I had a dick in my mouth.

I sucked on a dick. In my mouth. And I got off on it.

Worse, I did this with Ben’s date. Technically during their date.

But Mal, normally so fierce and gorgeous, looked devastatingly vulnerable standing at the door. And then they tried to hide it with their flirting, but I could see it. They were hurting, and it felt instinctual to want to ease their suffering.

But did I really have to do it with their dick in my mouth?

I haven’t been able to sleep all night for thinking of it. In a few hours, Ben is going to get up and want to hit the gym together like usual on Saturday. I can’t deal with Ben right now. I haven’t figured out whether to be pissed at him for getting blitzed and leaving Mal in the lurch on their date, or feel guilty for blowing his date. Literally. I’m not getting more sleep anytime soon, so I might as well go to the gym early and put these gears spinning in my head to good use powering my legs. Hopefully Ben’s hangover will give me several hours’ head start.

I’m not a total and complete asshole, so I place a bottle of water and aspirin beside Ben’s bed before I leave.

At the gym, I start with ten minutes of hill intervals before I move to weights. The bank of treadmills overlooks the weight machines and free weights from a raised platform, so I take the opportunity to covertly scan the room in a way I’ve never done before.

I’m a labels guy. I like labels, and until yesterday, I had a neat and tidy label for myself – straight. But now I’ve got a little Craig voice running through my head, much like during our Barney Stinson debate, saying, “Is he, though?”

There is a shirtless man, probably a little older than me but in just as good shape, at the lat machine. His shoulders and back muscles ripple like waves with each pull. I imagine what it would feel like to run my hands along his skin, dip between those muscles. The thought gets my temperature rising, but not so hot that I worry about tenting my shorts. Still, a straight guy wouldn’t even be able to stomach the thought, right?

Now that I think about it, I always assumed the intense repulsion toward gay sex that straight guys profess was all for show. The feelings it evokes down there are not that different, at least for me. So I assumed it was programmed behavior that you are taught growing up. You’re supposed to act like it grosses you out, kind of like how you’re taught that only wusses cry at Disney movies and burping the alphabet is hilarious. Maybe I have missed some pretty clear indicators that I am not as straight as I thought.

I shift my gaze to a younger woman at the glute machine. I only see her backside, but her narrow hips and shapely ass definitely catch my attention. Her toned, lean legs kick upward against the machine. But seconds later, as she finishes her exercises and lifts up from her bent position, her overly large breasts bounce into place. That is a boner killer for me right there. Never been a tits and ass guy. Just an ass guy. More than a mouthful is too much.

Shelby said she liked it when I would tell her that. It made her feel good to know that I loved her size. At the last divorce meeting just before the holidays hit, she seemed to be larger than normal, and I am wondering if she had work done. At this point, I wonder if she ever told me the truth, or just what she thought I wanted to hear.

Maybe I’m only now considering this because I have been with Shelby since the not-so-tender age of nineteen. I never once strayed or checked anyone else out. One of my frat buddies had this obnoxious saying, “Just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu.” Not me.

Is it wrong that thinking about how much Shelby would freak out over what I did last night makes me feel a little better about it? Like if Shelby would be horrified that I sucked dick, then I know I have nothing to feel ashamed of.

Well, that and the fact that it was Mal. Yet another reason I need to fight whatever urge this is. Because I can’t go around developing feelings for anyone right now. I’m not even divorced yet. And Mal doesn’t deserve to be my weird experimental rebound.

My legs wobble and I realize that I missed the break for my last interval and blew right past my ten-minute mark. I’ve been so distracted that I powered uphill for eighteen minutes straight. No wonder my legs are about to give out. I lower the angle and decrease the speed until I can walk to cool down. I have to hold on to the handles so I don’t stumble.

I spend the rest of my morning on upper body in deference to my legs. I usually shower and change in the locker room, but after all the crazy thoughts going through my brain today, I am not about to risk it. Instead, I go straight home and find Ben with his face buried in an enormous mug of coffee like he’s using it as a personal steamer.

“You’re alive.”

He doesn’t lift his head, as though the caffeine will leach into his pores this way and cure his hangover. “Barely. Figured you went to the gym without me.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you were going to be up for it or not,” I say, and head into the kitchen for a glass of water and a peanut butter and banana sandwich, my post-workout protein snack. “Do you even remember getting home last night?”

Ben lifts his head at that, his eyes as wide as his coffee mug. “I didn’t drive, did I?”

“Jesus, Ben. What has gotten into you lately?” I sit next to him at the table, and he ducks his head back down to his coffee. “And no, you didn’t drive. Mal brought you home.” He stays quiet, and I’m not sure if he is avoiding the question or if he’s just too hungover to converse. I can’t take it anymore, so I decide to ask the question that’s been on my mind for a week now. “I know this might be out of line, and I’m sorry if it is, but are you hung up on Zach or something?”

I don’t need much more of an answer than the confused expression on his face as he jerks his head back up.

“What?”

“It’s obvious you miss him, but lately it seems more than that. I just thought maybe …”

“No. I do miss Zach. I don’t think I realized how big a part of my life he was until he was gone. And coming home from a shitty Christmas to find him already gone didn’t help.”

“You knew we were moving over the holidays,” I say before taking a bite of my sandwich.

Ben finally takes a sip of his coffee instead of inhaling it. “I know. It just wasn’t real before.”

It takes a moment for me to unstick my mouth from the peanut butter and a few swallows of water before I can speak. During that time, Ben’s misery only seems to deepen, and I wish I had Zach’s talent of chasing away his bad moods.

“Do you want to talk about it? Whatever happened at Christmas?”

“No!” Ben’s response isn’t loud, but it’s forceful.

“Oh, thank god,” I say, wiping pretend sweat from my brow. “I asked because I felt it was the proper roommate thing to do, but I honestly don’t know what I would do with myself if you started sharing your feelings.” I fake a shudder and Ben cracks a smile. It’s a start.

“I need a shower. It was too crowded at the gym this morning.” Sure, let’s go with that excuse. “Want to play a game after?”

“As long as we can keep the sound turned down.”

I stuff the last bit of sandwich into my mouth and get up from the table. Halfway to the bathroom, I remember something else and turn back to Ben.

“We need to go get your car from Old Town later,” I mumble with my mouth full. Ben groans and plants his head on the table, barely missing his mug. “And you might want to apologize to Mal, too.”

“Ugh, they were so boring. How can someone so hot be so boring?” he whines, though it’s muffled by the table. “I probably wouldn’t have drunk half as much if they hadn’t kept using the word ‘aesthetic.’ I took a shot every time they said it, and look what happened.”

His words rankle, and if I had hackles, they would be up right now. Not a second I’ve spent with Mal has been boring. But there’s no point in arguing taste, especially when I’m still feeling guilty over what happened. A shower will cool down this irrational crankiness. Ben is my best mate, and Mal is just …

Not helping to redirect my thoughts. The chubby I’ve been fighting all day reappears. I will not rub one out while thinking about Mal, and since I know thoughts of Mal will inevitably surface, I will not rub one out at all. I crank up the cold, and finish in a staggeringly short time.

In the time it took for my shower, Ben barely made the move from the table to the couch. He shuffles back with controllers in hand before collapsing onto the cushions in a heap.

Zach: Do you have plans next Saturday?

Zach’s text comes in just as we’ve started a game. I see the name flash across the screen, but I don’t want to pause. Ben’s phone dings soon after mine, and I wonder if we are both getting texts from Zach. It doesn’t take long before my character dies, so I reach for my phone while Ben continues playing.

Parker: I don’t think so. Why?

Amidst all the negative things that came out of Shelby’s miscarriage last year and our pending divorce, getting to know Zach better was a definite positive. He was always my nice younger cousin, who was really smart but kind of snarky. Last summer, I began to understand his snark is something he really only employs around family as a defense mechanism. Shelby has always been a bitch to him, but when isn’t Shelby a bitch these days, so I didn’t really pay attention to the level of nastiness that had developed there. I think toward the end I had learned to tune out Shelby like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Once I started to pay attention after her miscarriage, I was flabbergasted that this was the woman I married. I filed for divorce less than a month later.

Zach: Craig and I want to host our first dinner/housewarming party, and I think that date works for everyone if it will work for you?

Parker: Yes, if you promise me a big fat knot :)

Zach makes delicious bread products in the form of knots, and for years, I have begged for them any time I knew he would be at a family get-together. Now I know that “knots” are this inside joke between Zach and Ben that has something to do with gay shifter sex. Not too sure on the details, but I am happy to play along. It really is quite funny when you think about all the times I’ve asked Zach for his knots.

Zach: Oh my god, you just made me spit coffee on my paperwork. Damn you!

Zach: Did Ben put you up to that?

I’m smirking as I text back, and Ben notices. His character died too, so he’s also on his phone with the game paused in the background.

“What did he say to you? We’re both texting Zach about the dinner, right?”

I nod, but hold up a finger so I can text Zach back first.

Parker: I do have a sense of humor of my own, thank you.

“Yep,” I tell Ben. “I was just telling him that I expected a big, fat knot at dinner.”

“I’m rubbing off on you.” Ben tries to hold back his laugh, but it comes out his nose anyway.

Zach: I’ve heard your engineering jokes. You really don’t.

“Why, what is he saying to you?” I ask Ben.

“Just that I have to be nice to Mal, if Craig can get them to show up. Apparently, they told Craig about our date already, and Zach isn’t happy with me. Don’t know why. It’s not like he’s a big fan of Mal or anything.”

I should have guessed that Craig and Zach would invite Mal too. It’s too late to back out now, not that I would anyway. Supporting your cousin and his boyfriend is more important than your own sanity, right? Seven days until I see Mal again. With Ben. Let the countdown begin.

* * *

The phone rings just as I walk through the door after work on Tuesday afternoon, displaying the word “Parents” for the first time in five months. I answer like there’s a snake about to come from their side through the airwaves and out of my speakers. It’s my mom that responds.

“Hi sweetie,” she says. “How are things going?”

This is not what I was expecting, for her to act like nothing happened.

“Good?”

I didn’t intend for it to come out as a question. I nod to Ben, passing him in the hallway as he exits the kitchen with a napkin piled with Hot Pockets. I target my room so I can hold this sure-to-be-awkward call in private. My hands clutch at my tie, trying to yank it loose, as if this conversation is already strangling me. It lands on my bed and my button-down follows soon after.

“Wonderful. I’m sure you’re doing great things at work.”

My thoughts drift to whether we’ve even had enough contact since the separation for her to know I have a new job. I think it came up when we were all arguing about the divorce, but they might have been so preoccupied with other news that they didn’t listen.

“I was calling about your father’s upcoming birthday. Sharon and I have been talking about putting together a little party since it’s the big six-oh.” Sharon is my aunt on my father’s side. She’s a few years younger than dad, and loves to taunt him for it, so I am not surprised she and Mom are working together on this.

“When are you thinking?” I put my phone on speaker and bring it down to open up my calendar. Dad’s birthday is toward the beginning of February, which does not give me much notice. The drive home to Oklahoma takes about ten hours, but I can crank it out in a day if I am well-prepared. “I could probably take some time off. When do you want me there?”

“The party is on the first Saturday in February. We’re hosting it at the house. Your father wanted something simple.”

Damn it, Mom. Her planning skills have always been her tour de force. Everyone always assumes I got my brains from my father, the big-shot dentist, but it is Mom that gifted me with the ability to organize and see how everything fits together in neat, tidy packages. But this time, she really dropped the ball. That’s less than three weeks away. I continue talking while typing out an email requesting the Friday before the party off.

“I wish you had given me more notice. I’ll probably only be able to come down the day before and leave the day after.”

“That’s fine. As long as you and Shelby can make it for the big day, that’s all that matters.”

My fingers freeze mid-sentence. I’m glad my tie is already off or I would have just choked.

“Mom, I am not bringing Shelby.”

“Why on earth not?” Mom scoffs, a blast of air cuffing my ear like a fist through the phone. “It feels like ages since I’ve seen you both.”

I will not grind my teeth. I will not react. “Because we are getting a divorce.”

“It’s not funny to joke about something like that, Parker.” I start to argue, but she’s too quick. “I have to go start dinner for your father. He’ll be home from work soon. I love you.”

I feel like the walls are closing in on me. She refuses to speak to me for five months, and then acts like our blowup never happened. I had thought I owed them the courtesy of informing them about the divorce myself. I still remember Mom’s wails about how Shelby and I were perfect together and I was making a terrible mistake. And my father telling me how, for the first time in my life, I was disappointing him. Then, despite my asking her not to, Mom shared my new number with Aunt Bonnie. The very next phone call I received was a lecture about how God frowns on divorce and how Shelby needed me to get her through this trying and emotional time.

“I have faith that you’ll make the right choice, Parker,” she had said.

After that torture, I cut myself off from them. I did it to save my sanity, and to find myself. I wanted to find out who I thought I was, not who everyone else kept telling me I was. But maybe the radio silence gave them the wrong impression, and led them to believe I had taken their advice, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Torture by party. That is what the future holds for me.

“Are you alright in here?” Ben pokes his head through the open doorway. “It sounds like someone’s flogging a cat.”

Hmm, maybe I can bring some backup.