Page 25 of Shots on Net

“No, I don’t need to go to the doctor. That’s ridiculous.”

“Were you bleeding? Just now, in the shower, was there any blood? Having anal sex without proper care can cause fissures which can then lead to infection. They’re also severely painful, and—."

“Stop.” I hold a hand up and he snaps his jaw shut. I’m not sure how we got here, having an argument, but I don’t like it. I also don’t like talking about anal fissures; patting the bed next to me, I beckon him over. I would do anything—anything—to stop having this conversation right now. “Just, come here. Please.”

He does, crawling onto the end of the bed and sitting with his legs crossed. We’re sitting exactly like we did on that first night he moved in, when he came and asked if I’d like to watch a movie. The difference between that night and tonight is glaring: neither of us are having a good time.

“I’m serious, Carter. If you’re hurt, you need to tell me.” He thinks about this for a second. “Or, better yet, a medical professional.”

“I’m fine, okay? Please, just drop it. It was just rough sex, that’s all.”

“So, you had fun?” He challenges, and then adds, after seeing my face: “Don’t lie.”

“Alright, fine, you win. I didn’t have fun, but I’m fine and I’d really, really appreciate it if you would just let this go. Please.”

He looks like he wants to continue talking so badly that holding the words back is causing him physical pain. His hands are clenched on his knees, knuckles white. After holding my gaze for a moment, he looks away. This, I suppose, is the closest Zeke gets to pissed off. I feel like a dick, though I can’t pinpoint precisely why.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and his gaze snaps to mine.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Whomever you were with tonight should be sorry. I just—," he holds his hands up, and closes his eyes, “—I just don’t understand. I really don’t understand. You met this guy to have sex, but he wanted to have the kind of sex you don’t like. And now, because you did it anyway, you’re in pain. I mean…are you…are you going to see him again?”

“No, of course not.”

Zeke throws his hands up in exasperation. “Then what was the point? Oh my god, Carter.” He scrubs both hands over his face before dropping them and looking at me, frustration clear.

“The point was just to get laid, Zeke. Simple as that.” Disappointment is evident on his face, and shame curdles in my stomach. I like him—far more than I’d been expecting to—and his opinion of me matters. I’ve not done myself any favors with this exchange.

“Well, I guess you accomplished that. But it doesn’t seem worth it, to me.”

No, it wasn’t. Crossing my arms over my chest, I look away from him. I’m going to delete that fucking app off of my phone; no hook-up is worth a conversation about anal fissures with Zeke. The mattress shifts, drawing my attention to where Zeke is still perched on the end of the bed. He scoots up until he’s seated next to me, back against the wall and shoulder pressed against mine. We sit there, not speaking, each waiting for the other to talk first. It’s Zeke, who’s never met a silence he didn’t want to fill with words, who breaks first.

“Sorry, I know what you do, or who you do it with, is none of my business. I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright, that’s all.”

Inhaling, I lean my head back against the wall. Zeke’s narrow shoulder is pressed against my own, his slight weight leaned against me. I want to put that arm around him so badly. The strength of my sudden attraction to him worries me; it doesn’t make sense and it’s unlikely to go anywhere. I need to get myself under control before I end up making a mess of our friendship and hurting my own feelings in the process.

“I know,” I tell him. “I…I appreciate it. You don’t have to worry about me, though, I can take care of myself.”

“Right,” he mumbles, twisting his fingers together in his lap.

Feeling like the lowest scum of the Earth, I lean a little of my weight against him. I don’t know how to redeem this conversation without digging myself further into a hole. The truth is, I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks. The sum total of my adult relationship history begins and ends with Grindr. Zeke won’t be able to relate to any of it, and I’d only embarrass myself further by bringing it up.

“You free this weekend?” I ask, quietly. He shrugs, arm jostling my own. Neither of us have moved away from the other, our sides warm with shared body heat. We turn to look at each other at the same time, our faces close in the shared space of the bed.

“Yeah,” Zeke says. The smile makes a reappearance, and I breathe a sigh of relief to see it. “Did you have something in mind?”

Slightly embarrassed to bring this up, but too committed to turn back now, I clear my throat. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to come to the game? It’s a home game on Saturday. I could get you tickets. Only if you want to go, though. No pressure.”

Jesus, I sound like a rambling idiot. Clamping my mouth shut before I continue spewing more nonsense. Zeke sits up, turning toward me. Disappointed that he moved, and we’re no longer touching, I frown at him. He retaliates with a smile.

“I’d love to come! Can I bring Jefferson? How cold is it in there?”

“Sure, I can get you two tickets. You can bring anyone you want. And yeah, you might want to wear a hoodie or something.” I eye his skinny arms. “Or maybe a jacket. You might get cold, just sitting there.”

“Okay! This will be so fun.” He smiles wide, as though our earlier disagreement never happened. Perhaps it’s just that easy for Zeke: never holding onto grudges, or giving grievances more time than they’re worth. “I need to get a jersey.”

“A jersey?”

“Yeah, to support you!” Zeke’s eyes are wide and bright with excitement. Something warm and fuzzy curls up in my chest at the words; the thought of seeing him wearing my jersey is dizzying.

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