. “I’m bi. I think.”

“But you’re not hooking up with Quinn anymore? Because I’m serious, if nothing’s going on between the two of you, Iamsingle.”

The thought of Quinn with either Amir or Raf made my stomach clench. Both of them were older than I was, and more accomplished. Quinn would make way more sense with either of them.

Maybe I should just tell Quinn they were into him. Rip off the band-aid and accept the inevitable. I imagined seeing Quinn every day, snuggling on the couch with Raf or in the kitchen with Amir, and my hands curled into fists. I wasn’t angry at Quinn, but at myself, for letting him slip through my fingers without a fight.

My friends were right about one thing, though. It had been a long time since I’d met someone I wanted to keep around. And maybe that meant something.

I swiped my phone on and started to type.

The next day, I was at Quinn’s apartment, sitting on his bed as he went through his closet, holding up various outfit options. He pulled out a charcoal gray suit, and I shook my head.

“Too formal.”

He pulled out a polo and a pair of chinos.

“Too casual.”

He pulled out a sweater vest and corduroys. I considered for a moment, then shook my head again.

“Too librarian.”

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