Fake Out: Chapter 11

What am I doing here?

Since Damon made his escape from my apartment last weekend, I’ve been telling myself to let it go. He doesn’t trust me not to freak out on him. End of story. I need to move on.

So now I’m standing outside the bar where he told me I could meet his friends—friends who could “help me out.” Damon doesn’t understand this isn’t about experimenting but wanting to go out with him. If I was looking for a hookup, I’d go out and do what I’ve always done.

Why is it that the one person I’ve genuinely liked in years—the one person I could see myself having more than one date with—doesn’t want to go out with me because I’ve never been with another guy before? And that’s a technicality because I’m not sure what my thing with Matt would be classified as.

A guy passes me, and his piercing blue-green eyes roam over me. When his lips quirk, I realize he’s checking me out. Do I have a sign on my forehead now? Or am I only noticing it now?

When his lips turn into a full-blown smile, I swallow hard and turn away from the bar. I swear I hear the guy chuckle, but it might be my imagination.

I only get a few steps when I stop and turn back. Then I change my mind and go to leave again.

I get seven steps this time before I pause.

Just do it. Enter the bar.

When I turn this time, I almost run into Damon.

“When Noah said there was a hot, freaked-out guy out here, I thought it might’ve been you.”

“Noah?”

“The annoyingly attractive black guy with blue eyes who eye-fucked you until you got weirded out and left.”

At that, the tension in my gut eases. “Oh. That guy.”

“In my defense, Noah wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. Wyatt invited him. I didn’t want Noah to … uh, scare you off. Apparently, he doesn’t even need to open his mouth anymore before people run the other way.”

“It wasn’t him that scared me off. I-I don’t know what I’m doing here.” I mean, I do. I’m here for Damon, but I can’t say that aloud. This isn’t supposed to be about that.

“Come in and meet everyone, have a drink, and then you can go. This was to make you more comfortable, not intimidate the hell out of you.”

I manage a nod, and he leads me inside to a table with four other people—including the guy who checked me out—and their conversation doesn’t stop at our arrival.

“How can you say that?” a skinny guy says. He looks like he could be a surfer with his sun-kissed, long blond hair. “It’s the most offensive thing to ever come out of your mouth.”

A girl with long, wavy brown hair throws her arm around a chick with a short, black bob haircut. “Stop being so dramatic. Skylar’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

I look at Damon for any type of explanation. He shakes his head with a smile.

“But she … and …” The guy’s voice goes high-pitched. “There are lines, Rebecca. Your girlfriend crossed a major one. No one can say things that offensive without being ridiculed.”

In my experience, only three things can create this type of argument: politics, religion, and—

“All I’m saying is,” the girl with black hair says, “The Phantom Menace was so much better than Empire. Get over it.”

“Agreed,” Damon says.

Star Wars it is. This shouldn’t need debating. I turn to Damon. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with someone who thinks Episode One was better than the originals.” Then I face the rest of the group. “And if any of you say The Force Awakens was even better, I’m going to walk out. Right now.”

“Well, you passed the nerd test,” Noah says.

The surfer guy leans in. “Ignore him. He’s a closet Trekkie.”

Damon points as he goes along. “That’s Rebecca, Skylar, Wyatt, and Noah. Everyone, Maddox.”

Staring at the group, I can’t help noticing how mismatched they all are.

“Damon, I think we broke your friend,” Noah says. “He’s staring at us weird.”

“Sorry,” I say. “Just … odd dynamic.”

“Think you have us figured out already, huh?” Damon asks. “By all means, tell us how we’re odd.”

I’m worried I’m about to offend a table of people I’ve just met. “Uh …” I clear my throat. “Wyatt surfs. Skylar’s in a band or is an artist, and Rebecca looks like she’d be a nurse or in childcare.”

Noah leans in, resting his elbows on the table and his blue eyes shining. “And me?”

“I could see you as an athlete. Basketball or track, maybe.”

“Congratulations,” Damon says, “You got none of them right.” Everyone at the table snickers. “Although, you came close with one. Skylar’s the nurse, not Rebecca.”

The black-haired punk smiles at me. “Pediatric nurse to be exact.” My eyes fall to her tatts. “I wear long sleeves at work and take out the nose ring.”

“Rebecca’s in some of my law classes, and she’s going to be a killer litigator,” Damon says. “Don’t let the sweet appearance fool you. She’s a shark. Wyatt’s an analyst—”

“I’m not an analyst. I’m a data manager for a start-up.”

Damon shrugs. “Same thing. And then we have Noah. Noah is, uh …”

“Go on, Damon, you can say it. I’m a trust-fund baby and haven’t worked a day in my life.” Noah turns to me. “But if I hadn’t been so terrified about my team beating me shitless, I would’ve played basketball. So you were close.”

“You’re forgetting you lack a thing called ball skills,” Damon says.

Noah flips him off.

“That was a fun lesson to not judge those by how they look,” I say.

“We all found each other in college,” Damon says.

“And now that you’ve had your fun,” Noah says, “we get to have ours and guess who you are.”

“Frat boy,” Rebecca says.

“Marketing major,” Wyatt says next.

“Total manwhore when it comes to the opposite sex,” Skylar adds.

“He may be a manwhore when it comes to women, but we know he’s only recently realized he’s into guys,” Noah says.

Meanwhile, I sit here with my mouth hanging open. “How did you—”

Damon nudges me. “They’re not psychic, just assholes. I already told them about you. I also told them to be nice, but they’re ignoring me.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hazing,” Noah says.

“I made it through Alpha Phi rush week, so hazing doesn’t scare me,” I say.

Noah grins. “Want a drink, newbie?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a cocktail. Because, you know, I have to order those now.”

Four pairs of eyes blink at me.

Damon laughs at me and mutters, “Now you’re the asshole.” He turns to his friends. “He’s fucking with you. He’s best friends with my sister, so do you expect any less?”

“Ooh, we love Stacy,” Rebecca says.

Damon gestures to me. “Meet male Stacy.”

Eww. Damon sees me as the male version of his sister? No wonder he doesn’t want to hook up.

“So, that drink?” Noah asks.

My phone dings in my pocket. “Sorry, I thought it was off—” I go to turn it to silent but see it’s a text from Stacy.

Stacy:

It was Matt Jackson you hooked up with, wasn’t it!?!?

Panic has my fingers flying across my screen.

Maddox:

How did you find that out?

I glare at Damon, but it’s premature.

Stacy:

Check the news.

“What is it?” Damon asks at my furrowed brow.

“Nothing good,” I murmur.

Stacy attached a link, and when I click on it, photos of Matt in a compromising position with another guy pop up on screen. From what I can tell of the dark images, he’s in a club.

The headline reads NFL Star Matt Jackson Spotted at Gay Nightclub.

“Ah, shit,” I mumble.

“What?” Damon asks.

I shove my phone at him. “Guess you were right.”

“Matt Jackson is your ex-hookup?” Damon asks incredulously.

“The Matt Jackson?” Noah asks.

“Who?” Wyatt asks.

“Geez, Wyatt,” Skylar says. “Even I know he’s a tight end for the Pennsylvania Bulldogs.”

Damon scrolls through the article. “This is bad.”

“What is?” Noah asks.

“This article outed him,” Damon says. “There’s definitely no denying it’s him in the photos.”

Noah holds his hand out for the phone. “Damn.” He pinches the screen and zooms in. Matt’s holding up his shirt, showing off the lower part of his abs, while a guy’s on his knees in front of him. “Can’t see any of the good stuff.” Noah gives me my phone back. “Although, you’d think they’d come up with a better headline. How did they miss a pun about being a gay tight end?”

“At least he isn’t a wide receiver,” Skylar jokes.

Normally, I’d laugh with them, but I can’t help wondering how Matt’s dealing with this.

“This isn’t a professional press release or tasteful at all,” Damon says. “His contract is up, there’s been no public announcement of renewal yet, and the season’s over. I hope he has good representation.”

Maybe I should call him. Or Facebook him. Although, what would I say? Hey, we haven’t spoken since the last time you blew me, but sorry someone outed you? Yeah, maybe I won’t contact him.

“I could go for that drink now,” I say.

Noah buys me a beer and moves to the stool next to mine. I’m aware of Damon’s scowl, but I tell myself not to read into it. Maybe Noah’s a dick, and Damon’s looking out for me. Then again, he said he’d introduce me to his friends who’d want to hook up with me, and between Noah and Wyatt, Noah is closer to my type. At least, I think he is. Considering the two guys I’ve been attracted to are athletic guys, I guess I have a type.

Damon’s friends are great, and minus the initial screwing with me, they accept me. I understand what Damon means now about being around people who have gone through the same thing. Just knowing they get it without having to talk about it makes me comfortable around them.

That is, until I go to leave and Noah says he’ll walk me out.

My eyes find Damon, and he frowns, but then he mouths “Go for it.”

Right. Guess I know where I still stand. Guess I also know I should stop trying to change it.

Noah follows me out, and as the cold, frigid air hits me, I try to come up with an excuse to leave Noah on the curbside.

“Where you headed?” he asks.

“Subway.”

“Want a ride? I have my car.” The lights on a Beemer nearby flash. Of course, he drives a BMW. A luxury one by the look of it.

“I’m fine with the subway. Thanks.” Shit, I’m usually not this rude. Or blunt. But dating a woman is easy. Flirting with a guy? Shit, pass me a manual. Plus, I don’t even know if I want to flirt with Noah. Since realizing I also like guys, I’m more confused than ever. Noah is hot, there’s no doubt about that, but do I think he’s hot because I’m attracted to him, or do I merely see that the guy looks like a model and could be an actor. He’s generically good-looking. That doesn’t mean I want to bone him. Or does it?

I have no idea anymore.

Noah leans against his car. “What’s the deal with you and Damon?”

“There is no deal.”

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. What’s Damon’s deal with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Noah rubs his chin in thought. “Well, let’s see. He didn’t tell me about tonight, and Aron isn’t here either. Not to mention, the ‘hands off’ warning Wyatt gave me when Damon came out to greet you. It’s … odd. I haven’t seen Damon interested in anyone for a long while, but he’s definitely showing possessive tendencies over you.”

“Nah, it’s not like that. I’m his sister’s best friend. He doesn’t want me to get screwed over because he’ll have to answer to Stacy.”

“Stacy is pretty scary,” Noah says with a small smile, “but I think it’s more than that. And I think you have a thing for him too. Otherwise, why else wouldn’t you get in my car? Free ride with a hot guy versus the subway when it’s still freezing. I’d think that’d be no contest.”

“Well, when you’re so modest and all …”

Noah chuckles. “I’m a realist. I’m hot and have money—I’m the perfect catch.”

“If I wanted a sugar daddy. Which I don’t.”

His smile doesn’t waver as he eyes me up and down. “I’m too young to be a sugar daddy. I promise not to hit on you if you let me drive you home. It’s obvious you’ve got something going with Damon, and while you’re definitely my type, I’m not into guys who are into other guys. Unless it’s a three-way type situation, and then—”

“Okay, okay. You can drive me home.”

He needs to stop talking about me and Damon and three-ways. It’s making my brain explode with images that could make a long trip home uncomfortable.

Noah gestures to his car. Guess I’m doing this then.