Justin

I’m off the ground in a bear hug and his arms feel warmer than the Caribbean.  He’s rubbing the small of my back and I melt.  All I can do is look up at the neon blur of green and red and accept it. He puts me down and I stagger, not because of the way he puts me down but because I’m drunk and overwhelmed. 

I saw him before, but I ignored him. I danced with my friends half a dance floor away from him on purpose.  Not too far to miss seeing me, just close enough to catch me in a peripheral. I let it happen. I feel it when he spots me and he comes to me like static cling. The hair that I thought was matted to my skin from sweat is standing tall now, but I go on like he is not walking towards me. I laugh with my friends at nothing funny, I dance like nobody is around. I let him know I’m having fun without him.

He’s wearing under armour because he likes to break dance. I’m positive it’s soaked with sweat but I welcome the hug.  He releases me, steps back, and smiles.  His teeth are clogged with sunlight and genuine happiness, but I can’t seem to move away from his ice blue eyes.  We dance, him more of a fool than I, but I don’t make anything of it.  He asks me why I haven’t been with them to club Love in New York, and I say that rolling isn’t my thing. That ecstasy kind of freaks me out.  

“That’s straight man,” he says like he’s black. “What’re you doin’ tonight? Do you want to come hang out?”

I tell him that I’m busy, that I’m actually going over my friend’s house. But in two minutes it turns into an interrogation.

“So this guy you’re seeing tonight, is he your uhh…”

I tell him the truth: that he’s not, that he’s just my friend. The other part of the truth is that he’s just my friend that I use and lead on and use some more, but that’s not something he needs to know.  

He says that it’s cool, that I should hang out with him some time. That we should spend more time together. 

A week later he texts me. I find it odd, especially because I didn’t give him my number; Robbie gave it to him. He’s teasing me, flirting really, but I do not relent. I know he claims to be straight, and I know he came out to me. Another loose end to tidy away. So, naturally, he tells me that he’s completely into me. 

As if I couldn’t tell.

As if I minded.