Page 28 of A Match Made In Evan
But the ‘benefits’ part of our arrangement has started to feel likemorethan just sexual release. It’s putting thoughts in my head that I never expected to think, and making me want things I never thought I would want.
Like settling down.
Like having a family.
Like…being with James. As inbeingwith James. In every possible way.
Why can’t I make these feelings stop?
It’s not that I’m ashamed of them, or afraid of what they say about my sexual identity. It’s more that I’m afraid of the damage they can do to my closest friendship. It’s also that I don’t entirely trust that they’re real.
What if I’m only feeling this way because of all the forced proximity between us? Because of the shared orgasms and our history as best mates? What if I were to tell Jay how I feel…onlyto realise that I was wrong, and that the love I feel for him really is platonic? There wouldn’t be any going back from that.
But what if I don’t say anything and miss a chance to see where this thing between us could go? Assuming it could go anywhere at all…
Ugh.
I really need to talk to someone about this. Someone who isn’t my best friend. Even that thought seems kind of confusing because, if this was happening with anyone else, Jay would be the first person I’d reach out to to help me sort out my thoughts. It’s just that he’s the centre of them, and I need an unbiased perspective.
“You know you’re only thirty-five, right?” Jay’s reply to my random admission brings me right back into the moment. He moves his hand from toying with his daughter’s hair, to squeezing my knee. The simple action sets all of my convoluted thoughts tumbling about again, but he keeps on taking, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Like…most guys our age are only just starting to settle down. You still have heaps of time.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge, “you’re right.”
It’s not like I can say anything else to him. At least, not right now. Not until I know for sure what —if anything— to say to him.
***
Between commitments at the school, catching up on my work, and generally stressing out about the fact that I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with my best mate, I miss a couple of our social soccer games. Finally being able to return to the indoor pitch is a relief, like a sliver of normalcy in a life I feel is unravellin at my feet.
I’m buoyed by the prospect of being able to shed my frustrations on the soccer pitch again. To run, and kick a ball, and lose myself in the game. And, when I’ve got my boots on and I’ve stretched out my out-of-practice muscles, I spy Jack’s large, tattooed form slumped on the bench, with one boot on and the other dangling from his hand as he stares unseeingly in front of him.
“Earth to Jack,” I ruffle his hair, and he gives himself a shake before he glares up at me. I return his glare with a grin. “You with us, mate?”
He rolls his eyes, but hurries to get his second boot done up. “Shut up. I was lost in thought.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” I wave my hand vaguely at the rest of the team waiting on the pitch. “Game starts in three. You up for it?”
“Of course I am.”
Something in his tone gives me pause. I can resonate with it. Letting go of my teasing, I ask, “You wanna talk about it?”
Jack’s a bit defensive, though. He arches an eyebrow and cocks his head. “You wanna talk about whatever’s been keeping you from the past few games?”
Uh, nope.
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to my life.” He’s usually a pretty happy-go-lucky guy, so I just watch as he gets to his feet and runs through a couple of on-the-spot warm-ups to limber up for the game.
I don’t know why, but I blurt, “I think I’d be better off talking to Connor about my issues. No offense or anything.”
“Why Con?” He asks, and then, while I’m scrambling tonotaccidentally out myself when I’m not even sure how I identify, he carries on with a shrug. “You know what? It’s not my place to ask. You’ve got his number, right?”
I just nod, still not sure what to say or how to say it.
“Cool,” Jack says. “He’s a good guy and a great listener. I…actually need his advice, too.”
Thattakes me by surprise, but then I want to facepalm. There’s no way Jack would be going through some sort of sexual identity crisis. “Oh, because of the kids? I figured you’d ask your dad any parenting type questions, not your stepdad.” I can’t help sneaking in that last little tease. Banter’s what we do, after all. Deep and meaningfuls with my soccer mates just feel weird.
