Page 26 of The Idiot

Crap. Does he know what that does to me? I almost want to cancel my ticket and forgo my deposit just to see him smile. But then what? More trips to The Dew Drop while I sit at the bar with Driver and Passenger?

The girls are absolute sweethearts, and honestly treat Jesse like a brother, but the thought of watching him being entertained by half-naked women while my sorry ass pines at the bar is too depressing.

“Jesse, I just… I need some time. Okay?”

“You’ve already had time, though. It’s been three weeks! We haven’t gone three weeks without seeing each other since you were in the Army,” he protests, shooting up off his bucket again.

“I meant I need time forme. Time where I can be around people who get it—people who get what it’s like to be gay.”

I want to wipe that sad expression of hopeless inadequacy off his face because I know now what it feels like. I don’t want him to feel how I feel, so I try again, hopefully speaking in a language he can understand.

“You’ve got all the women in Wenatchee to choose from. I don’t. You can go out and meet someone and get laid whenever you want. There’s nothing here for me unless I go look for it elsewhere.”

“You want to leave Wenatchee?”

You’d think I just told him hot tubs were outlawed. I’m both flattered that it sounds like he can’t fathom life without me and annoyed that he doesn’t understand I need more than being his trusty sidekick.

“No. I just want to spend a little time somewhere that the odds are as in my favor as they are for you here.”

Kicking at the grass, he mumbles, “I think you’re severely overestimating how favorable my odds are.”

Oh, brother. If I’m supposed to feel sorry for him about how often he gets action, he’s going to be disappointed. I’m not about to lay out my statistics for him and draw him a diagram of finger fighting.

“Probably better than mine,” I digress.

“And you need to go all the way to Miami on some boat for that? Can’t you just go to Seattle for the weekend?”

“I need more than a weekend, Jesse. I want substance. I want to meet someone that I have a chance with. Can you understand that?” ‘Someone who’s not you,’ my heart screams. “I can’t be your shadow forever. I need my own life.”

His expression when he looks up at me damn near cracks my heart in half. “Are we… still friends?”

“Yes. Of course, but I need more than just a friend. I want what my parents had, what your parents have, what Pete and Cam look like they have. I can’t find that around here when I spend all my time with a best friend who snickers at the word Gaytoberfest.”

There. It’s as close to the truth as I can give him. Albeit, it’s a distorted version, and the thought of being with anyone other than Jesse feels as wrong right now as the thought of beingwithJesse. He’d probably run away in terror if I tried to kiss him. Further proof that I need to get the fuck out of here for a while.

“Does Charlotte know?”

“That I’m gay or that I’m going on a cruise?”

Shrugging, he looks like he’s cautious to ask for further information, so I concede. “She’s always known. Dad too. And, yes, she knows I’m going. It was her idea, actually. She’s… supportive. She’s always been supportive.”

Staring down at his boots, he seems to mull that over, chewing his lip. When he nods, I wish I knew what was going on inside his head. Have I ruined any chance of salvaging our friendship when I come back from my pilgrimage?

“I’m glad. I’m glad you have that. I’m supportive, too,” he assures me, smiling and slapping my shoulder.

Okay. That was… weird.

“Can I do anything? Do you need me to help you pack?”

What the fuck? Remembering the cruise event line-up, I suddenly have bizarre images of Jesse helping me determine what to wear for harness night. Yeah. That’s not going to happen.

“No. I’m good. Think I’ve got it under control.”

“I’m serious,” he stresses, sitting back down on the bucket and picking up the tools. “I know the café sucked the other day, but I was trying to show you I’m here for you. You know I’ve got you, right? Whatever you need, I’m your guy.”

Right. An hour-long frotting session and kisses that make my toes curl—I’m sure he’d be my guy. Swallowing against the glob of lust in my throat as I really take in the curve of his lower lip for the first time in my life, I nod.

“Yeah. Sure.”

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