He tilted his head and thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. I guess I never thought of you….”
“With anyone at all?” I finished for him.
He grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry. So, um, cool. You’re gay, and this straight guy kissed you.” His face suddenly grew dark. “It’s not one of the A-hoes, is it? From flag football?”
I wanted to say no, but I’d never been a good liar. My cheeks grew hot.
“Hedgehog! Stay away from those guys. That whole house is like one huge freaking closet. Idiots.” He sounded bitter.
“But you’ve been working with PJ and Jesse on Quiz Bowl. I thought you liked Jesse? You went home with him for an entire weekend, and you’ve been getting up early to run with him.”
Dobbs’s mouth went thin. “Okay, first of all, do as I say, not as I do. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you that? And secondly, I do not like Jesse Knox!”
I blinked at him. He sounded excessively defensive. But I knew better than to push Dobbs further. He had a wicked sharp tongue.
“Fine. Thank you for the conversation.” I tossed my glasses back on the nightstand and lay down.
“Look,” Dobbs said in a softer tone, “I know it sucks. And it hurts. Especially when you really like the guy. The best thing to do is to consider it a learning experience and move on. Try to distract yourself. Focus on work or the gym or Quiz Bowl or, I guess, flag or whatever. And be open to meeting someone new. In time, you’ll get over thinking about that guy.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Dobbs muttered something about taking his own advice and left the room.
Dobbs’s words made logical sense. But getting over it was a deeply unsatisfying proposition. My mind wanted to spit out the idea like a piece of driftwood caught in my mental gears.
Before the kiss, I’d never considered Bubba that way. He was an A-hoe and my personal trainer. Yes, I liked that he was so large and muscular. I’d thought him quite attractive and a good person. I even thought of him as a friend. But it had never occurred to me that he might be a potential partner for me.
Now that we’d kissed, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
From the first time he stopped to talk to me at that original flag-football practice, I’d found him the most appealing, nicest ALA brother. Unlike the other A-hoes, he’d always been kind to me. And not in a pitying way, as people sometimes did. Not in a Jesus, Sean, you’re such a pathetic dweeb kind of way.
No, Bubba thought I was brilliant. He thought I was funny. I made him laugh. And I loved his laugh. He laughed with his whole being. Joyfully. As if the place it came from inside him was good. Yes, he had some problems and worries. He had self-confidence issues and possibly some learning difficulties. But despite that, he was a genuinely happy human being, and he made others around him happy. He was honest. And genuine. He might say things in a simple way, but his words were always true and always got to the heart of the matter.
Well, except lately, when he was trying too hard to act like we were just bros.
The way he’d felt when he’d kissed me, when he’d pulled me against him…so large and warm and strong and hard. I wanted that. Precisely that. Perhaps I’d discovered my own personal cheesecake. And I didn’t want to settle for liverwurst. Or rutabaga.
Consider it a learning experience, Dobbs had said. And I supposed that advice had merit. After all, I had been kissed and felt the burning-hot sensation of lust—just like the books talked about—for the first time in my life. Someone had found me attractive enough to make out with me. That was progress. That was a win.
Now I just had to find someone who looked like Bubba and had a heart like Bubba’s and saw me the way Bubba saw me but who was openly gay and would like me back.
That sounded about as likely as me solving the Riemann hypothesis. No, actually less likely.
As for the here and now, I very much wanted to get back to the level of comfort between us we’d had before. I supposed I could live without ever kissing Bubba again, but I couldn’t live without his laughter. And I still wanted him as my personal trainer.
Maybe there was something I could do to set this little boat of friendship aright.
I steeled myself and knocked on the door of the ALA house. This was hostile territory, and the fact that it was six o’clock, and thus dark outside, didn’t help. But I was on the flag team now. I had a right to be there.
The door opened. Rand Charles stood there. He wore a thick red sweater that looked expensive. And, as always, his blond hair was perfectly styled and his teeth perfectly white when his lips parted in surprise. He leaned against the doorjamb and looked around as if to make sure I was alone.
“Sean, right?” he asked, his expression unreadable.
I touched my hair. I’d just washed and styled it and had put on the green sweater I knew Bubba liked, so I didn’t think I looked too bad. But I was still surprised Rand had remembered my name. It was unnerving to have Rand Charles notice you and look you in the eye. He was the ALA chapter president and objectively the best-looking, most popular guy on campus. Like a movie star.
“Yes. I’m Sean. I’d like to speak to Bubba, please.”
He looked me up and down, then opened the door wide and nodded his chin for me to enter. “Bubba,” he called out loudly. “Visitor for you. It’s Sean.”
Without another word, Rand shut the front door and disappeared back into the house, leaving me alone in the foyer. Somewhere in the house, music pounded and the sound of video-game gunfire rat-tat-tatted.
I was nervous, and my palms were sweating. Stupid. I’d met Bubba just yesterday morning for a, albeit awkward, workout. There was no reason to be worried about seeing him, hail, fellow, well met or not. But I’d never come onto his turf before.
Bubba appeared through an archway to what I assumed was the living room. He smiled, then stopped smiling abruptly as if it wasn’t allowed. “Hey, Sean.”
“Hello. I apologize if you’re busy. I know it’s a weeknight. But, um, I’ve been doing some research, and I had something I wanted to discuss.”
Bubba folded his arms across his chest—which made both his arms and his chest, in a forest-green thermal shirt, look enormous. “Research on what? More exercises?”
“No. This research is for you. It’s—” I hesitated, glancing toward the living room. “Actually, would it be possible to speak in private?”
His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Uh—sure. We can go up to my room if you don’t mind a mess.”
“I don’t mind.”
Bubba led the way up the stairs. The ALA house was a big old craftsman-style structure. The staircase was made of thick dark oak with square pillars and there was more dark oak around the windows and doors. The carpet on the steps was a functional kind, brown, and well-worn. It continued in the second-floor hall that had doors on either side and ended at a window with a stained-glass rose. Bubba led me to the last door in the hall.
He opened it. His room was tiny. There was barely room for a large single bed against one wall and a small desk on the opposite wall. A narrow aisle divided them. There was a curtain at the back that probably led to a closet.
“Yeah, I know,” Bubba said, picking some dirty clothes off the bed and tossing them through the curtain like it was a basketball net. “It’s the smallest room in the house, but I like it cause I don’t have to have a roommate.”