Page 7 of Virgin Skin

“Who the hell knows why she didn’t say anything. Maybe she had good reasons for it or maybe she had shit reasons, but either way it doesn’t change what happened. It fucking sucks that you missed out on getting to actually raise him. It’s completely fucking unfair that you got blindsided like this.” He nods vehemently and I squeeze his knee. “But he’s here now. Hewants to get to know younow. You can’t turn back time, but you can try to figure out how to be a dad now.”

Everyone is silent for a second, and then Jag lets out a low whistle.

“Damn, does anyone else get goose bumps when Piston gives those speeches of his?”

I chuckle and push myself back to standing. Hero still looks a little rattled, but I can tell he’s going to do the right thing. If there’s a tiny amount of relief in knowing that Hero getting to know Milo means Milo will stick around Fall Crosse longer, I’ll never admit it. If anything, it makes the whole thing harder on me. An hour ago, I was psyched to take a cute guy out on a date tonight and see where things might lead; now that same tempting man is going to be hanging around for fuck knows how long, completely untouchable.

I roll my shoulders to shake out the tension and pull my phone out of my pocket to double check my appointment schedule for today while I shuffle back over towards my workstation. There’s a text notification waiting for me as soon as the screen comes to life. My gut clenches and I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is paying attention before I click to open it.

MILO: Soooo…. That was weird. Sorry for that whole thing. Can I still see you again?

I stare at the message for a minute, the war between guilt and desire returning full force. I can’t imagine a bigger violation of the bro code than hooking up with my friend’s newly discovered son. Hero would deck me, and I wouldn’t blame him. Hell, they would all be justified in kicking me out of the club, buying me out of the shop, and never speaking to me again. Something like that would cause an irreparable rift.

With all the logic stacked to one side, I finally manage to wrestle the insistent pulse of longing into submission. I start totype out a response, letting him know it can’t happen, but before I can send it, another text comes through.

MILO: Please?

Fuck.

That one word hits me in the center of my chest. I at least owe it to him to tell him to his face, right? I delete my unfinished text and retype it.

PISTON: Hero is one of my best friends. This is really complicated now. If you want, we can meet for dinner and talk about it?

I reread my own text and then type one more just to avoid any confusion or hurt feelings later.

PISTON: As friends.

I grit my teeth and swallow down the urge to rage about how much this sucks. Like I told Hero a few minutes ago, it is what it is, and all any of us can do now is deal with it. The typing bubble pops up and disappears a few times until a response finally comes through.

MILO: Sure…

MILO

As friends.

Ugh.

I press the channel button on the remote hard, slamming my thumb down on it again and again, not really even seeing the shows that flicker by before the channel switches again. I don’t even want to watch TV. I groan and hit the power button, then toss the remote onto the bed beside me.

This day couldn’t have gone worse. Hero looked like I’d hit him with a frying pan when I finally managed to get my thoughts together and explain to him in full sentences who I am. I get that he needs to process. It’s totally understandable. But it still fucking blows.

I chew on my thumbnail, occasionally stopping to spit out the flakes of nail polish that chip off and land on my tongue.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, obviously I didn’t think the guy I tried to hook up with last night before chickening out would be friends with my dad. But besides that, I guessmaybeI built up some stupid fantasy in my head where Hero would be thrilled to find out he had a son, that he’d tell me he’d always dreamed of having a kid, and then, I don’t know, pull me into his arms to hug me.

I huff out a laugh, spit out the last bit of nail polish I chip off my thumb, then swing my legs over the side of the bed.

I don’t see why the Piston thing should even be an issue. I’m hoping Hero wants to get to know me, and yeah, he provided half my DNA, but it’s not like he’s mydaddad. He didn’t change my diapers or teach me how to ride a bike. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just another grown-ass dude, and who I sleep with—assuming I ever actually sleep withanyone—isn’t any of his business.

Maybe that’s all Piston needs to hear. Sure, it’s a little weird, but so what? We’re both adults. I mean, sure, on paper I’m not the adultiest adult in the world. I don’t have a career path or a savings account or even a place to live, but I’m twenty-eight, dammit, which means I’m legally allowed to go to war, buy alcohol and even weed in most states, rent a car, and fuck any other adult I want as long as it’s consensual. I nod sharply at my own excellent point.

I push myself to my feet, drag my fingers through my hair, and glance down at the clothes I’m wearing. It’s the same graphic tee I wore to the shop earlier, featuring a hissing opossum and the words “The horrors persist but so do I.” It’s a winner, there’s no doubt about that, but I might have a better shot at convincing Piston I’m an adult if I wear something else.

I strip my shirt over my head, tossing it onto the bed inside out, then rifle through my suitcase. Everything inside is crumpled and most of it is in need of a wash after the bus ride from Colorado to here and several days in the motel, all without access to a laundry. I manage to find a gray V-neck t-shirt towards the bottom though that passes the sniff test and has minimal wrinkles.

Once I’m dressed, I slip my shoes on and step out the door. It swings closed slowly behind me and it’s not until I hear the click of the automatic lock that I bother to pat my pockets.

“Fuck me,” I groan, leaning back against the door, banging my head on it with a sigh. I’ve been here three days, and this is already the third key I’ve had to ask for. The bored burnout at the desk probably thinks I’m handing my key out to randos everywhere I go.

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