Page 27 of Save the Game

“Maybe you are,” she agrees, “but can you commit to that? You, who have always run in the opposite direction as soon as someone says the word relationship?”

My phone buzzes with an Instagram alert and I pull it out, barely glancing at it before closing the app. Margot fixes me with a knowing look and I scowl at her.

“I’m not hooking up with anyone else,” I tell her. “Also, don’t you have a date to get ready for?”

She leaps up and grabs her phone to check the time. “Fuck! Help me—what am I going to wear?”

“Just wear what you’ve already got on. You look nice.” She groans in frustration.

“What is the point of having a gay best friend if you don’t give me fashion advice?”

I laugh weakly, glad that the mood of the room has simmered down a bit. I watch as she snatches up a few pieces of scattered clothing and goes into her bathroom to change. I wait, sitting on the bed and thinking about Max. I think about the way he turned his face away from me, trying to hide the fact that he was crying; the way he’d gasped my name before he’d lost control. How he’d leaned against me, shaking like a leaf and skin damp with sweat as we’d sat together on the floor.

“All right, I’m ready,” Margot announces, coming back into the room. I look up at her, morosely. Her facial expression softens, and she comes to sit next to me on the bed. “Don’t treat him any differently, okay?”

“I know. I won’t.”

“He’s not a problem that needs fixing.”

“I know.”

“All right,” she sighs, leaning over to give me a side hug and a kiss on the cheek. “But if you do continue dating him, I expect you to be nice.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and she laughs.

I walk her out and wish her luck on her date, waiting until she drives off before getting in my own car and heading home. My roommates call out to me as I walk inside, but I make my excuses and go straight down to my room. I feel a little sick to my stomach. When I get downstairs, I strip down and take the hottest shower I can stand without boiling myself alive. It doesn’t help; I still feel oily, as though I’m the one who hurt Max and not the one who only just found out about it.

When I lay down in bed, freshly showered and miserable, I check my phone and find a text waiting from Max. It takes me a long time to open the message; in the end, it’s the thought of keeping him waiting that spurs me to do it.

Hi.

Hello, you.

How are you?

I’m all right. Kind of a shitty day. How are you?

I watch as bubbles appear that indicate typing, and watch as they disappear. I wait, and the bubbles reappear and go away again. Finally, a message comes through and I raise my eyebrows at my phone.

Do you want to come over? I’m just doing homework.

The thing is, I do want to go over. I want to stretch out on his bed and watch as he works through his homework. I want to see his SpongeBob pajamas and see if they really are as soft as he says; maybe convince him to put them on and lay beside me. But I’m confused and unsure about what Margot told me, and I’m terrified of making another mistake. She was right: getting my dick wet isn’t important, especially if it puts his mental health in jeopardy.

Not tonight, but thanks for the offer.

You’re away all weekend?

Yep! Road trip.

See you when you get back?

Absolutely.

I put my phone away and roll over facing the wall, before I can change my mind and tell him I’m coming over after all. I put my back to the body pillow, and try to fall asleep. Max’s tearful face feels like a tangible presence in the room, and I wish I’d just said yes and gone over to his place. At least then I could look at him; look at him and confirm he’s okay. Hug him and inhale his clean, minty smell. Rolling over, I grab my phone and pull up FaceTime.

“Luke? Hey.” Max answers on the first ring.

“Hey. You still doing homework?” I tuck an arm under my pillow and prop my phone in front of my face so that I can see him. His copper hair looks browner in the warm light of his room, and his skin looks less sallow. I wonder if he slept well last night.

---