by Ashlyn Kane
He covered her hand with the one that wasn’t holding the ice to his face. “Thanks.”
“Thanks for teaching me how to throw a punch,” Natalie said sheepishly.
The funny thing was that he’d never actually thrown one himself. He’d learned how in gym class. He shrugged a little. “I kind of needed it?”
Natalie leaned her head against his shoulder. “You did something, right? I mean I know you’re mad at Emerson, but you usually don’t get like this unless you’re mad at yourself too.”
Wincing, he leaned back into her. Sometimes she knew him a little too well.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
He wanted to. He just couldn’t—not yet.
§
THEN
JONAH was manning the desk in the main gym when it happened. He was filing some paperwork between snatches of the muted Survivorman episode that was playing on screen eight. He was just looking up after filing Helen Yarman’s latest workout stats when a shadow fell across the desk.
Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden lack of light, Jonah said, “Can I help you?” Then his vision cleared, and he had to remind himself to close his mouth, because the man on the other side of the desk was….
He wasn’t exactly tall, though he wasn’t short either. He had shaggy, somewhat curly, glossy black hair, obviously still damp from a shower Jonah could practically smell. Dark eyes, a smooth, perfect cinnamon complexion, and a row of even white teeth behind a full set of smiling lips completed the picture.
Hot, Jonah’s brain supplied for him. The word you are looking for is “hot.”
“Yeah, I just—” Something clicked against the desktop, and Jonah stood up to get a better look… at the object, a thin gold chain with a cross on the end, not at the guy holding it—that was just a bonus. “I found this in the shower,” he said almost apologetically. “Someone must’ve forgotten it. There’s a lost and found, though, right?”
“Uh, sure, just let me—” Jonah reached into the odds and ends drawer for a sheet. “I have to fill one of these out to help match it to any missing items,” he explained, grabbing for a pen and nearly knocking the entire jar over.
Breathe, he reminded himself firmly over the wave of guilt and embarrassment. So he’s hot. That doesn’t give you an excuse to act like a total spaz.
Jonah filled in the date and time, then looked up again and smiled. “You say you found it in the showers?” he said, trying not to get distracted by the mental image. Mystery Man’s T-shirt was clinging to him just right. “The ones in the change rooms or the ones by the pool?”
“Change rooms,” Mystery Man said, and Jonah dutifully filled in the appropriate space on the sheet.
“All set, then,” Jonah said, locating an envelope to contain the necklace until someone claimed it. “Oh—except I need your name.” He waved his hand in the air, dropping the envelope as he did so. “Shit. Sorry.”
He got the distinct impression Mystery Man was laughing at him. “It’s Evan,” he said. “Evan van Horne.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jonah offered, attempting to staple the found sheet and the envelope together and being foiled by a staple jam. It was just not his day. He gave up and put it down, offering his hand across the desk instead. “I’m Jonah.”
Evan’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah, I know.” He gestured. “It’s on your nametag.”
Jesus, of course it was. “Well, not everyone can read, you know,” Jonah said lamely. “Um, not that you look like someone who can’t read.” Maybe the universe would do him a favor and engulf the whole building in flames. Evan was looking at him blankly. Oh, God, say something else. “So, do you come here often?”
Evan smiled widely while Jonah died inside of utter mortification. “Are you always like this?”
Jonah shuddered. “Oh, God, I hope not.” Seppuku was looking pretty tempting right now.
Laughing, Evan stuck his hand over the desk. “You’re cute. Let’s try this again. I’m Evan.”
Unable to resist the smile pulling at his lips, Jonah shook it firmly, though he could still feel the color staining his cheeks. “Jonah. Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Evan assured him. “So, you must be new? Or sort of new, anyway.”
“New to this shift,” Jonah explained. “I was only on afternoons before.”
“That’s why I haven’t seen you, then. I’m here on my lunch break three days a week.” He grinned. “Got to keep up appearances.”
Yeah, Jonah could see that. He licked his lips unconsciously at the muscle definition he could see through the T-shirt. “Well, we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other, then,” he said reasonably.
Evan laughed again. “I hope so,” he said, looking Jonah up and down in a way that could not be misinterpreted. Then he took a step back from the desk and winked. “See you around.”
§
WRITTEN on the back of a neon-yellow flyer for a frat party:
Dear Jonah,
I just lost my virginity at a frat party. I’m a college cliché.
Word of advice: bad idea.
Em
§
WRITTEN on the back of an advertisement for Les Mis:
Dear Emerson,
Wow. I could have told you that. You didn’t have to go and experience it firsthand.
Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound—I’m just surprised. That’s so unlike you. Although I guess you probably needed to cut loose a little. Also, where were your new friends to keep you from making bad decisions? The least they could’ve done was stop you from sending the letter.
Anyway, I would be offended if you didn’t tell me about it. Too bad it was awful. Maybe you should join a convent.
Since we’re on the subject, I’ve sort of been seeing someone. Not sure if it’s going anywhere yet, but Evan is really nice, so I guess we’ll play it by ear.
How’s your dad doing? You usually mention something.
Jonah
§
TWO weeks later:
Jonah,
Dad’s back in hospital. He’s not recovering. He went back in two days before the frat party, hence my bad-decision-making skills.
My friends, the finks, were busy with other things, and so they didn’t help me one bit. Though given the way Greg and Zack won’t stop laughing about the letter (and my morning-after freak out) I’m not sure they’d have been much help at stopping me from sending it.
How nice of you to have found a girlfriend. I’m putting serious thought into your convent idea.
Emerson
§
JONAH was with a client the next time he saw Evan, who gave him a short wave from the treadmill, and the time after that he had to sub in for a weight-lifting class and missed him, so it was a week later before they had a chance to talk.
“Hey, Jonah.”
Jonah almost dropped the towel he’d been using to dry himself—he’d just bid farewell to the last of his students after subbing for the Aqua-fit instructor, who had a nasty stomach bug. “Hey,” he answered back, trying not to feel self-conscious but draping the towel around his shoulders anyway. It was kind of embarrassing that a lot of the gym’s patrons were better built than he was, since he worked there, not that anyone ever mentioned anything.
“Didn’t know you taught,” Evan commented, pulling his shirt off and tossing it into his locker.
Jesus. Jonah averted his eyes from the sculpted muscle and reached into his own locker for his shower caddy. Looking at Evan made him feel guilty, like he was betraying Emerson even though Emerson had no idea how he felt. But Emerson had Justin, Jonah reminded himself. It wasn’t like Emerson was just sitting at home waiting for him.
Maybe Jonah should look. It was just looking, right? “Just a substitute,” he said with a sideways cut of his eyes. “Marie has that stomach flu that’s been going around.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like anyone’s going to lodge a complai
nt, so you must be pretty good. Almost makes me want to sign up.”
Jonah flushed. Okay—at first he thought he’d been imagining it, a wishful thinking kind of thing—but Evan was flirting with him, right? “Thanks.”
Oh, God. Evan shoved his shorts and boxers down and reached into his locker for his towel. Jonah averted his eyes again, feeling his face heat intensely. Right—back to not looking. Much safer.
Unfortunately, he’d just come out of the pool, and he needed a shower of his own.
Well, there was nothing for it. Jonah hadn’t exactly been known for his modesty before now, and he wasn’t about to start acting bashful just because he’d figured out he was attracted to guys. At least he was over that awkward stage he’d gone through in his first year of high school where he got a boner when the wind blew the right way. Steeling himself, he pushed down his swimsuit and wrapped his towel around his waist.
“Listen—”
Jonah couldn’t help the automatic reaction to turn around when Evan spoke, but thankfully the other man had followed Jonah’s lead with the towel. Knowing that he didn’t have anything on under it was bad enough. “Yeah?”
“I’m making you uncomfortable,” Evan said regretfully, backing up a step and grabbing a bottle of body wash from his gym bag. “Sorry. I must have misread you.”
“I—no,” Jonah said as bravely as he could. “You didn’t—I mean, I am bi.” It was the first time he’d actually said it aloud, and he couldn’t help feeling that it should have been a bigger deal. He should have felt freed or maybe exhilarated or something, but he was the same as he always was. The men’s locker room at a gym was probably not the best spot to admit that, but he’d been paying attention—there were enough obviously gay men around that no one should have a problem. Besides, aside from himself and Evan, there weren’t many others in the locker room. Feeling the need to follow up with an excuse for his spastic behavior, he continued, “I’ve just never….” He stopped there, deciding Evan could fill in the blank however he liked. There were limits to how candid he was willing to be, and his inexperience with men was suddenly kind of embarrassing.
“Oh.” Evan blinked in apparent shock, and Jonah tried not to squirm as his eyes flicked over him quickly. “Seriously?”
Jesus, this literally could not get any more mortifying. “Uh, no. Just, you know, with girls.”
“But you are interested,” Evan clarified, sounding hopeful.
Was Jonah interested? Evan was hot and nice and apparently not put off by the fact that Jonah was, at best, a novice when it came to dating men. He wasn’t Emerson, of course, but Emerson wasn’t here. That was sort of the whole point.
And Emerson was… seeing people… anyway. “Yeah,” he admitted.
Evan beamed. “Cool. Have dinner with me Friday?”
“I… okay.” Now that that was out of the way, he could relax a little.
“Great!” he enthused, then raised a sheepish hand and scratched at the back of his head. Jonah tried hard not to stare at the way it made the muscles in his bare arm bulge, but he was only human. “Well, that was awkward. Remind me not to be naked next time I ask you out, okay?”
Jonah snorted, and the remaining tension disappeared under the weight of his grin. “No promises.”
§
Emerson,
I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything they can do? A transplant or something?
Your new friends are clearly inferior.
Evan is less of a girlfriend and more of a, um, experiment? That sounds awful, but, you know. I’ve never dated a guy before, so. Uh. Surprise, I guess.
Don’t be mad that I didn’t tell you. I’m only figuring it out for myself just now.
Jonah
P.S. I definitely still like girls. If you were wondering, I mean.
§
WRITTEN three days later on note paper labeled with the name “Hayley,” in pink ink:
Jonah,
What?!
No, seriously, what? You’re dating a guy but you still like girls? So you’re like bi or something? Since when?
Emerson
P.S. They don’t know what’s wrong. They think the heart failure is a symptom, not the problem.
As you weren’t there when Greg held me up over a toilet while I puked or when Zack got in a fight at a bar on my behalf, I’ll let that ill-informed comment about their inferiority pass.
§
Emerson,
I am pretty sure that is the definition of “bi,” yes. Since always, I guess. I’m not exactly Mr. Self-Examination, Em. I didn’t know until suddenly I did. If it makes you feel better, you’re still the only person at home who knows.
Obviously it’s me who’s the inferior friend.
Keep me updated on your dad.
Jonah
P.S. the pink ink was a nice touch.
§
ON THE back of a quiz for Business Economics with a score of 10/10:
Jonah,
Ugh, I read your letter on the way to lunch with Hayley, and obviously I couldn’t just let a bombshell like that go unanswered ASAP. Blame the pink ink on Hayley: it was all she had.
You’d like her, a lot. She’s smart and witty and very sassy. She told Eric Gleeson that if he didn’t stop trying to touch her boobs she would ram her stylish, pointed toe, designer boots up his ass before removing the possibility of his polluting future gene pools. I’ve never seen a grown man look so terrified in my life. You’d get on well with her. I know it. You’ll also get on well with Greg and Zack. Well, okay, with Greg. Zack is an overprotective douche, so it’ll take a while before you convince him to like you too. I’m not worried, though, you always do.
Dad’s not looking any better.
Emerson
(Who still likes you even if you are a bastard who runs away and drops Megaton bombshells AND sometimes dates men—though that was never in question of making me like you less.)
§
WRITTEN on a cocktail napkin from a place called the Pink Flamingo, complete with stylized pink bird, labeled “Emerson,” standing on one foot in the corner:
Dear Emerson,
Sorry to hear about your dad. That really sucks, man.
As I am not yet 21, and no one in their right mind would ever let me have alcohol, I had Evan pick up this napkin. I thought you and Hayley might like it. Hopefully it will cheer you up a little, at least.
Both Hayley and Zack sound scary. I am not sure I am safe all the way in Boston, to tell you the truth. I went shopping for a codpiece today just in case. You can buy just about anything in the city.
The bi thing seriously doesn’t bother you? I expected a micro freak-out, at least. I’m pretty lucky to have a friend I can be straight with. Well, so to speak.
Whoops, got to go—my break’s over. Once more into the sweaty breach.
Jonah
P.S. Business economics? What happened to graphic design?
§
Jonah,
Hayley and Zack aren’t that scary. Okay, Hayley isn’t that scary. Mostly she’s just spunky. Zack is 6 feet of compact muscle. But you’ll like him. He’s a musician—what’s not to like?
Also, can you really buy a codpiece in Boston? This is disturbing news.
Why would you being bi bother me? You haven’t suddenly stopped being Jonah, the dorky kid I grew up with who is too tall and lives with his foot always and firmly planted in his mouth, have you?
Graphic design is a useless degree that won’t get me a steady, stable job. Business will.
Emerson
P.S. I’m a pink flamingo now?
§
ATTACHED to the classified section of the New York Times, with several job postings circled in yellow highlighter:
Emerson,
Don’t you dare try to pass that BS off as your own opinion. Not to me.
Jonah
§
TWO days later, on the back of a computer printout of a picture of Jonah holding up the cod
piece:
You like it.
§
Jonah,
In response to the picture: I’m terrified. Seriously. Scary.
As for that BS… what was I going to do with a degree in graphic design, anyway? Take pictures for a book?
Emerson
§
“HEY,” Oliver grunted, dropping into the kitchen chair across from Jonah. “You cooked?”
“It’s been known to happen sometimes,” Jonah said drily as Oliver helped himself to a bowl of spaghetti. “It’s not like pasta is complicated.”
Oliver took a big bite and sighed happily. “God, I love carbs.” He spent the next few quiet minutes stuffing his face while Jonah skimmed the newspaper, and then he pushed his bowl away and put on what Jonah could peripherally see was his serious face. “Have you thought anymore about what we talked about?”
Jonah hadn’t actually thought about anything else all day. He held up the page he was skimming—classified section. “I’m thinking about it,” he promised. Which—okay, earlier he’d actually been browsing through the travel section. He wasn’t convinced he wanted to stay in Boston yet, and he wasn’t sure how that made him feel. He had a good job and a boyfriend who maybe loved him, was certainly good to him, and it felt awfully selfish to think that maybe that wasn’t enough. “I know you guys need to make a decision or start looking for another roommate soon. Can I let you know by the end of the week?”
“That’s reasonable,” Oliver nodded. For a minute everything was quiet and a little awkward, and then he said, “Listen, I know we aren’t close, and that’s at least partially my fault. But you seem like a pretty cool guy, and I’d be more than happy if you stuck around. I know Sebastian would say the same.” He gave a wry smile. “If he was capable of having a conversation about something other than eighteenth-century France right now, anyway.”
