So, I wasn’t straight. I wasn’t bi. And I wasn’t gay, either.
I just wanted Morgan.
And Morgan was gay.
Maybe I was gay, too, then? Was that how it worked? Wanting to have sex with a gay guy meant that I was gay, didn’t it?
How the hell did anyone ever figure any of this shit out?
I sighed, returning my focus to my laptop screen. I opened a new tab to a website that claimed to be a definitive list of ways to know that I was gay. I cautiously skimmed through the suggestions, keeping an eye out for anything that sounded like me.
“Do you love belting out musical theater tunes to anyone who will listen? Do you know how many minutes there are in a year without having to Google it? We’ll ‘Cover You’ as we welcome you to the LGBTQIA+ family!”
“Have you ever watched a football game and wondered when the cheerleaders would come up with some new choreography? Congratulations, tiny dancer, you’re one of us!”
“Do you ever watch episodes of ‘Queer Eye for the Straight Guy’ and think you could’ve done a better job making the straight guy look hot? It’s time for you to collect your crown, queen, and shine like the fashion star you are!”
Musical theater?
Queer Eye for The Straight Guy?
Cheerleader choreography?
I frowned as I finished reading through the list.
None of that sounded like me. Not by a longshot.
Shit.
I felt like I was back at square one. Frustrated, I hovered my mouse over the exit button of the site, ready to give up on this futile quest to figure out anything about my sexuality. But just as I went to leave the site, I noticed an ad hovering next to the website’s banner, with rainbow colors decorating its design.
The ad was for a dramatic musical called Llamas, Goats, Bears, and Tigers, with the text on the screen letting me know that the production had received numerous accolades from people in the gay community and that it was a “must-see” for anyone who identified as part of the community.
And at that moment, I felt an idea rush to my head.
That was it.
Fuck. Why hadn’t I seen it before?
If I wanted to know if I was gay or not, I just needed to ask Morgan out on a date. Of course, it wasn’t going to be the kind of date that led to anything serious, but it still would answer my question. If I only wanted to be close to Morgan when we both had our clothes off, then I wasn’t really gay, was I? I was just experimenting.
But if I still wanted to be around Morgan, even without the expectation of sex? Then, that meant something else, entirely.
Following right down the rabbit hole of my own idea, I picked my phone up from the couch cushion next to me. I hastily looked up Morgan’s business number before I brought the phone to my ear.
“Good morning! You’ve reached Morgan Dell’s catering line,” Morgan spoke, his tone filled with cheer. “How can I help make your wedding perfect?”
“You sound pretty happy,” I replied with a smirk on my face. “Did you get laid last night or something?”
“Very funny, Harrison,” Morgan said as he dropped the customer service act, his tone sounding more natural. “Did you need something? You’re talking to me while I’m on the clock, and I don’t think you’re getting married anytime soon, so this can’t be a business-related call.”
“You don’t think I’m getting married anytime soon? Was that supposed to be a burn?”
“Did you take it as a burn?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
“Good, because it was supposed to be a burn.”
“Jerk.” I laughed. “And I’m sorry to say I’m not calling about business. Just pleasure.”
“Pleasure?”
“Yeah… uh… I just wanted to…” My palms started to sweat as a sense of nervousness come over me, my confidence disappearing from my words.
What the hell?
Why was I so nervous? Even if Morgan turned me down, it wasn’t going to be the end of the world.
Or is it?
“You just wanted to what? Tell me more about that pleasure of yours?” Morgan asked, his voice sounding warm and inviting on the other end of the line.
I finally found the courage to get my next phrase out of my mouth. “I just wanted to ask you out on a date.”
“Oh.” Morgan seemed surprised. “A date? Really?”
“Yeah. Tonight. Would you want to go out with me tonight?”
“Yes,” Morgan’s response came quick. “Meet me at my place at seven?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Okay, then. It’s a date,” Morgan said, his tone back to being upbeat and professional. “I’ll see you at seven—”
“Wait. Did you already eat lunch?”
“No, because it’s barely ten AM.” Morgan seemed amused.
“Did you want me to bring you something? How about a Cuban?”
“That’d be nice, yeah,” Morgan replied. “Uh, I guess you could just drop it off in the lobby—”
“No. I’ll bring it up to you in your office,” I said, already getting up from the couch. “I’ll be there before eleven. Does that sound good?”
“It sounds like I can’t stop you,” Morgan answered.
“Do you want me to be stopped?”
“No,” Morgan admitted. “I’ll see you at eleven.”
And with that, Morgan ended our phone call with a loud click.
Why the hell was I bringing Morgan lunch?
I had the Cuban in a brown paper bag that rested against my waist as I rode up the elevator in Morgan’s building. I knew that Morgan didn’t need me to bring him lunch today, and it wasn’t like he’d even asked me in the first place.
And yet, I’d gone out of my way to grab him one of his favorite sandwiches, all for the sake of being the lunch hero that Morgan had never even asked for.
What was going on with me? I’d tried to trace my own logic from the moment I’d made the phone call, from the moment I’d asked Morgan out, from the moment I’d decided to run an errand completely apropos of nothing.
But there was no logic to be found.
I was bringing Morgan lunch because I knew that it was going to put a smile on his face, and I didn’t mind the interruption to my day if it meant making Morgan happy, even if it was just for a few minutes. Maybe it was hearing Morgan switch between his professional tone and the tone he had with me, the one where he seemed playful and carefree, that made me want to encourage the real Morgan to come out more while he was “on the clock”, wanting to entice that side to come out of him with an objectively delicious lunch.
When I reached Morgan’s office, I casually placed the paper bag on his desk and took a seat across from him.
Morgan didn’t even bother looking up from the stack of papers in front of him as he asked, “How much was it?”
“Why does that matter?” I asked.
“Because if I know how much lunch costs, it’ll be a lot easier to pay you back.”
“I don’t want you to pay me back, Morgan,” I explained. “I got you lunch because I wanted to get you lunch.”
“But we’re at least going Dutch on the date tonight, aren’t we?”