Page 4 of The Loophole

“Because I’m a guy?”

“Yes.”

“What if I dress up in drag? I’d make a very convincing girl.”

Bryson tossed his glasses onto the table and scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is all complicated enough without turning it into an I Love Lucy-style scheme.”

“Good point. Does the idea of kissing me gross you out?”

“What?”

“I know we won’t be boinking,” I said, “but we’d probably have to kiss and cuddle in front of your family to sell the newlyweds in love thing. Is that super gross to you?”

“I think it would seem strange.”

“But not gross?”

“I really don’t know why we’re still having this discussion. I have to marry a woman.”

“Does it use those words in your inheritance agreement? That you need to marry a woman, specifically?”

“No. It just says I have to get married.”

I tossed up my hands triumphantly. “So, there’s your loophole! It doesn’t have to be a woman. And really, wouldn’t that get complicated, two straight people pretending to be married? What if your fake wife caught feelings? Or what if you did, and she didn’t? Yikes!”

He put his glasses back on and met my gaze. “But you’re gay, right? So hypothetically, you could ‘catch feelings,’ as you put it.”

“Dude, I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m not some dewy-eyed little baby gay who falls in love at the drop of a hat.”

Bryson looked surprised. “Are you? I would have guessed you were twenty.”

“I hear that all the time. I think I’m destined to get carded until I’m fifty.”

“There are worse things.”

“For the record, you don’t look thirty-six.”

“I know. I look like I’m well over forty.”

“You look younger, but we’re getting off topic. What I started to say is that two guys living together is uncomplicated. More than that, it’d be fun. We could hang out as roommates, watch sports, whatever.”

“I don’t like sports.”

“Me, neither.”

He rubbed his forehead, as if a headache was brewing. “I guess this isn’t the absolute worst idea in the world, but I definitely have to think about it.”

“Me, too. Just because I’m pitching this like a used car salesman doesn’t mean I’m a hundred percent sold on it, either. Why don’t we both sleep on it?”

“Alright.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and asked, “What’s your number?” He recited the digits, and I fired off a text that said,Marry me.Then I smiled at him and got up from the table. “Now you have my number, too. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

“I will, but it’ll probably just be to say thanks but no thanks.”

“Or maybe you’ll surprise both of us. Take care, Bryson.” I flashed him a friendly smile before picking up my cup and heading for the door. On the way out, I tripped over the threshold, but I didn’t fall on my face, so I counted that as a win.

Then I paused on the sidewalk and looked through the window. He was sitting right where I’d left him, and he seemed to be deep in thought.

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