Page 31 of A Match Made In Evan
I think of the months we’ve spent pretending to be a couple. I think about how effortless that has felt. How holding his hand and kissing him for show hasn’t really felt like it was for show at all.
I’ve enjoyed it.
Then there’s the fact that it spilled over into our private lives. That we’ve been going out on dates under the guise of best friends just hanging out. Only best friends don’t come home afterwards to exchange hand jobs, do they?
“Oh my God,” I exhale, certain that shock is written all over my face as the truth of it all sinks in. “We’re dating.”
Ev nods, still stroking his thumb over my gaudy ring, and he lets out a breathy, nervous-sounding laugh. “Are you…okay with that?”
“Are you? Because…I thought you were straight.”
Ev snorts. “I’m pretty sure straight men don’t feel the way I do about kissing other guys. Even when it’s their best mate.”
The feelings I’ve kept buried since we were fourteen start to dig their way out of their too-shallow graves. Then again, I wasjustwatching gay porn: who the hell am I trying to kid?
I can feel my heart beating rapidly, as afraid of labelling myself now as I was as a teenager. “Oh.”
As if he can read my mind, Evan hurries to add, “But I’m not telling you how to feel or how to identify yourself. I’m just saying that for me…I might be realising a few things.”
I bite my lip. He reaches out and gently tugs it free with his thumb, and I freeze when he does. He carefully retracts his hand and offers me a lopsided smile. It makes my stomach flutter.
“Yeah,” he muses, “I’m…not straight. Maybe bi? Maybe pan? I don’t really care about the label at this point.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope,” he shakes his head. “Nothing about me is any different with a label.” That damned smile is back. “I’m still the same Evan I’ve always been, just with a bit more self-awareness.”
It takes me a moment before I quietly confess, “You’ve always been braver than me.”
He brings a hand up to cup my cheek and my eyes flutter closed as he speaks. “You don’t have to label yourself. We don’t have to put a label on this…and, yeah, I know I just have by saying we’re really dating, but we can just—”
“I’ve had a crush on you since we were fourteen.” My heart is somehow torn between hammering inside my ribcage and squeezing itself to death. Is this a heart attack? It feels like it might be.
“What?”
“I…that night. The one we don’t talk about. I…” Fuck, I can’t do it. It’s somehow even more humiliating to admit it now than it was back then.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Ev’s voice is soothing as he pulls me in for a hug. I go willingly, resting my head on his shoulder while his big, warm palm strokes my back. “It’s just me. I’m never gonna judge you, Jay.”
“I…” It should be easier to do this without looking at him. I breathe in the scent of his cologne, faded but embedded in the fibres of his white cotton t-shirt, and I take a deep breath. “You were having a wet dream…all moaning and stuff…and I…I was awake and I…”
“Jerked off watching me?” he asks calmly, without a hint of amusement or censure. His voice is a low rumble through his chest, vibrating against mine, and I nod, unable to speak past the lump which has suddenly formed in my throat.
“Baby,” he repeats the endearment that he has only ever used during our moments of ‘helping each other out’. “James” —my breathing hitches because we never really use our full names, either, and, oddly, Ilikethe way he says it— “we were fourteen. A stiff breeze would have me jerking off sometimes.” We both chuckle, then his voice softens as he asks, “Why didn’t you say anything? About your crush?”
“You kept talking about Sasha McNaught’s tits, for one thing,” I answer, cringing when what was supposed to be a playful retort comes out bitter to my own ears. He must hear it, too, because he rubs my back a little bit harder, and I forge on, “And I was…confused, I guess. I liked girls, too, and I thought—I thought it was just a weird hormonal thing and it would go away. And I thought it did…until we started this whole fake relationship thing.”
“Which isn’t really fake anymore.”
“Was it ever?”
“I mean,” he snorts lightly, “we both thought it was. It’s hard to draw a line, though, when we were already so close. But, I mean it: we don’t need to label ourselves or whatever this is between us.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m bi,” I mumble into his shoulder, feeling an elated sort of fluttering in my chest at how much easier that was to say than I assumed it would be. Maybe his bravery and confidence has rubbed off on me? Maybe just knowing that I’m not alone in this is enough for me to be brave, too? “And I want to call you my…boyfriend? Partner?”
“Best mate. Fiancé. Lover. All of the above.”
I screw my nose up and pull back. “Lover? Really?”
