Page 12 of Home in Nevada

It’s supposed to be a question, but it comes out flat, like I’ve lost my voice. I’m still lying on the couch, watching Jamie stand up, his lips red and his erection straining against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. I feel ridiculous, abandoned.

“I...” I sit up quickly, scrambling for words. “Jamie, I don’t know what this is, but I’d rather die than do this with anyone else. Do you understand that?”

“Do what?” Jamie asks, still smirking. He’s messing with me, clearly enjoying my confusion.

“Fooling around, dude,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my voice wavers.

Jamie chuckles softly. “I want to do way more than just fool around with you, Jeffrey.”

His words hit me like a slap. My face heats up, and I know I’m blushing. Jamie’s grin grows wider when he notices my reaction. He’s exuding a confidence I’ve never seen before.

How is he the one making me nervous and shy? What is happening right now?

He walks into the kitchen, pouring us both glasses of water, leaving me on the couch, struggling to calm my racing thoughts. How far was I about to let this go before he stopped us? The intensity of our make-out session was beginning to venture beyond anything we’d done in the past, and it’s left me feeling unsteady. Guilt tugs at my core.

Jamie breaks the silence, handing me a glass as he sits beside me. “Hey, Jeff... I didn’t mean for it to go that far when I kissed you,” he says, his voice sincere. “I swear, I just wanted to prove a point. Show you what I meant.”

I take a sip of water, trying to steady my racing pulse.

Jamie chuckles, but there’s a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. “You know, I have a boyfriend.”

The words freeze me. My grip tightens on the glass, the water sloshing over the rim. Anger flares up, mixed with a pang of jealousy I wasn’t prepared for. Why does this hurt so much?

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have kissed you... That was on me,” Jamie says, his voice dropping to a regretful whisper. The vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest ache.

I’m reeling. Jamie always had girlfriends back in high school, just like I did. So why does this feel so different? Why does it sting so much to hear he’s with someone now? Then it hits me—it’s not just that he’s with someone else. Jamie’s with a man. And that cuts deeper, because I always thought what we had was unique, something only the two of us shared. Now, it feels like I’m losing a part of him I never realized I’d claimed as mine.

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “It was never a big deal, Jamie. It’s fine.”

But the words feel hollow, even to me. Who am I trying to convince here?

Jamie’s frown deepens. “Jeff, you idiot. It’s always been a big deal to me.”

Always been a big deal? My mind races. To me, it was always just... a weird thing we did. Feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, I place a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer comfort.

“Hey, I’m leaving tomorrow night,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’ll be like I was never even here.”

The second I say it, I know it’s a mistake. Jamie’s expression changes, hurt flashing in his eyes like a wound I’ve just reopened. It’s almost painful to look at him.

“It was really shitty of you not to text me back, dude.”

The words hit me like a punch. I’d hoped we’d never bring this up—that maybe Jamie had let it go.

“Jamie, we agreed not to talk anymore when I left,” I say, guilt creeping into my voice. I don’t have an excuse that will make this better. The weight of my own actions feels crushing.

“Yeah, well, I was a mess that night. I missed you. A lot. And you never texted me back, Jeffrey.”

I brace myself as the conversation shifts into dangerous territory. “I thought maybe you didn’t have my number anymore, or maybe you didn’t recognize it was me. But you still have my goddamn number, Jeff… What the fuck?”

My jaw clenches. “Jamie, we weren’t talking anymore! Why are you bringing the text up now? That was two years ago!”

“Well, it hurt. A lot.”

I exhale sharply, frustration boiling over. “I’m sorry... I really am. I didn’t know how to respond to that text. What was I supposed to say?”

The silence between us is thick, charged. I glance at him, my anger slowly giving way to something softer.

“I’ve felt guilty about that text for two years,” I admit quietly. “But why did you even reach out to me?”

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