10 Ways to Accidentally Fall in Love

by Emmy Sanders

Step one in Brad’s Guide to Finding Himself and Falling in Love: Make a new friend. Nailed it.

Fuck. This man. I barely know him, and I’m already wondering what kind of fence he’d like around his backyard. White picket?

“A small steakhouse nearby. Is that all right?” “Are you kidding me? I love meat in my mouth.”

Mood

“I don’t understand,” I say, my gut sinking somewhere down near the bottom of my shoes. “What’s wrong?” Brad cringes, his eyes sorrowful. “I’m so sorry, Joey. I really am. I… I’m straight.”

Sure u are

He shakes his head a little, and my breath puffs out of me. “So tonight…” he says. “This wasn’t a date to you?” Oh, God. “No,” I say, even as I hate it. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, Joey. I’m so sorry.”

“If I were into guys, you’d be my first choice,” I tell him honestly.

I shut my door on what I’m sure is Joey’s excited face and grab a pad of paper. Pen in hand, I flop onto my couch and start a list. Joey’s best attributes.

“Dude. That’s rad.” “Is it?” he asks, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah. Your partners sound lucky. Do you like rimming?”

“Anything else?” I ask. “The inside is more important to me,” he says. “I want someone like… Well, someone like you.” “Dude,” I say slowly, setting down my fork. “That’s a super-nice compliment. Thank you.”

“We’ve totally got this, Joey-roo. I’m gonna find you the most wonderful guy. Just you wait and see.”

I’ll be the best wingman Joey has ever had. Mark my words. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be head over heels in love.

He’s the perfect guy. Except for the tiny little teensy matter of his sexuality. And the fact that, no matter my own feelings, Brad could never love someone like me.

“Oh! Lewis. He’s five-foot-eleven, a self-described twunk, and he’s really excited to meet you. No green eyes, sorry about that. They’re uncommon, did you know?” I did.

“This was a really inventive date idea, bub. You did good.” He flushes with happiness, looking so lovely it physically hurts.

“I can’t wait to see our pics, man. I’m gonna hang one on my wall.” It takes a second for his words to compute. “You…want to hang a half-naked picture of us on your wall?”

He doesn’t seem remotely affected by the fact that I was touching him in a way friends rarely ever do and looking at him with what I’m sure was unrestrained lust. I don’t think he even noticed. Nothing has changed. Not for him. Which means, somehow, I have to find a way to let it go. If only I knew how.

“Plus,” Brad goes on, utterly serious, “you make people happy, Joey. You’re calm and patient and genuinely kind. You’re flexible in your thinking, but not so much that you’d compromise your morals. And I’m not sure if you know this, but sometimes you smell like sawdust. Like those happy memories you mentioned from your childhood. I could see that becoming someone else’s happy memory, too, you know? You’re a catch. Inside and out. And someday, you’re going to make the right guy very happy.”

I follow Brad out of the truck. I nearly reach for his hand and have to forcibly remind myself that’s not what this is. That Brad isn’t…mine.