The Spiral Down (The Fall Up #2)(43)

As far as I could tell, he wasn’t spending his evenings shacked up with a new girlfriend, so I’d decided to stick to the original plan and allow him to take the lead in our little relationship of sorts. I’d texted him just enough to make sure he knew I was interested and dropped everything the minute he called so he knew I wanted to talk to him. But, besides that, I let him make all the moves.

He’d yet to ask when I’d be back in town. As much as I would have loved to know he wanted to see me again, I didn’t need the temptation. I wasn’t going to be back in San Francisco for at least another few weeks. It sucked, but I was just happy that he wasn’t avoiding me anymore.

The first time he called, he tried to play it off as a business question. By the second call, we’d exchanged enough texts that he’d loosened up a bit. We chatted for over an hour about absolutely nothing. I did the majority of the talking, but he still listened and interjected with the occasional question. He was engaging, and that was more than I ever could have hoped for weeks ago.

Evan was funny, tossing out dry one-liners that had me rolling. He also laughed at my jokes, and that throaty chuckle of his gave me chills down my spine every time I heard it. I thought about him more often than not. And I secretly allowed myself to wonder what it would be like for him to call me every day. For him to go to award shows with me. For me to hide in his house for weeks on end where no one could find us. Those were the thoughts that disturbed me most. My entire life was in front of the crowds. Not hidden behind locked doors. But with Evan…

“What if she searches ‘celebrity peen’ and you pop up?” Levee exclaimed.

“Then you have bigger problems than her seeing my junk. Levee, your daughter will be fine. Styles will have shown his dick at least a hundred times by the time she’s of age. He should dominate the search engine results.”

“Oh, good,” she retorted sarcastically. “Wait…are there nudes of him now?”

“I don’t know. I’ll search as soon as we hang up and forward any I find to Sam.”

She giggled. “Stop sending my husband naked men.”

“Then tell him to stop sending me women. I swear he’s taken this game too far. I opened a text the other day and there was a half-naked woman wrapped in nothing but a sheet and she appeared to have a massive tumor growing in her abdomen.”

“Those were the proofs of my maternity pictures, you ass.”

I choked on a laugh. “Truly beautiful, by the way.”

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned. “But let’s get back to your pilot.”

I jokingly breathed his name on a dreamy sigh. “Evan.”

“Yes, him… Spill it.”

“I don’t have a whole lot to say. I wish I did though. I’m trying to play this one cool and give him plenty of time to fall for my coy charm.”

She barked a laugh. “Coy. Right. Okay, so you like the guy. I take it you aren’t just trying to f*ck him.”

My teeth sawed over my bottom lip. I absolutely wanted to f*ck Evan. I also wanted him to stay when it was all said and done though.

“I want what you and Sam have,” I admitted.

“I want that for you too. But, honey, I’m not sure you’re ever going to find that if you keep chasing straight guys. Even if they hang around for a while, you can’t expect a man to go against everything he knows just to be with you. It’s just not realistic.”

But I needed that.

I needed it desperately.

When I was three hours old, my father signed his rights away and my mother lost hers later that day when I tested positive for cocaine in the nursery. No grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins stepped forward to take care of the innocent baby who hadn’t asked to be born. They didn’t even give me a name. From what I’d heard over the years, the little old lady who volunteered to rock the crying babies named me after her son who was killed in Vietnam.

Really, my life was a rags-to-riches story that could rival most Lifetime movies.

I was seven when my mother, who I’d never met, finally lost her rights permanently. And let’s be honest: The market to adopt a troubled boy with more attitude than sense wasn’t exactly booming. Over my eighteen years in the system, I spent time in six different foster homes. Some were better than others. We were always poor, but they were all relatively decent people. Not great. But I survived.

Let’s face it: Growing up “the gay kid” was difficult no matter what the circumstances. Even if I’d had two biological parents who adored me, the struggle with society would have still been overwhelming. But toss in religious bigots as foster parents, relentless kids who believed different equaled wrong, and a confused boy who had never felt even an ounce of love…

It was the recipe for disaster.

But it had produced me.

I had several sexual experiences with gay guys when I was in high school. But it wasn’t until I was with my first straight guy that I really came alive in my sexuality. The worthiness I felt in knowing they were going against their own DNA just to be with me was unrivaled. Those brief encounters were the ones that made me feel something I’d never experienced before—special. No one could or ever would have them like I did. And, after I’d felt a high like that, I’d never gone back to gay men. I couldn’t, not with knowing what else was out there.