Page 16 of Your Only Fan
Isaac
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Chirpy this morning,” Linc says as soon as I stop by his apartment block.
He’s wearing a short-sleeved, blue button-down, a pair of cream slacks, white sneakers, and he looks dashing as usual.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply and head off again.
I can feel his stare on the side of my face, and it’s making me uneasy.
“Will you stop it?”
“You haven’t answered my question,” he says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply.
Linc groans beside me and rubs his hand over his face.
“Come on, dude. It’s obvious you got some dick. Just tell me what happened?”
I throw a glance his way with a raised eyebrow and step on the gas pedal before the traffic light turns red.
“Why are you interested? If you want to live a gay life vicariously through me, you might as well follow your own advice and go get some dick,” I tease.
I try not to grin, but it’s impossible. Especially when he gets worked up. And he has.
“What? Fuck off,” he says and punches my arm. “I just wanted to know if my friend is finally over his forbidden crush on his student. Jesus!”
I can’t hold it in any longer. I burst out laughing. “Wow. Cool your tits, papi. I was just kidding. Did I touch a nerve? Or… a spot?”
Linc shakes his head and looks out the window.
I expect him to turn back around and grill me further about my date with Ezra. Or to keep throwing insults my way. But he doesn’t. He keeps staring out the window.
“Bud? Are you okay?” I ask him and reach a hand for his forearm. “I was just kidding. You know that.”
Linc takes a deep—deep—breath and turns to give me a half-assed smile. “I know,” he says.
“Then what’s up?”
“Makayla,” he says.
“You fought again?” I ask.
I used to be able to pull off nonchalant, but it happens so regularly that by this point, it’s just not possible to not make a big deal every time it happens.
His sigh is all the response I get and all the response I need.
“What happened now? What was it?”
“It’s fine,” he says and fiddles with the radio.
He’s trying to change the subject, but I’ve known him a long time and that’s not gonna work with me.
“Dude!” I raise my voice.
“You promise not to make any snide comments?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t guarantee that. I live and breathe snide,” I tell him, trying to break the tension that’s built up in the car all of a sudden.
