A Very Bad Experiment

By Thursday, I had almost talked myself out of it.

Cole had always been affectionate with me. He wasn't affectionate with other people, but that didn't automatically mean anything.

Best friends could be different with each other.

Best friends probably shouldn't use their teeth, but perhaps we had simply failed to cover that in orientation.

The cheek bite never came up again.

Neither did Ryan.

I kept talking to him. I just stopped mentioning it whenever Cole was around, which was an alarming amount of the time.

On Thursday, he collected me outside my lecture hall with my jacket over his arm.

“You left this.”

I had. In our room, deliberately, because the morning had been warm.

He put it around my shoulders anyway.

I signed a thank-you and slipped my arms into the sleeves. His gaze followed my hands, then lingered on my face.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head.

He put an arm around my waist and started telling me his plans for the evening. Food first. Then a game at the apartment of somebody from the team. He thought I'd like the people. If I didn't, we could leave.

I was trying to decide when exactly his plans had become our plans when a guy stepped into our path.

He was good-looking. Tall, with a silver ring on his thumb and enough nervous determination to make me feel sympathetic before he spoke.

“Cole? Could I talk to you alone?”

His eyes flicked toward me.

I recognized the situation. I'd stood beside Cole through enough of these conversations to know my part.

I started to step away.

His arm tightened.

“Where are you going?”

“I'll wait over there,” I signed.

“You don't need to.”

He looked back at the guy. The softness left his face so completely that I felt the change beside him.

“I've already told you I'm straight.”

“I know what you said. I just thought—”

“I'm not interested.”

The guy's face flushed.

Cole didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The finality in it could have closed a building.

I looked away to give the poor man at least a little privacy while he gathered up his dignity and left.

Cole resumed walking as though nothing had happened.

He opened my car door. His hand rested briefly on my head so I wouldn't bump it getting in.

I sat down feeling foolish.

There was my answer.

Straight. Firmly, publicly, unambiguously straight.

At the first red light, he reached over and touched my cheek.

I nearly jumped.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Your face is red.”

Because he was touching it. I couldn't very well tell him that.

The light changed before he could ask anything else. I took out my phone and messaged Ryan.

Me: You were wrong. He just turned down another guy. Said he was straight again.

Ryan: Was his hand on you while he said it?

I looked at Cole's fingers resting on the console, inches from my knee.

Me: That doesn't prove anything.

Ryan: It proves I'd hate to be that guy.

I almost smiled.

Then another message arrived.

Ryan: Also, before this gets any more complicated, I should probably tell you something.

My stomach dropped.

I had been so distracted by Cole that I'd forgotten Ryan might have his own thoughts about our date.

Me: Okay.

He sent a longer message explaining, with an endearing amount of embarrassment, that he liked me but suspected we wanted similar things in a relationship. Specifically, similar things in bed.

I read it twice.

Then I let my forehead fall into my hand.

Ryan: Sorry. I know that's awkward to say over text.

Me: No. You're right.

Ryan: You're a bottom too, aren't you?

Me: Tragically, yes.

Ryan: I was trying to flirt with you and also wondering where you bought your sweater. In retrospect, that should've told me something.

I laughed.

Cole glanced over. “What's funny?”

I waved a hand, still smiling.

The conversation might have hurt if we'd had longer to imagine a future. As it was, I felt mostly relieved that neither of us had to pretend.

Me: Friends?

Ryan: Definitely. I still want to see the next movie with you. Ideally without a rescue operation halfway through.

Me: I'll bring my own tea.

That earned several laughing emojis.

At the next light, Cole rubbed his thumb along my cheek again, casual and absentminded.

My smile faded.

It was difficult to keep calling something meaningless when it kept making my heart do that.

Me: He bit my face the other night.

Ryan: He WHAT?

I explained. Poorly, judging by the number of question marks he sent.

Ryan: Jamie. Come on.

Me: He also just said he's straight.

Ryan: Maybe he believes it. That doesn't make it true.

I watched Cole lean forward to check the traffic. His shirt stretched across his shoulders. He glanced at me, caught me looking, and smiled.

My stomach gave an unhelpful little turn.

Ryan: Do you want to find out?

Me: How?

Ryan: We stage a confession. You tell me you like me, and he translates. Then we see whether he can actually bring himself to help you get a boyfriend.

I hesitated.

The idea was ridiculous. Juvenile. Almost guaranteed to make Cole unbearable.

It was also the first suggestion anyone had made that might give me an answer.

Me: He already hates you.

Ryan: I noticed. I'd like to know why before tryouts.

Me: You're still trying out?

Ryan: I'm not giving up basketball because your roommate has feelings.

I laughed again, then bit my lip.

What if he didn't have feelings?

What if he did?

I turned the phone over on my knee.

At the next light, before I could lose my nerve, I touched Cole's arm.

“Can you help me with something?” I signed.

His expression warmed immediately.

“Anything.”

I swallowed.

“I still like Ryan. I want to tell him properly. Will you translate for me?”

The warmth vanished.

He looked at me for so long that the driver behind us tapped his horn when the light changed.

Cole faced the road.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

I nodded.

A muscle jumped in his cheek.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll help.”

I sank back into the seat with my heart beating hard.

For the rest of the drive, Cole didn't touch my face again.

I found that I missed it.