Page 27 of On the Edge

“I am. I just haven’t slept with any guys.”

“Oh mygod, how are you supposed to help me with this?”

I laugh again. I can’t believe this is the conversation I’m having at 6 a.m.

“I honestly don’t even know what you’re needing help with. Sounds pretty clear that you like this baseball guy even when you’re not drinking.”

“I’m low-key obsessed with him,” he admits. “And that’s the problem. That first time? At the party? I wasn’t drunk—I remember everything. And me putting his dick in my mouth was the hottest sexual experience of my life. Hotter than that time I slept with Jenny Goldstein freshman year.”

I raise my mug in a cheers motion. Jenny Goldstein is a stunner.

“So, yeah, I think I might be bi, like you. Especially because I’m sort of noticing other guys, too, you know? Like, all over campus. There are a lot of hot guys around here. I’m probably not straight gay, is all I’m trying to say.”

“Not so straight,” I correct, and then hiss when he kicks me. “Sorry. Why am I needed for this, though? I repeat: this doesn’t sound like an identity crisis.”

“He won’t let me go over to his place, or meet his friends, or like…go out on a date with me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Maybe he just likes it when you blow him, but he doesn’t actually like you,” I point out. Nate’s face falls, green eyeswidening and mouth opening on a small gasp. Goddamnit.“Just kidding. That’s probably not it.”

“Atlas.”

“Listen, I’m just being realistic. Why the hell do you care, anyway? Sleep with him and move on, it’s not as if any relationships we have will last.”

“You are impossible.” Groaning, he rests back against the wall and slides his laptop to the side. “Why are you so anti-love?”

“Love,” I scoff. “Love is a concept developed by commercialism to sell greeting cards and shitty chocolate. You can’t tell me you believe in true love—soulmates—all that crap?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I think if those things don’t exist, then that’s pretty sad. I’d rather believe, and?—”

“—be let down,” I finish harshly.

“I need someone else to talk to. Your version of help is actually pretty unhelpful.” He sighs dramatically, but cracks a smile when I flip him off. Nothing keeps Nate down for long.

“Isn’t half of your hockey team queer? Why the hell are you coming to me with your questions?” I finish my coffee, place the mug on the floor, and flop backward onto his bed. Nate stretches out as well, feet pushing hard into my thighs. I scowl up at the ceiling but don’t bother moving him. It is his bed after all.

“I mean a few of the guys, yeah. But I can’t just walk into the locker room and announce I sucked my first cock.”

“That’s literally what you just did with me,” I point out. He chuckles softly.

“So anyway. Where were you last night? I gave up waiting for you once it passed midnight.”

“Just around. Hooked up with Raquel and then nothing.”I shrug, thinking about khaki pants, scruff, and big, meaty thighs. “I was just chilling on campus. Nothing special. Talked with Henri a bit.”

“Vas, you mean?” He sits up, propping himself up on an elbow and jabbing me with his toe. “Fuck yes, you guys are friends now? I knew he’d get you.”

“We’re not friends.”

“You so are. You just called him Henri and didn’t sound like you were going to hurl.”

“We’re not friends,” I repeat more forcefully.

“Whatever.” His phone dings, and I watch his face as he picks it up and reads whatever is on the screen. A smile creeps across his cheeks and I roll my eyes.

“Don’t sext when I’m in here,” I tell him. He ignores me, thumbs flying over the screen of his phone. He’s grinning like a fool and biting his lip. It might be cute, if it wasn’t so disgusting.

“That’s him,” Nate tells me unnecessarily, dropping his phone back to the bed.

“Yeah. You’re good, then?” I ask carefully. He doesn’t seem like he’s in a crisis, but he did also just come out to me. It’s kind of a big deal.

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