Page 81 of Sweat

“Your lack of confidence in my intelligence is adorable,” I tease, wishing we were alone right now so I could hold him against the lockers and kiss him.

And cue the boner.

I glance left and right before fixing my dick so it won’t tent my shorts. When I look back up to Rowan, his eyes are on my lap, lips folded like it’s a struggle not to smirk.

Pushing off the lockers, Rowan rustles his sweaty hand through my sweaty hair and says, “Gonna shower up. Lunch after?” He walks off toward the showers after I nod, and with my eyes glued to the contours of his back and the curve of his ass, my mind goes to wicked places. If I could get away with it, I’d follow Rowan into a stall and bury my finger inside his ass until he spurts all over the tiled wall.

I’ve got to rein it in, though, for the sake of our teammates and the men’s basketball team who use those showers too.There’s a guy on that team who’s nearly seven feet tall. If he stepped into the stall beside us, he’d get one hell of an eyeful over the divider wall.

Turns out, Rowan’s idea of lunch is a salad place. Just salad. Sure, there’s grilled chicken and chopped up hard boiled eggs mixed in, but it’s still a damn salad. I can’t remember the last time I paid for a meal that was just a salad. It does come in a pretty big bowl and served with naan, so it moves my hunger needle a good ways from starving. But, after we eat, all I can think of is what I want for dinner.

Walking back to the car, swinging a Vitamin Water at my side, I tell Rowan, “We should get dinner somewhere Friday night.”

“Not gonna eat at Mommy’s?”

“I’ll just tell her I’ve got plans.”

He chuckles, jingling his keys before sticking one in the driver’s door. “Whatcha want, baby boy? In-N-Out?”

“Nah, I was thinking, maybe, Yard House.”

Over the car, Rowan shoots me an odd look before swooping into the driver’s seat. As soon as he pulls the lock on the passenger door, I slip in. Wearing my anxiety on my sleeve, I immediately stick a finger to my mouth, chewing on a hangnail that’s been bothering me all day.

“Yard House is a fancy restaurant,” Rowan says.

“It’s not fancy. It’s nice, I guess. I don’t know. The food’s real good.”

“Expensive.”

“I can pay,” I offer, since it’s my idea, and since Rowan’s been driving me around so often, I’ve got extra cash I would’ve spent on gas.

Rowan takes a beat between turning the ignition on and buckling his seatbelt to scrunch his mouth like he’s thinkingit over. “Nah. Two dudes eating at a nice restaurant together on a Friday night? That’s weird, man.”

“I don’t think it’s weird.” Okay, maybe I do think it’s a little weird, but only because I’ve never done it before. I’m sure there are guys who do that sort of thing all the time. Like gay guys.

“Let’s just go to Chipotle or something.”

“What? For more salad.”

“Hey,” he smirks. “They put a lot of shit on those salads.”

I smile, not totally forced, but it’s masking a lot of negative feelings bubbling inside my head right now. Things like,he doesn’t like you like that, dude, shut the fuck up.In all my anxiety, I forget to think, and I blurt out something I heard Rowan say once. “It doesn’t have to be gay.”

Stilling his hand on the shift, Rowan turns his head and stares into me with that hauntingly indecipherable expression he’s mastered so well. Quietly, and without inflection, he says, “Except for the fact that you’re gay.”

Time stops for a moment, and it’s a funny feeling. I can’t count how many times he’s called me gay boy, but I think this is the first time he’s flat out said I’m gay without caveats. Despite the internet saying only I can decide what my identity is, hearing Rowan say the answer so bluntly and matter-of-fact feels like a weight lifted off me. Like I don’t have to figure myself out anymore, because Rowan already knows exactly who I am.

As soon as time kicks back up again, I shrug a shoulder. “Gay dudes gotta eat. I can’t survive on your dick alone.”

The corner of Rowan’s mouth quirks up in a smirk that vanishes just as quickly. I think he’s going to say something snarky, likeyou can try.Instead, he says, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He turns face forward, and we lull into a silence that reminds me of the night of the party where I let jealousy get the best of me. What a shitshow. I decided then and there I wouldn’t let anyone come between me and Rowan again, but it seems like I’m always coming between Rowan and the false reality he’s created in his mind.

“You can talk to me, you know?” I move my hand on top of his. “I wanna understand you. I wanna know what you want from me. Wanna know who you are.”

“That’s beautiful,” he mutters dismissively.

“If you don’t wanna go out with me, then just say that, but don’t tell me you can’t, because you can.”

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