Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(52)

“I’m being invasive,” he says. “Sorry, just fascinated.”

“I mean, I get it. But I don’t want you to think we’re in this liberal haven or anything. We’re basically the only out teens at our high school, and we just kind of found each other early on. Thankfully. It’d be a whole lot harder going through anything without them.”

“No, no, I didn’t think that. I just have a hard time making queer friends. And then I see people like you and Art talk about your ride-or-dies, and I want that, you know?”

He’s avoiding eye contact with me now and instead turns his attention to his dinner.

“I also should have thought more about this before impulsively ordering the steak special when I called in the order.” He’s sawing furiously at the steak, which barely gives in to the plastic knife. He sighs and resorts to picking the steak up by hand.

“I know Art’s a pretty tolerant vegan, but they would lose it right now,” I say as Matt takes a bite from the steak he’s holding. He shrugs.

“Anyway,” I say, a more serious note to my tone, “I know having these boys be so close to me is so special, and I wouldn’t change what I have with them for anything, but I think it ends up holding me back sometimes. I don’t know how to make friends on my own. I don’t know how to pick out a shirt without running four options by them. They haven’t been as accessible lately, and it’s been pretty lonely.”

“Well, I think you’re great, and I’m glad we’re friends now. I know I don’t compare to them, and I don’t expect to—especially when I’m sitting here eating a steak like corn on the cob—but if you’re ever lonely, you can talk to me. Text me to approve all your outfits. Hang out in my room. Whatever you want.”

I smile. “Thanks, Matt.”

We finish up our meals as the sun’s nearly set over the trees. The park closes at sundown, and we should be going soon, but I feel the urge to stay. I like Matt—not as a replacement for my friends, or even a remedy for missing them. But I genuinely like him. And the rest of our little volunteer crew.

“Park closes at sunset. I hate to say it, but we should get back,” he says, and we start to pack up our trash. I fold up his blanket and pack it away in his backpack. I feel a smile lightly tug at my cheeks as I think about just how special this evening was.

We walk back, and I get the feeling he’s walking slower on purpose. Like we’re trying to get every extra moment we can squeeze from this maybe date. Along the way he’s talking about this new reality competition he’s been streaming lately. He’s talking faster, and there’s a hint of nervousness in his tone, and I wonder … am I making him nervous? Sal was always so sure, so confident around me, that seeing this sort of vulnerability makes my heart ache in the best way.

It’s like every time our eyes meet, he blushes and looks away.

“I started watching it because they billed it as this florist competition, and flowers are cool, but when the florists get there they realize it is more about designing these huge floral installations, like, almost architecture stuff, and it’s like none of them knew what they were signing up for. I put it on for background noise the other day, but it’s strangely addictive. I only have a couple of episodes left.”

“That sounds interesting,” I finally say.

I feel bold. And scared. And this feels right, so I add, “It’s still kind of early. Would you want to watch a couple of episodes together?”

“Back in my room?” he asks, and I see a smile come over his face. “Yeah, yeah, of course! I’ve been trying to get the nerve to invite you over this whole time. Yeah! If that’s okay with you?”

I laugh. “I’m the one who suggested it. So yep, very okay with me.”

When we get back, we sit next to each other on his bed as he excitedly explains all the posters and illustrations that line his walls. He turns on the show, and we’re just barely touching. I reach out, slowly, for his hand … and lightly link his fingers through mine.

A calmness comes through me, and I can’t even hide my smile. We just sit there, holding sweaty hands in his hot dorm room and watching this terrible reality show. And for once, I really feel like this is enough.

More than enough.





CHAPTER FORTY

HEATH

Aunt Jeanie is lightning quick, and it’s pretty clear that she is the master of this whole arcade. I’ve worked a few odd jobs, and I know the type. The manager at the local diner who knows that table nine needs exactly two sugar packets under one leg to balance it out, plus which chairs to sit guests at and which ones squeak. The grocery store cashier who knows every single produce code by heart and can spot the difference between yellow onions, white onions, and Vidalia ones from three aisles down.

Jeanie knows everything. How to fix the ticket jams in the basketball machine, how to pour the perfect beer, how to spot a fake ID from just about any state. These things come to you after years of doing the same thing. Kind of like how I practiced my slider about ten thousand times with Dad before perfecting it. It’s that kind of knowledge I can really appreciate.

But it’s not something I can keep up with.

I don’t burn the corn dogs anymore. And I can carry in the kegs from the back. But when things are busy, like this, I feel useless.