Page 8 of The Bro Date
“It was okay,” he finally responds in that deep, growly voice of his.
I nod way too many times, probably looking like a damn bobble head. “Good. Good . . . So, uh . . . I really appreciate you getting off early for me.”
The thought of facing my parents alone right now makes me want to puke.
I haven’t told anyone I’m gay, and the two of them sure as hell won’t be the first to know, but I still feel on edge around them because they disagree with pretty much everything about me. I’m sure being gay will just be another thing added to the list.
“Toby,” Shane growls, and I glance up from where I was picking at my nails, my breath coming out in short, little pants. We lock gazes, and his stare is so focused, my stomach decides to attempt gymnastics like we’re trying out for the Olympics. “You okay?” he asks.
No. Nope. Definitely not okay.
I’m gay, Shane.
Gay!
The words ping-pong around in my head but never leave my mouth. Something deep down keeps telling me that as soon as he finds out I’m into guys, he’ll automaticallyknowI’ve been in love with him for years.
I mean, how could he not?
I shake my head, unable to get any words out while I attempt to calm my racing thoughts and shaky hands.
Shane stands from the edge of the bed, towering over me as he steps into my personal space. “Relax, okay? Nothing bad will happen. That’s why I’m here.” A lock of raven hair falls free, dangling in front of his eyes and tempting me to slick it back with all the rest. “Just take a deep breath.” Shane breathes in through his nose, then out through his mouth slowly. “Come on, Tobes. Do it with me.”
He’s so earnest and so pure.
I do as he says, finally getting my breathing under control. “Thank you,” I murmur, “and thanks for showing up.” I stare off to the side, cataloging my messy desk and the trash can full of crumpled sheet music that desperately needs emptying.
Out of the corner of my eye, a large hand reaches for me, turning my head and tilting my chin so I’m forced to look him in the eye.
“Ialwaysshow up.”
There’s no room for argument there.
I swallow hard as Shane stares down at me, my traitorous stomach flipping and tumbling, once again aiming for a gold medal floor routine.
Hiding anything from Shane ishard. He sees right through me. But now isnotthe time to come out to him.
“We should probably go,” I say a little too breathlessly. “Don’t wanna be late.” Slipping out of Shane’s orbit, I pat myself down, making sure I have my phone, wallet, and keys.
“I’ll drive,” Shane announces, and that’s fine with me, so I toss my keys back on the desk.
I’m sure my mother will absolutely love the rusty old pickup truck parked in her driveway.
We arrive fifteen minutes early to my parents’ house on the beach, which is right on time according to their standards. Shane hops out, jogging around to open the door for me. It kind of feels like we really are on a date, but then I remember it’s only because the door is jammed and hard as hell to open.
My desperate brain needs to chill the fuck out. It’s embarrassing.
Solar lights illuminate the small path from the driveway to the house, and beautiful palm trees dot the immaculately landscaped front yard. Three stories tall and built on stilts, the house I grew up in could be featured in the pages of a magazine, and honestly, that would probably be my mother’s dream. The pale-yellow exterior is accented with white trim, porthole windows, a wraparound porch on the second level, and a giant, way-too-steep staircase that has plagued me since childhood.
“Need a sec?” Shane asks, handling me with kid gloves as I hauntingly stare up at the house that was never really a home.
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”
Shane doesn’t look convinced, but we climb the steps and ring the doorbell, nonetheless.
My mother greets us with a forced smile and tight eyes like she’s already annoyed, and maybe she is, since I texted her last minute and said I was bringing a guest.
As if he can sense the spiders crawling under my skin, Shane steps closer, allowing our arms to brush and offering his silent support.
