Page 19 of Mr. Frosty Pants
Joel took a steadying drag from his cigarette before exhaling hard. “Go back to your boyfriend, Casey. Leave me the hell alone, okay?”
Casey tilted his head, brows knitting together. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Joel narrowed his eyes. “You don’t?”
“What made you think I did?” Casey’s smile broke open knowingly, and he chuckled. Worse, hewinked. “Oh. Right. Google.”
Joel shrugged, tamping back the horrible, electric satisfaction currently flash-bombing his soul at the words “I don’t have a boyfriend.” He concentrated on keeping his fingers from shaking when he sucked on his cigarette again.
Casey stubbed his cigarette out and tucked the butt into the pocket of his pants. “His name was Theo, and we’ve been over for a long time.”
“Whatever. Like I care.” Joel sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the bench. The wooden slats dug into his ass. The combination of hope and satisfaction faded quickly. Nothing worked out for him. It never had, and it never would. This conversation was pointless. He stubbed out his cigarette and flicked the butt into the grass. Irritably, he spit out, “Why aren’t you leaving yet?”
“Because I want to stay.”
Joel sighed glumly and gazed out at the narrow lake again. Bruno came trotting along the water’s edge with a doggy smile on his face and his tail wagging happily. Joel watched him and pondered. His heart tripped over itself, and he licked his lips nervously. “Well, since you’re not going anywhere, let me ask you something.”
“All right?”
He didn’t take his eyes away from Bruno’s progress toward them. “Why’d you leave me behind like I was trash? Like you didn’t have use for me anymore?”
Casey’s breath caught. “How could you think that?”
“Who wouldn’t?” The only way he could say the words was to fully focus on the lake. The small ripples in the water as the wind blew across the top. The sparkle as the clouds broke and the sun peeped out. “One minute we’re friends. Best friends, even. Or that’s what you said. The next minute you’re gone. Then your folks moved. You didn’t text. You didn’t call.”
“You didn’t either.”
“I did. Once.”
“No, you…” Casey trailed off, recollection flitting through his eyes. “You’re right. You did. Just once.”
“You didn’t text back.” God, how pathetic did he sound? Howgay? He could imagine his father’s sneering taunts. Joel popped up the collar of his jacket and ducked into it like he could hide.
“No. I didn’t. Do you know why?” Casey’s mouth twisted bitterly. “It was my first week at NYU, and I was scared shitless. I knew no one. The city was overwhelming. I’d come out to my parents before I left, and my dad didn’t take it well.”
Joel swallowed hard, the click audible between them. Mr. Stevens could be scary. Not like his own dad, not violent, but demanding all the same. Intense. If he hadn’t taken Casey coming out well…
“Yeah,” Casey said, nodding. “You have no idea how much that last night before I caught the plane to New York sucked. And in the midst of dealing with allthat, what did I get from you? My best friend, the boy I… The person I was dying to hear from? I got an asshole text saying, ‘So, you some frat boy’s bottom bitch yet?’”
“Oh.” Joel’s stomach dropped. He’d somehow forgotten that little detail in his butt-hurt understanding of what had happened. Or maybe he’d blocked it out. It hadn’t been his finest moment, that text. He’d been scared too. Ashamed.
“Yeah.Oh.” Casey raised a brow. “It proved my biggest fear back then: that you’d hate me if you knew the truth.”
Joel cringed. He opened his mouth to apologize, and instead what came out was, “What was I supposed to say? ‘I miss you already.’ How gay would that have been?”
Casey’s eyes flared brightly, a hint of rare anger. “Can you not use that word that way? You’re talking to agay guy.”
“Funny. So are you.”
Casey coughed, choking on his own spit apparently, and didn’t stop until Joel pounded on his back. “Really?” Casey gasped, eyes watering.
“Yeah, I’m a fag,” Joel snapped, but it didn’t hold much fire. “Sue me.”
“Wait, wait. Slow down. Just…” Casey turned to Joel and reached out tentatively. For a frozen moment they only stared at each other. Then Casey inhaled and took one of Joel’s hands in both of his.
A shiver rocked Joel. Casey’s fingers were soft and smooth, the hands of a student, and a wealthy one at that. He clenched his own callused hand tight around them, hard, hurtful—hopingit hurt—but desperate not to let go.
Casey returned the grip. “You’re gay.”
