Page 13 of Wrecked Rose

My eyes dart up to meet his as I mentally shake myself.Seriously. The fuck?“Yeah?”

“Uh. You offered clean clothes. I’ll take whatever.”

I squeeze my eyelids together tightly for a fraction of a second, blowing out a harsh breath. “Yep.” I spin on my heel, going over to my chest of drawers. I yank one open, remove a pair of joggers, and then slide another open to find a basic T-shirt. Hesitating, I turn around. Maybe I can goof around and distract Max from my inner turmoil. Giving him a very serious face, I hesitate, getting his attention before I ask, “So, is it weirder to go commando in another man’s pants or to wear another man’s boxers?”

Surprise dawns on his face, and before I know it, he snort-laughs and holds out his hands for the clothing. “I’m gonna say I’d rather go commando, if that’s okay with you. I promise to wash them and get them back to you as soon as I can.”

I stifle a laugh and nod.Phew.Crisis averted. “No worries. You can keep them as long as you need.”

“Awesome. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He gives me a smile.

Needing to put a little distance between us, I point in the direction of the bathroom. “Okay if I hop into the shower now?”

“It’s all yours. I’ll put these on and head downstairs. See you later.”

In the sanctity of my bathroom, I push down on the semi threatening to pitch a tent in my pants. Grinding my teeth, I strip out of my clothing and start the shower. I let images of wrinkly grandmas, spiders, and foot fungus float through my mind.

Calmer now, I reassess myself. My brain had a minor short circuit. That’s all. It was that stupid New Year’s kiss. And my dick’s response to him later that night? Just an effect of the alcohol.

A little voice in the back of my head tells me I can’t blame today’s erection on alcohol, but I tell it to shut the fuck up. Moving more quickly than usual, I shampoo, soap up, and scrub at warp speed, all in an effort to get on with my day and focus on something else.

But now I wonder …

Roughly toweling myself off, I get dressed, lower the toilet lid, grab my phone, and have a seat. Drumming a few fingers on my lower lip, I try to decide if I want to do this. I don’t know if it’s the best idea but maybe it’ll tell me something.

I pull open a web browser and, before I lose my nerve, typeIf I look at a guy and get a boner, am I gay?

Swallowing hard, I hit enter and close my eyes, half-afraid of the results that might pop up.Suck it up, Danbrook. This could get interesting.

What hits me first is that there are over forty-one million results in the half a second it takes to fetch them from Google. Clearly, I’m not the only one who has asked this question, or similar, before. But… were these other dudes actually gay? I’m terrified to open and read for fear of what I’ll find.Argh.And even as I think that, I feel like a horrible person. There’s nothing wrong with being queer. I’m just not. Am I?

The first entry says no. It’s apparently normal to feel titillated by human nudity. Okay. I’ll buy that. But it’s not like I saw Max completely naked.

I read on to the next entry which is a story about a guy who got an erection looking at another guy in the locker room and ended up having sex with him in the shower while his fiancée waited for him right outside.Okay. That’s a little odd. Um…

A third states quite plainly that if you’re a man turned on by a man, you’re likely gay or bisexual.

My throat goes dry. I’m not sure I can read anymore. My head pounds and my thoughts scatter. Nope. Not right now. Suddenly, I don’t feel very much like joining everyone downstairs for breakfast. My confusion is at an all-time high.

Chapter 9

Max

After throwing on Griff’s spare clothing, I plod downstairs, no idea what to make of what just happened. I got off in his shower and now I fucking smell like his shower gel—likehim. My jaw clenches. Right.Time to get real, Max. Anything you were thinking about this guy was purely in your own delusional imagination. He’d been so wigged out listening to you that when you opened the bathroom door, he couldn’t speak.

It’s time to face facts—the brutal truth. He will never be mine.

When I arrive in the kitchen, it gets worse. Everyone in here is with their significant other. And here I am, poor Max, odd man out. Again. It’s not usually this obvious because sometimes Aria is around too and our numbers are even. But she must’ve cut out pretty quickly after midnight because I have no recollection of seeing her after the champagne toast.

Anyway, it’s like all I’m destined for is to be the gay friend to this group. Is it too much to ask to have someone of my own? Apparently so. And it’s fucking frustrating—both from an emotional stance and a physical one.

I suck it up and put on the brightest face I can manage while my brain continues to thud inside my skull. “Morning. Is this the crew that ended up staying the night?”

Lyla looks up from where she’s helping Beau at the stovetop. “Hey. Us, and some people who crashed in one of the guest bedrooms. They’ve already cleared out. You want an omelet? Beau makes a mean one.” She gives me a sweet smile. Unlike the rest of us, she looks well-rested and not at all hungover.

I point at her. “You were the one who instigated the third round of shots, yet you look like Susie Sunshine this morning.”

Lyla sticks her tongue out, playfully. “I can hold my liquor. Unlike some of us.”

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