Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(29)

“I don’t think you need to worry. It’s not like we’ll be going out much anyway, and when we do, you can follow my lead.”

“Hey, that’s an idea,” I say, hit with a stroke of brilliance.

“What is?”

“You can teach me to be gay. If you teach me to be gay, I’ll live up to what these people are saying.”

Tripp stares at me for a long moment. “You want me to … teach you? To be gay?”

“Yes.” It’s the perfect plan.

“And how would I do that, exactly?”

“You tell me. You’re the gay one.”

A spark of amusement fills Tripp’s face. “Uh-huh. And that’s the only difference between us, gay and straight?”

“Exactly.”

“And what makes you straight?”

Is he stroking out? “I like chicks.”

“And what makes me gay?”

“You like dudes.”

“Right.” He pauses, and I wonder if this is one of those moments where there’s context I’m missing. “And can you think of any other differences?”

My brain is doing that staticky thing that takes over when I’m asked a hard question. What else is different between us? “I … can’t defend a goal to save myself?”

Tripp snorts back a laugh, then leans right over, into my personal space, and my heart does a backflip. “I fuck guys, Dex. That’s the only difference. Is that how you want me to teach you?”

He’s joking again, but my face starts to heat. “Ah, I mean, if you think it would—”

“Stop.” Tripp shoves me. “You can’t act all adorably innocent about me suggesting I fuck you.”

“Would you prefer I act grossed out? I’m not sure what the etiquette is here.”

“It’s not about etiquette. You’re straight, Dex. Straight guys generally don’t want to have sex with gay guys.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from pointing out Tripp isn’t “a gay guy” to me. He’s just … Tripp.

He groans and drops his head back against the couch. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what? There was no look. I’m not looking.”

“Dex …”

“Tripp …”

“You look upset,” he says.

“I’m not. This is my worried face. If it gets out that we’re lying, people will hate you. You don’t deserve that.”

“Well, we have to make sure it doesn’t get out.”

That’s what has me so panicked. We can be as careful as we like, but I’m sure I’m going to do something thoughtless and fuck up. “That’s the problem. I know how to be your best friend, not your husband.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?” Tripp shifts on the couch so he’s facing me. “Don’t people always say you should marry your best friend?”

“I guess we took that too literally.” I’m still nervous though. “I can’t shake the feeling people will know.”

“All right, look. The good thing is, a lot of queer couples aren’t overly affectionate in public anyway, so most people won’t question that, but they will expect something. I’m fine with whatever, but how about you tell me what you’re comfortable with, and we’ll stick to that.”

“Like … hugging and stuff, you mean?”

He cracks a smile. “And stuff.”

“Okay, where do we start?”

“The hugging is fine, right? We do that all the time.”

“Exactly.”

“And we’ve already agreed no sex with other people.” He winks. “Or each other.”

Hmm … I don’t think I actually agreed to that one at all. “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

“Speaking of hands, holding them in public, ye or nay?”

“Yes, I’d do that anyway.” I think about what else. “Can I call you husband?”

“Of course. I assume kissing is obviously a no.”

“Is it?”

His attention snaps back to me. “Isn’t it?”

“It seems like something husbands would do. And I kiss your cheek and head all the time; it’s not like your mouth is all that different.”

“But … you’re straight,” he says like he’s explaining it for the hundredth time.

“And?”

“You’re telling me you’d be comfortable kissing me in front of people without fucking it up?”

I shrug. “I managed it once, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s fine. It’s not like I didn’t like it.”

It takes a minute to pick up on the silence that’s fallen over the room. My gaze moves to Tripp’s widened eyes.

He clears his throat and breaks eye contact. “I think we can manage with that.”

“Okay.” Relief trickles through me. “We can do this, can’t we?”

“Sure we can.” He reaches for his coffee then turns to his phone, so I grab mine and settle in beside him.

My notifications are still full. I can’t bring myself to delete any of them. All I know is that even though I feel like a phony, I like reading these people’s stories. They’re trying to connect in a way, and some of them are really sweet.