But then, last night had felt a lot like kissing girls.
If he was a girl, I’d have known I’d found the next person I’m into. But it’s Ruben. My very male best friend and bandmate.
So, essentially, what the fuck?
I sit up in bed, hoping he’ll stop faking being asleep. He doesn’t react, so I clear my throat.
Ruben opens his eyes, and smiles automatically when he sees me. But then his face shifts, his smile fading. I’m hit with a pulse of ice. The familiar old panic of what does this mean plays through my mind. I feel like I’m naked onstage.
“Hi,” he whispers. His voice is uncertain.
“Hi.” I can barely force the words out.
We fall into silence. I study Ruben. He’s gorgeous, sure. But is it gorgeous in an “I want to consensually pin you down” sort of way, or an “I want to be you” sort of way? Every other time I noticed how handsome Ruben is, I thought that was just appreciation, or aspiration. Now there’s no missing that there’s at least some desire there. Probably because I know what it’s like to kiss him.
Something flickers across his face, and he sits up a little. There’s an uncomfortable-as-hell conversation coming up and there’s nothing I can do to avoid it. Other than, like, sprinting out of the room, which does sound pretty appealing.
“How’s your head?” I ask.
He hesitates, scanning my face. “Not as bad as on the flight over here.”
“Yeah. Same. Although, mine’s pretty bad today. I was wasted last night.”
I want to be a million miles away so I don’t need to navigate this fucking conversation. So I don’t have to see him looking at me like he’s gotten his hopes up and now I’m hurting him. Like I’ve led him on.
Holy fuck, I have. After all that shit with Christopher last year, using Ruben to figure himself out. And, what, it’s been a week since that straight guy at Angel’s party hit on him? Not to mention countless other encounters that have caused Ruben to shut down against the world, bit by bit. All the crappy dudes using and undervaluing him that pissed me off so much.
Now I’m one of them.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Even if I did want him last night, why did I act on it?
“I assume you remember last night?” Ruben asks, and there’s maybe a sliver of hope left. “Not that wasted, I hope?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I say. My face is flaming hot, and I know he can see it. “That was, um…” I clear my throat. “Kinda shitty.”
“Kinda shitty?” he repeats flatly.
“Yeah. I mean, like, I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was so drunk I wasn’t thinking straight.” A+ choice of words there.
Ruben opens his mouth, then shuts it. I think he has no idea how this is happening. And like, same.
Help. How the fuck do I save this without digging myself a bigger hole? Like that’s even possible now.
“Okay,” I say. I go to put my hand on his leg, because normally I would, but instead I close my fist and tap it against the mattress. “I just, I’m really in my head right now, and I’m panicking, because you’re my best friend and I know you’ve been hurt by guys using you before, I know that, and the last thing I want is to be that. So if there’s anything I can do to fix this, please let me know, I am all ears. Please.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” he says finally. “I mean. It happens.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Well, okay. Maybe making out with your straight friend while drunk doesn’t happen all the time. But it did happen. So, maybe we just … pretend it didn’t?”
That sounds like a bad idea, but will also buy me some time. Whatever came over me last night might never happen again. This way, we can put it in the past, at least until it’s not so fresh. Categorize it under “dumb shit we did on tour.” Move on. It’s like a mini-crush. I probably won’t think of this once I like a girl.
My eyes meet his, and I’m about to agree, when I notice something. The morning sun has changed the color of his eyes to a sort of amber. Suddenly, all I want to do is kiss him again. I want to wrap my arms around him and to have him smile at me and to just lose myself with him.
Which means …
What exactly?
It means I need a fucking second. I don’t want to shut this down, but I don’t want to open it up. I want to breathe, and have some space, and try to sort through my thoughts without Ruben staring at me like the world will end if I don’t say the exact right thing. I need to figure this the fuck out, and then talk to him.