Page 73 of Catching Kyle
“That could work,” Skye says, sitting up. “Amani knows that Kyle’s gay. She can fake-date him without revealing the secret.” She turns to me. “And that way, Kyle and Michael can date in secret.”
“Huh,” Amani says, turning to Kyle. “Fake-dating a famous football player.”
Kyle blushes, and my stomach churns. This was a good idea earlier, but putting it into practice makes me uneasy. Though I don’t know why.
“See?” Skye says. “They have chemistry. I’d believe it if they were dating.”
My chest squeezes. “But that’s a big commitment, Amani. You’d have to date for almost a full year. And you couldn’t date anyone else.”
“But it really wouldn’t be dating,” she replies. “It would be soyoucould actually date him.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “In private.”
“I think that will work,” Kyle says. “What do you think, Amani?”
I scowl up at him, betrayed. It’s that easy for him just to find someone to cover me up? He doesn’t feel a little bit of shame about this whole thing?
“I think so, too,” she says. “I’m gay, but I don’t talk a lot about it online. So it’s not like I could sabotage it. And I’m not currently seeing anyone either.”
She looks up at me. “I think I’m gonna do this. Michael, you’ve been searching for something like this for a while. You deserve it.” She looks to Kyle. “And I’m doing this for you as a fellow gay. You deserve to love who you love.”
He blushes. “I appreciate it.”
But I just sit there, chewing on my lips, my arms tightly folded.
“You look like you wanna talk,” she says.
I sit back. “What’s there to say?”
She sighs and turns back to Kyle. “Is there a place he and I can talk in private?”
Kyle innocently gestures to the kitchen far behind him.
Amani claps the couch and stands up. “Come on,” she says, gesturing to me. “You got something on your mind, and we’re not agreeing to this until you share it. At least with me.”
I grumble, sitting up. “Fine.”
I stand up and follow her into the kitchen, a headache coming on.
She puts her hand on the granite countertop right next to Kyle’s giant stainless-steel refrigerator, one that could feed a family of five.
“You look like you wanna deck someone in the face,” she says. “Spit it out.”
I wipe my face, already exhausted from this whole conversation. “It’s not ideal, but it will have to do.”
“But how are you going to be comfortable with doing this if you have reservations that you’re not sharing?” she asks. “Like you said, we’d do this for nearly a year. That’s a long time to hold something in.”
I cross my arms tightly and lean against the fridge. “Why are you agreeing to this anyway? There’s not much you’re getting out of it.”
She scoffs. “Excuse me? I’m doing this for you out of the kindness in my heart. And for the poor closeted man in the next room over who has probably kept this secret his whole life.”
I press my forehead against the cool fridge.
She crosses her arms. “You and I both know what this is really about.”
I glance at her, my forehead still pressed to the metal. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“You’re jealous.”
