by Eden Finley
“Well, at least that hasn’t changed since college.”
I break my gaze from Ash and frown. “What?”
“You never got the balls to tell him you’re in love with him, then?”
My mouth drops open. Then closes. Then opens again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jordan takes a sip of his beer. “Mmhmm.”
No one knows about my feelings for Ash, and the idea of Jordan telling him has me sweating. “You can’t say anything—”
Ash appears at my other side. “I’m out. Taylor got off work early and is out front waiting.”
“He’s not even going to come in for a drink?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not his scene.”
Ash spent four years not going out because of my brother’s closeted status. He says he needs to make up for lost time, but then this new guy makes him leave because it’s not his scene?
If it was a nightclub or something, that’d be one thing, but it’s a practically deserted bar in the middle of the afternoon.
This is what I mean. It’s like Ash is ignoring all of Taylor’s incompatibility because he’s willing to offer Ash the one thing Ollie couldn’t. He’s replaced my brother with another guy who won’t let him be who he wants to be.
“Fuck him, then,” I say. “If he doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t have to be.”
Ash frowns at me.
Jordan downs the rest of his drink. “If you’re taking off, I’m gonna go piss and head out too.”
Ash’s hand lands on my shoulder once Jordan’s gone. “I know you don’t like Taylor, but I need to cling onto any little happiness I have in my life. Okay?”
It’s these moments and words he says that makes me want to wrap my arms around Ash’s smaller frame and protect him from the heartache. I want to feel him against me and have him melt into the security of knowing I’d never do anything to hurt him.
But that can’t happen.
Instead, I nod.
“See you at the shop on Monday.” Ash ruffles my hair, because even though I love him, he can be an asshole, and bounds his way to the exit.
I can’t do anything but watch.
I keep my eyes on the doors for a while, just hoping Ash gets the balls to tell Taylor where to fuck off and come back in, but after a few moments, I remind myself why that would never happen.
Jordan catches my eye across the room as he comes back from the bathroom.
Not much has changed since college. The tall, dark-haired model turns heads wherever he goes, and he gains the attention of the few people who are here on his way over to me.
“Leaving?” he asks.
“Aren’t you?”
He purses his lips. “I was going to, but …” Jordan eyes me from head to toe slowly in a move that could not be more obvious.
I laugh. “Not interested, man. I’m not gay—”
“You’re in love with a guy. You’re a little bit gay.”
“Ash is different. And you can’t say anything. To anyone.”
Jordan leans in close to my ear, and I can smell his Tom Ford cologne. He probably bathes in an endless supply of it seeing as he models for the brand. “I didn’t say anything when we were in college. Not gonna say anything now. Your issue.”
“Thanks.” I relax a little but hate knowing Jordan, of all people, can hold something over my head. “I’ll catch you again before you head back to L.A.”
Mr. Fancy Pants is making a name for himself on the West Coast. He’s a pretty successful model, but he’s trying to become an actor. He certainly has the looks for it, and I have no doubt it’s only a matter of time before it happens for him and he hits it big.
Then Ash and I can watch his movies or sitcom or whatever he lands and be all “We went to college with him!”
I pull away to slip on my jacket and leave, when Jordan grabs my arm and pulls me against him. He’s almost my height, which is impressive considering I’m six five. Ash is a tiny thing at five nine. Jordan and I are pretty evenly matched. Chests together, hips, a bulge in his designer pants pressing against me …
I have to admit, it feels different than any other time I’ve been groped by a guy. I’ve played the straight best friend a long time—that involves going to gay bars. A lot. Especially after he and Ollie first broke up. So I’ve had my fair share of grabby hands from men.
I have no idea why this feels different with Jordan. Whether it’s because I’ve known him for six years or we’re kinda friends, I dunno.
“Are you telling me you’ve never been with a guy even though you’ve been in love with one for …” He brings one hand up and starts counting on his fingers.
“Ooh, look at that, the model can count.”
His other hand comes up and gives me the finger. “Eight years? Although, you guys have been friends since you were kids, so it might be longer than that, and—”
“Six.”
“What?”
I sigh. “Junior year. When you and he first started hanging out and got together. That’s when …” I wave my hand in a “you can fill in the rest” gesture.
“Wow, no wonder you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Anymore, maybe, but you definitely did back then.” Jordan smiles and his hand moves down to my ass and squeezes.
I remove it for him. “It’s just him. No other guy has ever done it for me. I’m not in denial. Like, I realize that means I’m bi or pan or some label under that umbrella, but I just don’t see it happening with any other man.”
“Have you even looked at other guys?” Jordan asks.
“Well, no, but if you think about it, it took me years to really notice Ash. Maybe I’m just slow.”
Without warning, Jordan’s mouth’s on mine. Warm, soft lips send a surprising jolt down my spine. A strong tongue pushes its way inside. The stubble throws me for a second, and then a large hand cups my face, but instead of pulling away, a loud moan escapes me. Before I can really get into it, Jordan pulls back and looks smug. It’s really not that much different to how he always looks.
“All I’m saying is, maybe you haven’t given it a chance.”
“And you’re volunteering?” I ask dryly, our breaths mingling.
“I’m here for three weeks.” He cocks a brow. “Could be fun.”
I narrow my eyes. “You could literally throw a dart in here and hit any person willing to fuck you. And trust me, they would.” I may be mostly straight, but I’m not blind.
“As fun as it sounds injuring a potential hookup before dragging them back to my lair like some sort of caveman”—his thumb trails down my cheek, and I feel absolutely no need to pull away—“breaking in noobs is a favorite pastime of mine.”
I snort. “Shocking.”
“You’re not just a tiny bit curious?”
It’s my turn to run my gaze over him, and I can’t lie. I can’t deny the arousal in my groin or drown out the voice in my head telling me this might be a solution to my Ash problem.
I can’t keep doing this to myself.
I can’t handle the self-inflicted torture.
Maybe Jordan is what I need.
My hand fists in his jacket. “Yeah, I am.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
2
Ash
Something niggly at the back of my mind bugs me the entire drive home from the bar, but I don’t know what it is.
It’s in the small things Taylor does. The way he clicks his jaw, as if his teeth are permanently grinding together.
His thumbs tap the steering wheel to an imaginary beat because he hates listening to the radio.
I’m happy with him. I am.
Right?
Gaaah. I don’t know why Max’s words from earlier today are playing on a loop in my head. Are you happy with Taylor? Truly, one hundred percent happy?
What Taylor and I have is the exact type of whirlwind romance that I wanted when I ended things with Ollie. Taylor
and I have a future. He’s asked me to marry him … okay, well, he didn’t really ask me, but it’s the sentiment that counts, right?
When we met, he was straight up in telling me what his intentions were. He was ready to settle down and didn’t want to date someone who’d waste his time. He’s seven years older than me and knows what he wants, so that’s been the goal from the beginning.
When it came time to proposing, he slid a ring across the dining table and said he chooses me. Not the most romantic proposal, but it still made me feel special. Because finally, someone loves me enough to put me above all else.
Then why couldn’t I cover my tattoo today?
Why is Ollie’s coming out getting to me so much?
Why is it that when I look at Taylor, I don’t get that feeling I thought I’d get when I looked at my fiancé?
Butterflies. Eternal love.
There’s … nothing but mild fondness.
Taylor’s a great guy. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.
He’s a perfect on paper kind of guy.
When Taylor parks the car and helps me upstairs to our apartment because I’m still a little drunk, we stumble through the door with a laugh.
Or at least, I’m laughing.
Taylor’s kind of sighing like I’m a giant child.
Which, I guess compared to him, I probably am. He’s always so straitlaced and put together.
Actually, now that we’re inside, there’s other things I’m only now noticing.
The apartment’s filled with Taylor’s furniture and knickknacks and doesn’t have a touch of me anywhere.
Taylor’s classic chic, and I’m … urban rustic.
He’s neat, and I’m more lax about the state of our apartment.
Taylor meticulously places his briefcase near the door and hangs up his jacket, silently moving through the space before making his way into the kitchen.
I watch as he pours himself a cup of water from the jug we keep in the fridge and slowly drinks it down.
Only when the glass is back on the counter does he give me eye contact again, and he must see something in my expression. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? Only everything.
What the fuck am I doing here?
It hits me with such force I feel like an idiot for not realizing sooner.
I’m not in love with Taylor.
I’ve just been holding on to something he could give me that Ollie couldn’t. I overlooked everything wrong with this relationship because I thought it was filling a void.
Taylor is somehow mixed up with all my unresolved resentment toward Ollie, and it wasn’t until today when Max asked me to be completely honest that I allowed myself to see the complete truth.
I’ve been lying to myself for months.
My brain told me I was where I was supposed to be even though it never … clicked.
Ollie led me to Taylor, so I thought it was fate.
It wasn’t fate.
It was overcompensating, pure and simple.
I take a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t … I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
“This … us. We’re … I don’t know what we are. I care about you so much, I truly do. I just …”
“You don’t love me.”
I shake my head, but it’s subtle.
“I was giving you everything you wanted.” He sounds so pained, and I feel like the worst human in the fucking world.
“I know,” I whisper. Tears prick my eyes, because I wish everything was different. I wish I could make myself feel more for him. I wish our relationship was something that it’s not.
“I thought we were on the same page. I chose you because we wanted the same things.”
“Can you hear your own words though? You chose me. What we have isn’t an all-consuming type of love. That’s what I’ve always wanted. Not the marriage or dream, but … the one.”
“The one doesn’t exist, Ash. The truth is, marriage is work. A life with another person takes compromise and sacrifice and even settling. I know you have your head in the clouds sometimes, but I didn’t think you were this naïve.”
Naïve.
Settling.
I almost break into laughter. Taylor’s not in love with me just as much as I’m not with him. He chose me because he wanted a marriage, not a partner.
“Why did you ask me to marry you?”
“I thought we could build a life together. And I do love you.”
“What kind of life?”
“The kind of life an executive manager leads.”
I stumble back. “What?”
“The firm likes stability in their team leaders. All the top execs are married. It’s why I told you when we started dating not to waste my time.”
And here I thought it was because he wanted the same life as me—being so disgustingly in love. I left one guy for choosing his career over me, and now I’m with someone who’s doing the exact same thing.
I can’t believe how dumb I am.
He’s been using me this whole time.
This is why he’s never raised his voice and we’ve never fought. Not because he’s always calm and put together, but because he doesn’t care enough to fight. He doesn’t care enough to come to the things I’m interested in—like hanging out or having a few drinks with my friends.
He. Doesn’t. Care.
I should be mad, but all I am is relieved.
“Don’t you want true love?” I ask. Guilt over breaking up with him has vanished, but now it’s replaced with the same achingly low self-worth that Ollie left behind.
“The last guy you thought was your true love chose his career over you. If that isn’t proof the one isn’t out there, I don’t know what is.”
“What you’re doing isn’t any different. You chose me to advance your career. Not because you wanted me.”
“But I do want you,” he says simply. “That’s the point. I want the life we agreed we’d have. I want it all.”
“You want it with anyone. I’m just the one who agreed to it.” Because I was so desperate for someone to love me.
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Ollie was never the one. I wanted him to be, just like I wanted you to be. But the one would always put me first.”
“Good luck trying to find that. It doesn’t exist.”
It has to exist, right? And it’s not like I expect my partner to always put me first or that I wouldn’t do the same for him. The point of finding your soul mate is to be there for each other. To support each other. Forever and ever.
Something pings in the back of my mind, telling me I already have that with someone.
My forever and ever.
But that someone is in the body of a straight guy, and how is that fair? Is that the universe’s way of having a laugh at my expense?
I have to believe a gay Max is out there waiting for me.
“You might be right,” I concede. “But I’d rather spend my life trying to find it instead of settling for the wrong person.”
I only make it two steps before Taylor stops me.
“Please, Ash. I do want a life with you. What we have can grow into the type of love you’re looking for.”
“You’re speaking as if our whole relationship to you has been like an arranged marriage, and that’s not what I want from life. I’m sorry.”
Apparently, that’s all the amount of fight Taylor has in him.
It’s nowhere near enough for the love of my life.
My guy will fight for me a hell of a lot harder than that.
I have to Uber it to Max’s because even though walking out on Taylor sobered me right up, legally, I’d still be over the limit to drive.
I’m exhausted both mentally and physically, and all I want to do is crash in my old bed and sleep for days.
I haven’t knocked in forever because the keys for the shop are the same for the apartment, so letti
ng myself in isn’t anything out of the ordinary.
Neither is finding Max on the couch making out with someone.
It is, however, weird that the person on top of him is not female.
What. The. Fucking. Fuck.
I’m frozen in the entryway, staring at my two best friends kissing and grinding, and—
The door shuts behind me, breaking Max and Jordan apart.
They stare at me wide-eyed, but Jordan doesn’t make a move to get off Max.
I have no idea what to say. Or do.
I can’t fucking move.
This isn’t happening. I blink, hoping Jordan will magically disappear, but nope. He’s still in front of me. Shirt open, model abs on display … on top of my best friend. My straight best friend.
“Ash,” Max croaks. “This isn’t …” Max’s skin turns pasty white.
Apparently, that’s what I need to get my feet moving.
I run back down to the street as fast as my short legs will carry me and am relieved to find my Uber still sitting there. The guy is scrolling through his phone.
I open the back door, and he jumps. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Can you accept another job?” I’m surprised to find my voice emotionless.
He nods. “Sure. Where do you need to go?”
Now there’s a question I don’t have an answer to. I can’t go to Taylor’s, I can’t be here … There’s really only one place I can go.
I sigh. “Milton.”
The guy pulls onto the road just as movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.
Max stands on the sidewalk, watching the car pull away. The forlorn look on his face kills me, because anytime he looks stricken like that, I’m the one to console him. Just like he does for me.
I still can’t believe it.
Max.
And Jordan.
All throughout junior and senior year of college, Jordan would incessantly talk about how hot and unobtainable Max was even when he and I were together. In the long run, Jordan pining for my best friend didn’t matter anyway because Jordan and I worked better as friends. There was always something missing with us.
The sex was fine, we got along great, but there just wasn’t any spark.
