Page 12 of Nights Without Night
“Yep,” I say, and take the shot. I ignore the way he’s looking at me. I just can’t take it. “Your turn.” There’s a moment of silence.
“I fucked guys overseas,” he says, voice quiet, but it’s a spark in a powdered keg. My head jerks up, eyes wide. Out of all of them, this is the one that floors me.
“Two,” he goes on, “I’ve won a pie eating contest. Three, I once had to spend five hours in a tank with a guy who had some bad food the night before and had shat himself during the mission.”
I know number two is the lie. Isadoro hates pie. It’s an easy win. Still.
“One,” I say. Isadoro’s lips twitch.
“Nope. Two. Drink up,” he says, but I don’t move.
My head is stuck on the image of him fucking some faceless guy somewhere I’ve never been. I imagine the curve of his hand in the way he used to stroke my hip, or that time he gripped the hair at the nape of my neck as we fucked face-to-face. Imagine those wide, wild eyes on another guy.
For the first time in forever, I feel the full force of jealousy. It almost feels good in a terrible way. I know it’s stupid, to have seen him hook up a hundred times with women and havethistip me over the edge, but I can’t help it. I want to be the only guy he’s ever fucked—just this one, stupid, arbitrary thing for myself.
“Why are you so surprised?” he asks.
“I…” I look away for a moment, searching for words. My head is dizzy with alcohol and images and stupid question after stupid question. “I’ve just never seen you with a guy.”
“We’vefucked. And you’re a guy, last time I checked.”
“I just thought you were…experimenting,” I try.
“We did it a few too many times to call it experimenting, don’t you think?” he snorts.
He’s right. I struggle to give him an answer. The one I have can’t be said aloud.
To me, fooling around with Isadoro had been like a dream. It hadn’t felt real. I had known why I was doing it—I loved him and was gay as hell. But him? What reasons did he have if it wasn’t experimentation?
“Okay, then,” I say. I can’t have this conversation right now. I can’t have this conversationever.
I close my eyes and drink the last shot. It doesn’t even burn anymore.
When I open them again, Isadoro is close, all alcohol heat and a look that could burn through anything. I can hear my heart beating in a distant room like a ceremonial drum.
“What are you doing?” I say, so quietly it’s just a piece of breath between our faces.
“Experimenting,” he says and leans in.
I lean away.
“We’re not kids anymore,” I say, stronger this time. I can’t do this to myself.
“I know that,” he says. He’s still so close and I want—fuck.
“I can’t do this, Isa. I can’t…” I trail off. He looks at me for a piercing moment before he backs off. We’re still on the floor, backs against the couch, the coffee table pushed aside. We sit there for a moment as I study his expression. There’s something odd about it. He doesn’t look spurned—he looks frustrated. Almost angry, but not at me. Like a familiar scent, it sparks a memory.
“Isa, what happened with that girl when you, you know, at the bar those weeks ago?” I ask quietly. I feel him tense beside me, and my hand reaches around his bicep, but he doesn’t get up.
The electric silence stretches. Time passes in the tick, tick, tick of his jaw.
“I couldn’t do it,” he says, and as quiet as his voice is, the admission startles me. My hand is still pressed against his arm and I leave it there. I don’t say anything, giving him space to continue.
“I just, I…I don’t fucking know, Iván. I just freaked out. She was touching me and I just…I couldn’t do it. I’ve always been able to just…I don’t know what’s happened. I’m all fucked up,” he says. He rubs his hands against his short hair and then presses his forehead against the balls of his palms.
“Yeah, it’s almost like you’ve been to war or something,” I say sarcastically. He freezes beside me and then turns his head in his hands to look at me. Suddenly, his expression cracks and he laughs, head tilted back.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, a smile in his voice as he looks at the ceiling.
