Page 68 of Jace
I can get the fear; I've lived the fear and I've experienced first-hand what can happen if you counter bigots who think that their opinion rules all.
So I nod, of course I nod, grabbing his hand again and leading the way to the back exit. To go to my place. To talk. To see if this thing can really be a thing.
EIGHTEEN
He's quiet on the way home. We've opted for an Uber since it's getting colder now, at night at least, and I'm not really wearing warm clothes.
And though he's staring at me hard, at my face, my body, my everything, he's not really here, zoned out a million miles away.
And I let him, because my mind is also still spinning about what just occurred in that dimly lit hallway.
He kissed me.
Hekissedme.
And he told me that he wanted what? To be athing? To see if we can be?
Yeah, mind in the gutter, really.
I want to. At least I think I want to. And I want to help him, but he just broke up a week ago, I don’t think he’s in the right headspace to make life-altering decisions right now.
And life-altering is exactly what would happen if he ever decides that yes, he owns his queerness and yes, he makes it public.
No matter that even though I know that the sport is gradually becoming a safer place, it's not there yet.
Lamar is cool about it, sure. But that's Lamar we're talking about, he's cool with anything really. I don't think he's ever worried about a damn thing in his life.
I don’t know how the rest of his house would react, of his team, and I do not want to be the reason that he will lose it all. He has to be sure.
And I need to be sure that he is sure.
So if that means stepping back in the closet for a bit while we 'figure things out' then yeah, I'll have to do that. Because I'm pretty sure that I'll want him regardless…
When we make it to Missy's place and get inside, he's looking around curiously at the padded walls of the small ground floor apartment. It's not much, but it is kind of cozy and it is home. For the next couple of years at least.
“Have you never been here?” I ask when he leans against the side of the flowery two-seat sofa and eyes Asher's second drum kit in the corner. Yup, instead of a home cinema set, our couch and a couple of comfy lounge chairs are situated in front of a makeup stage because we use this place for practice as well.
“No, never. I know Lamar is here a lot?” I nod at the question in his voice. “But I didn't know you guys practice here. Won't the neighbors complain?”
I wave a hand around the area. “That's what all the padding is about. It took a lot of work, but it's fairly soundproof. And we don't play here that much. Mostly we jam in Yetties; that's way easier.”
I open up our fridge behind our small breakfast bar and look at the gorgeous guy over my shoulder, who's currently examining the postage stamp of a garden through the sliding doors. “Do you want something to drink?” I ask, taking all of him in, especially that ass in those fucking slacks; it should really be illegal for him to wear those. “Who do I have to thank, by the way?”
“For what?” He turns around, hands in his pockets, arms bulging in that stupid awesome white shirt, and I swear some drool comes out of the corner of my mouth.
“For that,” I wave a hand at his clothes. “Because I know for shit you didn't do that yourself. Or that you finally got a sense of fashion now that you're kissing dudes and stuff.”
“What? You're saying that gay guys dress better?”
I cock a brow and gesture at my own outfit. “Ya think?”
Tyler barks a laugh, before eyeing me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Touché, I kind of like that shirt.”
I can feel his gaze hot on my abs, which I know are on show in this thing. Hence the reason I put it on in the first place. We did perform in a gay bar; might as well give them a show.
“The pink nail polish really is the metaphorical icing on the cake.”
Wiggling my fingers at him, I chuckle. “You don’t like?”
