Top Secret

KEATON

“Fourth gear is huge, did you notice that?” I ask, leaning back in the passenger’s seat. Luke asked if he could drive home, and I was all too happy to say yes.

I’m just plain happy. Last night was everything.

The concert was a good time. We’d stood there at the foot of the stage, dancing, Luke’s hands on my hips. And naturally when we got back to the hotel, I was ready to give the king-sized bed another workout.

“Are you sore?” Luke had asked me between kisses.

“Kind of,” I’d admitted. We’d been crazy men the night before. “But athletes don’t complain about pain.”

“Sure, but…” He’d popped the button on his own jeans. “Maybe you’d better fuck me, then.”

He’d said it just like that. Like we were deciding between the stuffed mushrooms and the chicken wings on the appetizers menu. But I didn’t question it. I’m not a stupid man. A half hour later I’d had him gripping the headboard and moaning my name.

Getting out of town was my best idea since throwing a winter beach party. My best idea ever.

“Yeah, fourth gear has lots of torque,” Luke agrees, downshifting to make a lane change just for fun. “And it feels like fifth is just for cruising.”

“Uh-huh.” The sun is warm on my face, so I close my eyes. “I’ve never dated anyone who wanted to discuss my manual transmission before.”

I realize my mistake the second I make it. “You know what I mean,” I mumble.

He’s quiet for a second. “No, I do. We are heading in that direction, Keaton. I get it now.”

I’m so surprised that I actually stop breathing.

“No sense in me arguing the point. I just hope you know you’ve got an amateur on your hands, here. I’ll probably do everything wrong.”

“I’m not worried,” I say quickly.

“Really? You should be. People are going to notice how much time we spend together. What are we going to say?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” I admit. “I’m an amateur, too. At this. Can’t we sort that part out on our own time?”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “As long as there aren’t any leaks on our top-secret security team. Like Tanner grabbing your phone and opening up the wrong app…”

I snort. “I have that sucker well hidden. But there will probably be a point in the future when you feel less like it matters, right? This semester ends in just a few weeks. Next year you’ll already be president…”

Now I’ve done it again. I’ve assumed that we’ll be together next year.

“Suppose it won’t be as big a deal,” Luke concedes. “Eventually.”

We lapse into silence again, but my whole outlook has changed this weekend. All my patience has paid off.

Luke Bailey acknowledges that we’re a couple? Pinch me.

When I woke up this morning, Luke was sleeping curled up against my back, his arm wrapped around me. It was so peaceful that I held still as long as I could, just to make it last. And when he finally woke up, he didn’t untangle himself right away. He kissed me between the shoulder blades instead.

I want that again. And I like it a whole lot. I’ve always known that coupledom felt right to me. The part I didn’t understand is that it works even better for me when that other half is a man.

Here’s the part I haven’t told anyone—even Luke. I’m starting to wonder if bisexual is even the right label for me. Lately my sexuality is tilted further toward men than women. Lately I notice men everywhere. It’s as if I took my blinders off and started seeing everyone differently. The shapely biceps, quads, and glutes of the men of Darby, Connecticut are everywhere suddenly. Which is weird, because I’ve been surrounded by athletes my whole life.

Before, though, I might be admiring a guy at the squat rack thinking, nice form. These days I just think…nice.

“You’re thinking pretty hard over there,” Luke says as he passes a Toyota.

“It’s all good. I’m well-fed. The sun is out.”

“You’re feeling the warm glow of sexual satisfaction,” he says and then snickers. “But all vacations end, Hayworth. The minute we pull into town, you’ll have to pull a poker face when everyone asks where you’ve been.”

“So what if I do? I just wanted to spend some time with you. And I’m going to keep on doing that. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”

“Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat. “Sounds good to me.”

I chuckle, because the discomfort in his voice is so hard to miss.

“Go ahead and laugh,” he says. “But I am trying.”

“I know you are.” I reach over the console and squeeze his hand.

He squeezes mine back.

It’s all fun and games until we get back to town. There’s no parking on College Street as we approach the Alpha Delt house. “Sometimes I find a spot over on Elm,” I suggest.

He’s coasting down the street at maybe fifteen miles an hour. But even if Luke were driving faster, there’d be no way we’d miss all our housemates in the front yard, or the cop car double parked out front with its lights on.

“Holy shit,” Luke says. “What do you think happened?”

“I have no idea. There’s no ambulance, at least. Pull up behind the cops.”

He does. And I open the door and step out.

“Hayworth!” Judd calls. He comes walking toward me. “Have you seen Bailey?”

Instinct makes me turn to look at the car. Luke is already standing, his gaze taking everything in.

“Why?” I croak. Because I sure have seen Bailey. All weekend. Everyone is staring at us now.

Did I fuck this up already?

Two cops come walking toward us. “One of you Luke Bailey?”

“I am,” Luke says, his voice wary. “Why?”

“Step away from the car.”

Luke closes my car door and tosses me the keys. His face is already white.

“Whose vehicle is this?”

“Mine,” I say immediately.

But they aren’t even glancing in my direction. “Luke Bailey, please put your hands on the hood of the car. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right—”

“What is this about?” Luke growls.

“Hands on the car!”

His hands land on the hood immediately.

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

“Yes,” Luke says. “But…”

The next sound I hear is the click of handcuffs on my boyfriend’s wrists.

“Holy shit,” Judd says. “They’re throwing Bailey in the pokey.”