11. Blaise

ELEVEN

The dingof a text interrupts the drama on The Gilded Age. It's fine—I've seen these episodes before. I'm rewatching and making notes on the costumes. I hit Pause at just the right moment to capture a screenshot of Bertha's ensemble, and grab my phone.

Jordan:

You awake?

I glance at the time. Shit, it's after midnight already. Good thing I don't have the opening shift at work tomorrow.

Blaise:

Yep. What's up?

Jordan:

Can I come over? Not a booty call

Jordan:

Tho I wouldn't say no if that was on offer

Chuckling, I type:

Sure, come over.

Then I stand and stretch. He probably wants to talk more about his newfound bisexuality. I'm good with that—and with anything else that might happen once he gets here. While I'm waiting for him, I finish the notes for Bertha's costume, then go to the bathroom. The knock comes just as I'm done.

"Hey." Holding the door wide, I step back for him to walk past, taking him in. His hair is standing on end, and he's wearing what I think might be his pajamas with a sweatshirt on top. "You okay?"

He flops onto the couch, making himself at home, and I find it strangely endearing. We don't really know each other that well—except carnally—but I like that he's so comfortable in my space. "You mean because I so obviously can't sleep and dragged myself out of bed to come here in the middle of the night? Sure, I'm fine." He's smiling, so I'm going to take the statement at face value.

"Great. Want a soda?"

He shakes his head, and I join him on the couch. "So what's up? If it really is a booty call, I don't have a problem with that."

"Nah." He grins. "But my early class was cancelled, so let's do that next. I wanted to talk to you last night, but there wasn't a chance for any privacy."

That's true. I had a way better time than I expected to, both at the game and hanging out with the team after, but it was chaotic and hectic, and I ended up giving Phil a ride home around one-ish.

"Well, it doesn't get more private than this." I wave to the empty apartment.

"Is… I mean, obviously you guessed that I didn't tell anyone about… us. What we're doing. Our friendship. Ugh." He closes his eyes in frustration. "Obviously I told them we were friends. But not…" He makes a lewd gesture, and I snort.

"Yeah, I got that. I did the same, by the way. I didn't think you were out, and that's something you should be able to do on your own terms. I told my friends that I sold you a suit and we're friends now." I hesitate. "They're a little suspicious, especially Calla, but my official story stands, and none of them would spread any rumors or anything."

He nods, and the relief on his face is clear. "Thanks. It's not that I'm ashamed or anything?—"

I hold up a hand. "I'm going to stop you there. I don't think you're ashamed, but even if you were, that's not my business. This is your decision to make when you're ready to make it. We're friends, and we fuck, but you don't owe me anything beyond that."

"God, you sound like my dads and their friends," he mutters. "Should I be creeped out by that?"

"Depends. Are they hot?"

The grossed-out look on his face makes me cackle.

"Dude, they're my dads. And my honorary uncles. That's… just no."

"I'll imagine them with poor hygiene and bad style, then," I tease. "Totally a no. But they sound smart."

He shrugs. "They are, but what I meant was, they're all very vocal about choices and respect when it comes to orientation, gender identity, coming out, and relationships—just like you." Jordan's smile is warm and almost conspiratorial, like he's invited me to be part of something a little special, and I push aside the bitter pang that I never had family like that myself. "Anyway, I wasn't sure where I landed on the identity line, but that wasn't traumatic or difficult for me—I just needed time to work it out, you know? I'm not ashamed to be attracted to more than women, and I'm definitely going to be open about it." He winces. "But while I'm playing college ball, that most likely means media attention. And I don't want that, not for me, and not for anyone in my life."

"I don't want that either," I reply honestly. I understand exactly where he's coming from. "If you told me you wanted to come out publicly, as in announcements and all that, we'd still be friends, but the fucking would probably stop. We're not in that place, and I wouldn't go through all that hoopla for anyone except a serious boyfriend."

His face lights up. "Exactly! That's how I feel. And since I don't plan to go pro, I don't see a reason to make any announcements right now. I might come out to my closest friends and some of my teammates, but it's gonna be low-key. No big declarations."

"Sounds smart to me."

"My sister and her boyfriend already know, kinda. I called her after the BJ at the store. But they don't know you and they'd never tell anyone anyway. And I told Uncle Luke I'd figured out I was bi or whatever, but then I ended the call and we haven't had a chance to talk since."

The bitterness is back, teasing the edges of my awareness. "It's great that you can talk to your family about this stuff."

The corners of his mouth turn down. "You don't?"

"No." I shake my head. "Not anymore. Not ever, really." I intend to stop there, but he's watching me with such an earnest, supportive expression that instead I find myself spilling my guts. "My mom was okay with me being gay. Mostly. She didn't really understand, but she loved me and we just didn't talk about it. Dad…" I shake my head again. "Even when I was too little to understand what gay meant and that I'd like boys ‘that way' instead of girls, he was disappointed by me. He didn't understand me and my interests. My parents divorced when I was ten, and I lived with Mom full-time, with occasional weekends at Dad's place. Then Mom got sick." It still hurts to talk about, even after three years. "She died at the beginning of my sophomore year here."

Jordan squeezes my hand. "I'm so sorry. That sucks so hard."

Blinking, because yeah, he'd know, I muster a smile. "It does. Then Dad decided to prove what an asshole he is by going after her estate."

His face goes hard. "What? Did she leave a will?"

"Yep, everything got left to me, including her half of the house. I don't know why they didn't sell it during the divorce, but instead Mom paid him rent for his half and we kept living there. Anyway, she didn't have much, but he tried to contest the will. Said I shouldn't be able to inherit any of it because I'm gay."

My friends had either one of two reactions to this news. Either they were too shocked to speak, or they started yelling with rage. Interestingly, Jordan does both.

He leaps to his feet, hands on hips, and shouts, "What? He— But— Are you… URGHH!"

I nod, curling my legs up. "That's pretty much how I felt. It's fine, though. The judge called him a bigot, and I got the estate. I sold Mom's share of the house back to Dad, and the money mostly paid for college. I only needed a part-time job to help with expenses. That was pretty much the end of my relationship with my dad, though. And with Mom gone too…" I shrug. "I have a few cousins I don't hate too much, but none of them really get me. Mom was an only child, and her parents died when I was little. Dad's sisters and parents think like he does. So my friends are my family now."

"You've got great friends, so that's something." He sits again and pats my knee. "I'm so sorry. My grandparents all died before I was old enough to remember them, and my dad was an only child, but even after my parents died, I had Uncle Luke… and Uncle Matt, but he wasn't so good with the talking about feelings. And then later, when we moved to Georgia and I gained half a dozen or so honorary uncles… It feels like there was always someone I could talk to. For a few years, we had these housekeepers, Jus and Jas, and they?—"

"Wait." I hold up a hand to stop him. "I'm going to need more. Jus and Jas? Were their parents on acid?"

He grins. "Justin and Jasmine. They're twins, and they wanted to job share so they'd have time to work on their art too. You'd like them both."

"Because I'm a designer?"

"No, because they're awesome. Though the design thing would probably help." He hesitates. "Jas had some of her work go viral on Insta after a European princess posted a pic of it in her house."

I sit up abruptly. "Are you talking about Jasmine Henson? She was your housekeeper?" Her glass sculptures are indescribably beautiful.

He nods sheepishly. "Yeah."

"Butch is going to freak when she hears. Wait… that means Jus is Justin Henson, the painter."

"Well, they are twins. So yeah."

I shake my head. "I won't tell Butch. She'd rupture my eardrums with her screams. She made us all go with her to Justin's show at Quint Gallery two years ago. I can't believe two successful artists used to clean your house."

"And take me to ball practice," he adds. "They're the best. Seriously. When I said there was always someone I could talk to, I meant it." He hesitates again. "I know we haven't been friends long, and you have some pretty great friends already, but if you ever need another ear, I'm here, man. Or if you need, like, an adult, I can hook you up. All the ones in my life are cool, even if Uncle Luke tried to limit my Pop-Tart intake."

I'm simultaneously touched and befuddled. "He tried to limit your Pop-Tart intake? How does he even know how many you're having?"

"Oh, not now. Now I eat as many as I want, though sometimes I pay for it in the gym. But when I was a kid, he was always going on about how I couldn't eat a whole box at a time."

A whole box? Just thinking about all that sugar makes me queasy, and we art students live on junk food. "He might have had a point. That many Pop-Tarts would probably lead to death." I eye him. "You're not doing that now, are you?"

His gaze slides away. "That's not important."

So he is. Holy crap, he must work out like a demon to stay in the shape he's in. "I promise to get rid of the evidence when you fall into a diabetic coma."

Jordan's laugh lights him up, and a trickle of happiness runs through me. "Nah, I'm not ashamed. My dads know I have a sugar problem."

As our chuckles settle, I shift positions and lean up against his side. "Thanks for the offer. To listen, I mean. And to hook me up with an older man."

"That so does not sound like what I offered."

"It so is, almost word for word. You baby bisexuals make the best wingmen."

"Yeah, before this gets any weirder, I'm just going on record that I didn't offer to ‘hook you up' with anyone in a sexual sense. Except me. We can sex all you want."

"I don't think sex works that way. The word, not the… sex." I let my eyes drift closed. I can't remember ever being this comfortable with a fuck buddy.

"Sex the word and sex the sex work however you want them to. That's the beauty of it." He curls into me, resting his head on mine. "You mind if I grab a quick catnap before I head home? I'm kinda sleepy now, and sleepy driving is dead driving."

I don't bother to open my eyes. "You bet. Wake me before you leave, and I'll blow you."

It's the last thought I have until morning.