Page 99 of Sweat

“Think I give a shit what a dude in cargo shorts thinks?”

A small laugh from Rowan is enough to bring him back to me for another kiss.

24

Rowan

The day before Halloween, I agree to go with Tommy to one of his little gay boy meetings. Queer Alliance, or whatever the fuck it’s called. He didn’t ask me necessarily, but he did that thing where he subtly suggests something and his face not-so-subtly begs me for it. It’s those puppy dog eyes, wide and blue and melting me into a cynical puddle.

If it were up to me—and it usually is—we’d be running wind sprints right now. Instead, I’m following Tommy’s lead down into the bowels of the freshman dorms. A carpeted stairwell takes us to a subterranean lobby with doors to a few banquet rooms of various sizes. The only door that’s open is what must be the largest room. Huge and carpeted, with a stage and everything, fold-out chairs organized like we’re about to be pitched on a time share rental, and way too many people for my liking.

I hope it’s not homophobic to think this would be easier if everyone were straight. I grew up surrounded by straight people. Jocks and dudebros of varying degrees. I know how to talk to those people. I am those people, besides the straight part. Tommy wants to find some place where he “fits in,” and that’s great for him, but I can’t help feeling like I’ll fit in here even less than I do around my usual crowd.

Even Mustache Jack is more comforting than this place. At least at the gay bar, the lights are dim, there’s alcohol to settle my nerves, and there’s an abundance of visual and auditory stimulation to distract everyone from my existence. There, I can sip my drink, people-watch, and maybe inch myself closer to a more comfortable headspace.

Here, the lights are high and all there is to do before everything kicks off is acknowledge each other. As soon as I walk in, I feel a deafening sense that I’m being acknowledged. I hear Tommy’s name being exclaimed, and my proximity to him is suddenly a barrier. When someone pops up in front of us like a bouncy denim Smurf, I think to make a break for it.

“Hey, I know you.” The Smurf in question points a tatted finger at me, and the double-take between them and the door gives me whiplash. It doesn’t hit me at first, but then I notice the pins on their jean vest lapel. A memory of Oscar and his buddies at Mustache Jack flickers in my head.

“Andy?” I question.

“Indy, but close enough.” They smile like a teenager meeting a popstar in person, eyes scintillating in a way that makes me itchy. I’m scratching the back of my neck when they say, “You’re Oscar’s friend.”

“We’re not friends. I tutored him once, and he hit on me. That’s it.”

“Who did what?” Tommy asks in that quick, breathless tone he adopts when he’s jealous.

“Don’t worry. I hate that guy,” I tell him before it dawns on me Indy is Oscar’s friend. Grimacing toward them, I say, “Sorry. I don’t hate him. I just think he’s…annoying.”

Thankfully, all Indy does is laugh, then asks Tommy, “Boyfriend?”

Further proving what a jackass I am, I interject, “We’re just buddies.” I even slap Tommy on the back like I’m burping a baby.

“Uh huh.” Indy nods, looking between us like they’ve already seen what we do together naked. “Well, we’re running a little behind. Technical issues with the PowerPoint, so hang out.”

Once they’ve bounced away, I send a wary look to Tommy. “A PowerPoint?”

“It’ll be fine,buddy.” The way he smiles tells me he’s not upset, only teasing. I want to apologize, but I also can’t promise I won’t do it again. I told Tommy we can be boyfriends, but I figured that’d still stay private. Maybe he told all these people. Maybe he’s telling everyone.

He’s come here enough times that a handful of these people are on first name basis with him, and every time someone says hello, I feel like the most out-of-place third wheel ever. It almost compels me to hold Tommy’s hand.

Tommy winds up in a conversation with a wiry dude with a septum piercing who asks if I’m “the boyfriend.” I toss my arm around Tommy’s shoulders and say, “I’m his dad. Had him real young, but he’s my pride and joy.”

I missed this dude’s name, because I wasn’t paying attention, but whatever his name is, he laughs just like Indy did. “Good for you guys.”

He moves on after dapping Tommy’s fist, leaving me alone with Tommy’s very unamused expression. Behind his folded lips and lowered lids, though, I know he thinks I’m funny. I hope.

The next person to gravitate toward Tommy’s magnetic aura is a better-than-average looking guy. Doesn’t hold a candle to Tommy, but he’s tall-ish, fit-ish, and his shoulder length hairis bouncy and wavy. If he were on the soccer team, I’d chat him up a bit and play nice, but he’s not on the team. He’s here. At a club for gays. Chances are good he’s probably gay, or at least likes dick.

I hate him.

Tommy calls him Chuck and slaps his palm like they’re buds or something. “This is Rowan,” Tommy introduces me.

“His boyfriend,” I state plainly, slipping my arm around Tommy’s waist this time.

“Cool.” Chuck’s head bobs, fists on his hips. “Mine couldn’t make it. He’s got a frat thing tonight. He wanted me to go with him, but I hate that sorta shit, so I came here. Beats sitting in my dorm watching my roommate clip his toenails all over our rug.”

“Frat boyfriend? I didn’t know frats let gays in.”

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