It didn’t make sense. I was a guy, he was straight. We weren’t supposed to go out. And yet we were. I climbed into bed with him the day after and he cradled me in his arms. “Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“I want you to be happy,” he told me. “You’re my best friend.”
“But I don’t want to go out with you if you don’t…” I hesitated. If I said he didn’t want to, he would contradict me and say he did want to to make me happy. “I don’t to go out with you if you don’t like me.”
“I do like you, Nick,” he said, kissing my cheek.
“I mean romantically.”
“Me, too.”
I soaked that in. No. He was straight. He told me himself. He said it was creepy that I liked him when we were talking on the phone just the other day. He was lying. Why was he lying to me? That lying liar! Why can’t I think of a better word than lie? “You’re lying.” That word kept going through my head. I couldn’t think of anything else.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Nick.”
He kissed me on the lips. “I do love you,” he said.