Page 35 of Strange Lad

“Well,” I say to no one. “That fucking settles it.”

There should be some panic, right?

Life-altering realizations like these don’t come without a sprinkle of heart palpitations, nervous sweats, and existential dread. My whole life, I’ve never once looked at another man and thought, "Yes,take me."

I’ve found them to be objectively handsome. There was one time when I thought maybe I could try it out if I wereseverelydrunk, but I never tried—never had a reason to.

I keep waiting for the weight of it all to crush me. I’ve got to be a little gay. A morsel of gayness. The lowest number on the scale. I can’t even say I’m bi-curious because only one man is invading my sexuality. I’d be more inclined to slap a label on my forehead if there were a good handful. It all seems unnecessary, yet I keep trying to understand it.

Oli was a crusty teenager. He had acne, greasy hair, and was tall and gangly like Phoenix. Being three years younger than Phoenix and I, he didn’t even register on my radar as someone who’d grow up to be this disgustingly attractive.

It’s ruining my platonic energy.

How am I supposed to continue this friendship? Before, it was just us. A mutual bond. Camaraderie, damn it. I can successfully hide things if I need to, after all, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past year. But it’s always hiding from other people. I’m so brutally honest with Oli.

Like right now.

Right now, I want to tell him that his thighs look like they could pop my head like a grape. And those jeans he’s wearing only emphasize my point. He grabs a wad of the material covering his quads, yanks them up, and squats.

It’s such a dude thing. Something one wouldn’t even notice, but I do—am.

Creeping around the dingy bike he’s fixing up, I casually glance down at his ass. It’s not as good as mine, but it's still pretty good. Nice handfuls.

Dear god. I need to get a grip.

He’s sweaty right now, a wrench or some form of tool in his hand. Those long, dirty blond strands are in a knot at the base of his neck. I can see the sweat droplets rolling down his thick throat. His biceps are bulging without even trying. And don’t get me started on the washboard he has for a stomach. I know he still goes to the gym but hasn’t gone lately.

Don’t abs go away?

Subconsciously, I rub at my stomach. It’s a little pudgy these days. I don’t have any abs. No, I have the torso I’ve always had. Flat, barely even noticeable. I poke at my stomach a little harder, determined to find evidence of those grueling two months of going to the gym with him.

Nada.Well, that’s rad.

Now I’m worried I need to get in shape. Does he even like men that are in shape?

Lightning hits my skull, and my lips start flapping.

“Do you have a type? When it comes to men?”

He stops tinkering with…the bike.I won’t even pretend to know what all these parts and wires are. Slowly, his head cranes to look up at me. Those green eyes look so sparkly right now. They usually are when he’s doing something he likes. The fuckers are almost neon when we play Magic: The Gathering.

The sun chooses this very moment to beat on the top of my head; the sweatband I’m wearing to keep my curls out of my face feels ungodly moist.

“Why?” he asks suspiciously and stands.

Now I’m looking up at him and feel stupid for asking. Why can’t I just keep my squirrel brain thoughts to myself? “No reason. Just curious.”

His lips twitch. “Curious kitten.”

I cough loudly to disguise the moan that almost slips free. I thought he forgot all about that. Obviouslynot.“Well?”

“Thirsty?” he asks, snatching up his water jug from the floor and offering it to me.

“Thanks,” I croak, chugging down long glugs before giving it back.

Hooking his fingers through the handle, he rests the other hand on his hip and thinks about my question. The muscles in his jaw feather, light catching on his beard, making it more yellow than normal. “I don’t really have a type. My attraction stems from the person, not the parts.” He shrugs, but his eyes watch me carefully.

“Oh.” And I gulp like a loser. “But you do think men are hot, right?”

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