When have I ever given him the impression that I’d be into it anyway? I mean, I’m obvious, but am I that obvious?
Do not look at his lips. For the love of god, Mickey, do not look at his lips.
I look at his lips, parted slightly, just waiting for me.
I bite my own lip and look back up at his eyes. He’s still watching me, waiting for an answer. Imagine allowing myself this. Someone in hockey who really knows me.
Someone I can have fun with in between running myself ragged for this sport.
But. Hockey’s not the most welcoming environment for people who aren’t straight white guys. I at least have one of those things protecting me. Cauler’s got neither.
It would be a bad idea for both of us.
I clear my throat and look away, back toward Tom Holland and Zendaya, a bisexual’s dream. I can almost hear the tension between us snap. “I mean,” I say. My voice sounds too high. “I wouldn’t be weird about it, if that’s what you’re asking. My sister’s gay, and Bailey’s boyfriends are bi.”
I don’t see his disappointment, but I hear it in the way he sighs, short and soft like he’s trying to hide it. “I know,” he says. “Why do you think I felt safe telling you?”
It’s a lie. It might be part of the reason, but it’s not all of it.
Jaysen Caulfield is into me. Maybe just as much as I am into him.
Who would’ve thought?
* * *
IT’S DANGEROUS TO let myself fall asleep in the same bed as him, but I do. We stay up too late, talking about Nova and his ex Jisung and what it’s like to stay friends after breaking up.
I wake up facing him, the laptop open between us, screen dark. I check my phone to see it’s just after five in the morning, still an hour left to sleep. But I won’t be able to fall back asleep now. Not in this room, this bed, next to him.
I let myself look him over for a moment, the way he hasn’t moved except to turn his face my way. One hand still on his stomach, the other behind his head, probably numb by now.
I could’ve kissed him last night. I should’ve kissed him last night.
With a sigh, I ease myself out of the bed to use the bathroom and take my laptop to the small table by the window.
It’s dinnertime or something in Australia. Nova has to hear about this.
Mickey: Hey so problem
Nova: Oh boy
Lemme get my therapist glasses on
What’s up
Mickey: Okay so
Cauler
Jaysen
Remember him
Well
He’s like
Totally into me
She starts typing and stops a few times before a message finally comes through.
Nova: Sorry but I’m failing to see the problem here?
He’s into you
You’re into him
So do the thing
Mickey: Nova
You realize he’s a hockey player
And like
MY BIGGEST COMPETITION HELLO
Nova: Still not seeing the problem.
Mickey.
How many times do I have to tell you
Let yourself have something that isn’t hockey
Mickey: That would be easier if what I wanted
wasn’t a person who could ruin everything
Nova: you’re being dramatic
Mickey: you’re underestimating the power of the homophobe
It’s not that I think Cauler would out me. That would put him in the same position as me. But people have a way of finding these things out. I mean, look at Bailey and Delilah. Word about them got out because of assholes who posted their business online.
My phone buzzes on the table, and a moment later Nova’s picture pops up on a video call. I glance at Cauler, still asleep, and head into the bathroom.
Nova’s in sunglasses and a bathing suit when I answer. I hear the faint crashing of waves in the background and the sound of people laughing.
She’s on a beach in Australia, and I am instantly jealous.
“I’m gonna need you to do something for me, Mickey,” she says before I have a chance to say hi.
“Okay?” I say.
“Think about your happiness, for one second. What would make you happy right this very moment? Don’t think about the consequences or what could go wrong. Just think about what you want.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’m miserable right now.”
“But you’re also not happy.”
“I’m never happy, Nova,” I say. I poke at the bruises under my eyes in the mirror, permanent physical evidence of the years spent lying awake at night, staring at the walls, the ceiling, the insides of my eyelids.
When it’s real bad, I swear I look like a corpse. And people still don’t realize what’s going on. I guess I can’t really blame them. Sometimes I even sit there and tell myself I am way too privileged to be depressed and that I need to suck it up.