Page 40 of Seeing Grayscale

While he fiddles with the new electronic in his hands, my stomach churns and gurgles with unease. A nausea like I’ve never felt in all my life is crawling up my esophagus, slapping my uvula, and demanding to purge from my body. And as if to make matters worse, my phone rings, the shrill tone echoing through the Bluetooth connection.

I glance at the touch screen, cringing when I see the name. I hurry to ignore the call when Gray looks from the screen to my face.

“Shitty ex?” he asks innocently.

I’m going tofuckingpuke. “No.”

“Then why are you green?”

I roll down the window, take a deep breath, and swallow hard. This is just fucking perfect. After all that Gray has told me, after everything I’ve said to try and prove him wrong, one of my many secrets calls.

And he’s calling again.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I growl and reject it again.

“Brent is persistent,” he muses, returning to poke at his phone. “Maybe something is wrong?”

“I’m not the person he should be calling then,” I snap—Gray jerks in his seat.

“Seriously?” His scowl reflects my inner self-hatred perfectly.

Raking a hand through my hair and abandoning all care about my car's interior, I light up a cigarette. I offer him the pack, but he shakes his head. Clearly, my addiction is worse than his. The laugh bubbles out of me, bitter and low. “Not that it should matter, but you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“About what? That you have some dude calling you that might need help, and you aren’t willing to provide it?”

“The kind of help he’s looking for isn’t something Iwantto provide,” I say pointedly.

“Oh.”

“It’s casual,” I admit. “Only when I can make it work, and only when I’m sure I won’t get caught.”

“Oh.”

That seems to be the only word he can make, so I shut up.

Brent isn’t exactly needy, but I did say I would call, and I haven’t yet. Since he and I have agreed to the stipulations of our occasional trysts, I don’t worry about his feelings getting hurt. For all he knows, I’m in a meeting. The first rejection should’ve been his hint that I’m busy. Maybe I’ve set too high of expectations, though. I usually answer whenever he calls. Out of all the men I’ve been with, he’s easily my favorite.

There’s that nausea again.

“So y’all are fucking, and no one knows about it,” Gray blurts. “Seems to be a running theme with you.”

“Excuse me?” The cigarette dangling out the window returns to my mouth with speed.

He twists to face me while I try to keep my eyes on the road, but they end up landing on his anyway. “Hiding shit,” he deadpans. “Which is exactly why I’m not sticking around.”

“This is hardly the same,” I defend myself.

“Just because you haven’t seen my dick doesn’t mean it’s all that different. I’m a stranger that you yanked into your orbit, made to think I’m something special, only to be an inevitable secret that’ll be discovered and blow up in your face. How the hell are you hiding this? Why?”

“This?” I instigate. “You?”

“I was meaning Brent, but—”

“The way people use the word hiding insinuates something nefarious. If someone did find out that I’m helping you, it could be explained away. My dad might disapprove, but he would see it as taking a step towards understanding my community,” I recite the excuse that’s been in my head since this all started. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” I mutter, taking another drag.

“Yeah. Tell that to Brent.”

I keep my eyes firmly planted on the road after that comment.

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