Page 9 of Filthy Sweet

“You look good in mint green. Don’t mess with success.”

I sigh. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. With Fox watching me, I’m going to be too nervous to flirt anyway.”

“I take it your brother hasn’t stopped trying to be helpful, either?”

“He’s stuck in coach mode, but since he can’t actually coach me on how to be gay, he’s trying to make Fox do it.”

“I don’t know,” my friend says, pursing her lips and studying me like I’m a printout of lab results. “Fox is, like, locally famous and cool. Can’t you ride his confidence while you’re out dancing? Take advantage of the fact that you know each other and just fake it until you make it?”

“He literally tried to give me a pep talk about panties. Anyway, who cares if I grew up with someone semi-famous? Fox knew me when I still watched cartoons and was afraid of cats.”

Robin laughs. “I forgot you used to be scared of cats.”

I stick my tongue out at her, then turn to a full laundry bag that I haven’t unpacked. “I need to go shopping for new work clothes, too.” I look up at Robin. “You sure you don’t want to come tonight?”

“I have a date with Jack,” she says. Her boyfriend has another couple of years in school, so they’re long-distance for now, dating through screens. “You’re lucky I left half the dildos with him, by the way. You could have been twice as embarrassed in front of Fox.”

I tap the side of my head. “At least whenever I do get laid again, I’ll have a bunch more knowledge about anal.” I laugh. “I listened to you narrate your pegging adventures so much, I basically got a second degree in proctology.”

Robin grins. “That’s the spirit.”

I adjust my glasses. “This is what I want, right? I want to go out dancing and to meet new people and make friends and have sex. Even though it’s kind of terrifying?”

Robin nods, confident. “Yes, Owen. I have no doubt that you want that.”

I let out a breath. “I’m not going to let my nerves stop me. And I’m not going to fixate on the Phillipe disaster, either.”

“That’s right,” Robin says, getting hyped. “You eat cum if you want to, Owen.”

I hold a hand up. “Okay, far enough,” I say with a laugh.

Robin’s smile grows. “Just have fun. Let Fox and Reggie show you a good time, dance your cute little butt off, and try to be open to whatever happens. After that, it’s up to the universe.”

“Sure,” I say, not really believing it. “Easy as that.”

A couple hours later, a Lyft drops me off at the club, which I’m grateful to see is small and actually kind of chill-looking.

I get mad at myself sometimes for having waited so long to explore stuff like dating. For the longest time, though, academics provided the perfect excuse. Growing up, being shy and annoyingly more advanced than my peers in school, it was just easier to retreat into books and learning. Reggie was a popular jock, bigger than life in Yellow Pine, and so long as I stayed in his shadow, no one really bothered me. Science sparked my imagination, and the natural world offered endless miracles and mysteries, so who needed friends?

Meanwhile, the outside world kept slipping by. College rewarded my focus. I studied hard and became the salutatorian (with two degrees in four years), and when I headed straight to grad school, I received a generous fellowship that allowed me to focus entirely on my PhD.

It’s all great. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. But as a result of that hard work, this is only my third time stepping foot inside a gay club, which is disappointing to realize.

It takes me a second to find Fox. He’s like a vision, leaning against the end of the bar, coolly casting his eyes across the dance floor. He’s wearing tight black denim and a black T-shirt with a slight V, and he almost disappears into the shadows.

I stop walking. There’s pop music blasting at one end of the club, people passing by in every direction, but I don’t see any of them. Fox isn’t exactly brooding, but there’s something troubled in his expression, and it throws me back to childhood. He would come by our place in the evenings and hang out with Reggie, messing around on his guitar but not saying much, sparing the few glorious minutes when he might turn his attention to me, telling me about some band I didn’t know.

He looked so painfully beautiful then, with these sculpted cheekbones and a little black eyeliner on. Young Owen swooned. Fox was softer than the more chiseled, rough beauty he has now, and I used to empathize with him, like we were both a little bit alone, although in different ways.

He’s turned his life around, and I have so much admiration for that. But looking at Fox, acting like just as much of a loner as ever, my heart hurts thinking he might not be much happier now than he was then.

Swallowing the last of my nerves, I walk across the club to greet him. “Hi,” I say, lifting my voice above the music. “How’s it going?”

Fox’s mouth turns up toward a smile when he sees me. “Hey,” he says. “Cute shirt.”

I stand there, not hugging him but wanting to. “Thanks.”

Fox sips his drink. “Can I get you anything?”

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