“Really, though? Like…you want to date a guy?” Marcos takes a hand off the wheel to wave it around, a frown tugging the side of his mouth I can see downward. “In public?” “Why does everyone assume I’m going to be pissed off about people thinking I’m gay?” I ask, annoyed. “Micky, too. Of course I want to date you in public, Jesus.” “I wasn’t…” A pause. “Sorry. You’re right.” “I like what we’ve been doing—hooking up and texting; occasionally hanging out. Usually, that’s all I want. But, Marcos, I really fucking like you. I don’t know how it happened or why, but it did and I don’t want to play
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