When Everything Is Blue(18)

I glance over at him. “You’re not fat. A little husky, maybe.”

He laughs with his head thrown back. He’s got a pretty decent laugh. Like his whole body gets into it. Makes me want to make him laugh again.

“How about you?” Dave asks. “What’s up with you and Mitcham?”

I turn my gaze back to the TV screen. At least I don’t have to lie about it. “We’re friends—best friends—since middle school.”

“You think he’s straight?”

“Pretty sure.”

Except there was this one time….

Dave cocks his head. “I think my gaydar needs a tune-up. All the guys around here look gay to me, but I think it’s just because it’s Florida and everyone’s naked all the time.”

I smile at that. And the way he says Florida, like “Flaaarida.”

“It’s pronounced Florida. Otherwise you sound like a tourist.”

“Thanks for the tip. Seriously, though, why does no one around here wear a shirt or shoes?”

I never really noticed it before, but people around here do dress pretty skimpy. It’s funny to think about how we might be viewed by outsiders. “Because it’s hot as hell and the beach is always right there?”

“I saw this guy the other day, wearing a pink tank top—tight too—and I thought for sure he was gay. I was about to move on him, and then this chick comes up and they start making out. I was like, whaaat?”

I chuckle at that, then wonder about Dave’s gaydar. I’m not sure I have one, because everyone seems straight to me, except a couple of guys at my school who make it known. That’s one of the disadvantages of being low-key about it. If no one knows, then it’s pretty impossible to find each other.

“What about me?” I ask, straightening up a bit. “Do I look gay to you?”

Dave pauses the game to glance over, tilts his head, and studies me. Even though I asked for it, his attention still makes me squirm.

“Your smile,” he says at last.

“My smile?” That seems completely irrelevant. And people always tell me Tabs has the same smile, so how does that even play out?

“Your smile is too….” Dave seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Eager.”

“What? My smile is too eager? I’m, like, the least friendly person I know.”

“I don’t disagree. But there was something about the way you and Mitcham played off each other. I thought there might be something there. Then, when I found out there wasn’t, I was, like, game on.”

“Game on, huh?” Maybe I’m not as covert with my feelings as I thought. Or Chris is the densest straight kid on the block. I also wonder what it means to “look” gay. The whole gay/straight thing is so confusing to me. A secret handshake would be so much easier.

“So, do you just hit on whatever guy you think is hot and hope that you’re right?” I ask him. “Seems ballsy to me.”

Dave seems to ponder the question. It’s kind of personal. I’m basically asking him to let me take a peek at his playbook. “There are a few factors that go into it.”

“What are they?” This is truly fascinating stuff.

“One, hotness. Two, likeliness to beat my ass. Three, level of attraction.”

I suppose personality and intelligence don’t factor much into Dave’s equation. I’m also not sure that hotness and level of attraction are all that different.

“Have you ever gotten your ass beat?”

“Yeah, but not too bad. Even straight guys like a good blowjob.”

Poof. Mind blown. Straight guys getting blowjobs from other dudes? That’s, like, a thing? Then I start wondering if what happened between Chris and me was just because he was horny and I happened to be there. That’s a truly depressing thought, but it would fit with what happened the morning after. Ugh, to think Chris would use me like that. Or we would use each other. It puts a whole different spin on it.

Our game ends, and Dave tosses the controller on the floor, swivels toward me.

“All this talk about blowjobs is making me thirsty. Want a drink?”

I manage to choke out a garbled response as my cheeks flame up just in case my embarrassment somehow slipped by him. From the smirk on his face, I’m guessing it didn’t.

“Yeah, sure.”

Dave grabs me a Gatorade from his minifridge, my favorite flavor, and tosses it to me. I wonder if he stocked up on my account or if it’s just a coincidence. I don’t ask.

“I could cut your hair if you want,” he says casually.

I run a hand through my hair. I haven’t cut it all summer, and it’s gotten kind of long and shaggy. Chris usually buzzes it for me, but it’s been awhile.

“I don’t know if I should trust you with my hair.”

Dave pulls out his phone and scrolls through his pictures, shows me a few dudes with cool-looking hair. “I cut hair back home. It’s how I made extra money, but I’ll do yours for free. Make sure I’ve still got it.”

I’m amazed Dave has this little-known talent. Men’s hair. I kind of want to test out his skills, and I can always buzz it off later if I don’t like it.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

He opens the back door and drags a chair outside to a concrete slab in the middle of a scraggly yard. The grass, or rather weeds, are all rangy and anemic-looking. I’ve become a bit of a yard snob since becoming a lawn maintenance technician. I can tell when a yard is neglected. Maybe I could return the favor by trimming up his weed patch.