Page 56 of Our Secret to Keep

“Yes,” I say without an ounce of hesitation. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“I hate this.” His eyes are on his shoes. “I don’t want to be this way.”

I know how he feels. So many times over the years, I have wanted to be anything other than gay. It would make my life so much easier. Yet, I can’t deny how I feel about men, how I feel about Nate.

“Your addiction is ruining our lives.” I step forward, invading his space. “But we can figure this out together.”

“Promise?”

I nod. “I got you.”

Nate hugs me, resting his chin on my shoulder. Basking in the warmth of his body, I drink in this moment. Any time I get to touch Nate like this, I don’t want to let go.

“Is that River Rousseau?”

I snap my head to the voice and am brought back to reality by a blonde girl in her early twenties holding up her cell phone.

Fuck.

“Holy shit! He’s into dudes.”

“So hot,” her friend comments, licking her lips. “Are you guys gonna kiss or what? I’m dying over here.”

Nate grits his teeth and advances on them. “Give me that fucking phone.”

“Hell, no,” she fires back and runs toward the movie theater. “You want it, come get it, sexy.”

“Don’t bother.” I yank on his arm to pull him to the car. “There’s no point. It will only make things worse.”

He clicks the button on the keyfob to open the doors. “Get in before someone else sees us.”

I slide into the passenger seat, the weight on my chest lessening by the second. Inside the small space, I can catch my breath.

“That looked bad,” I mutter.

Nate hits the ignition switch, and the engine roars to life. “You’ve been caught in more compromising situations over the years. Hugging your best friend isn’t a crime.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I doubt that looked like a hug between friends.”

Because it was so much more.

Nate reverses out of the parking space, arm stretched across the back of my seat, his long fingers dangerously close to touching my shoulder. “Friends can give each other a fucking hug, dude. Chill out.”

Am I being paranoid?

Yes.

Nate drives past a group of girls leaning on a BMW 6 series hood. I glance out the window and spot a few we fucked. I doubt Nate remembers them.

On our way back to campus, I scroll through my notifications. I have over a thousand on Instagram, twelve hundred on TikTok, and at least several hundred direct messages from strangers.

I rarely read the messages. Most of the time, I get tit pics. Even dick pics on occasion. This helped me to understand why women hate it when men send them out of the blue. An unprovoked dick pic is creepy and intrusive.

I’m worried about that girl posting something about Nate and me. I get tagged in other creators’ videos all the time. And with so many notifications, it would take all day to go through them. Unless my dad or my publicist calls, I’m okay.

But I’m still freaking out, so I look at the comments on my latest TikTok video to distract myself.

@Sluttyhockeyfan: Watching River stretch his calves makes me feral.

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