“Not really my type,” I mumbled. Just don’t ask what my type actually is. You, Ace. It’s you. “Really?” There was a puzzled note in his voice, almost as if … Ace couldn’t see why I wouldn’t be into this guy. Or maybe he just thought I should be into any guy, seeing as I was gay and desperate. “Is he your type?” I asked, a little testily. Ace began to splutter. “Wha— No, I don’t — I didn’t—”
