His Secret

18. Matías

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MATíAS

We are disgustingly in love. If we were able to be ourselves around others, we’d be the ones they’d groan about. Anytime we’re alone together, we’re touching and kissing, smiling and laughing. We can hardly keep from touching each other, even if it’s just simply to feel connected.

It’s been an incredible couple months. The sneaking and lying hasn’t been a problem. His friends seem oblivious, but likely caught up in their own lives and relationships to notice that he’s hardly around.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask Adrian as I take a fry out of the bag and pop it into my mouth.

He’s in the passenger seat of my car, unwrapping his burger. “Uh, I think my dad is expecting me home.”

We haven’t talked about his parents much, but anytime they’re brought up, it’s with a negative connotation. It’s clear they aren’t close, but it’s also obvious that there’s a fear there. He’s afraid of them, whether it’s a fear of disappointing them or angering them, I’m not sure. Possibly a mix of both.

I also know his family has a lot of money. His dad has a lucrative business that he owns, and he expects Adrian to work there and eventually take the reins, though Adrian doesn’t seem to have much interest in that.

“Well, Chicago’s not too far away. What’s that? A five hour drive?”

He nods, and everything in his face tells me it’s not anything he wants to talk about, so I drop it.

“I’m going to see my mom. She’s only three hours away.”

“That’s nice,” he replies. “What about Christmas? Are you going there for that, too?”

I shrug, chewing another fry. “Not sure. Sometimes she goes to visit her sister. I’ll have to see what her plans are.”

“If you stay here, I’ll try my best to stay here too. We can spend the holiday together.”

“That would be nice,” I say. “I’ve never spent a holiday with a boyfriend before.

“Me either.”

I laugh. “Considering I’m your first, I’d assume not.”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Not with a girlfriend either. Any short-lived relationships I had seemed to always fall at a time where I never had to buy anyone a gift. Probably a good thing. I’m a bad gift-giver. Just fair warning.”

“I’m sure you’re fine,” I say with a chuckle.

“Yeah, get back to me after Christmas.”

After we finish eating in the parking lot, I get out to throw away the trash and run into a familiar face walking out of the building with his own bag.

“Matías?”

I tilt my head, squinting at him until it hits me. The guy from the bar. The one I never replied to when he texted me.

“Hey,” I say in a voice too high and screechy. “How are you?”

He smiles. “I’m good. How are you?

“I’m good,” I say with a nod .

He licks his lips, shoving one hand into the pocket of his hoodie. “I texted you, and either you gave me a wrong number or you decided you weren’t interested. Not sure which I’d prefer, to be honest,” he says with a small grin.

“Sorry,” I say, my lips drawing down on the ends. “It was my number, but it was a weird night, and my friend was with me, and?—”

“That friend?” he questions, pointing his chin at my car behind me.

I turn and find Adrian watching the interaction from the passenger seat.

“Yes. That friend.”

“Based on how he’s looking at me right now, I’m assuming not just a friend anymore.”

I chew on my bottom lip, unsure how to reply. Adrian’s not out, but disagreeing with his assessment feels wrong too.

“Uh. It’s complicated.”

He nods. “Well, I can give you my card, and if you’re ever not in a complicated situation, you can call me. My cell is on there.”

Blake hands it over and smiles at me before walking to his car.

I make my way back to Adrian, the card in my fingers.

“Is that the guy from the bar?” he asks as soon as I close the door.

“Yeah.”

“Thought so. What’s that?” he questions, gesturing to my hand.

“His card,” I say, looking down at it.

Blake Morisson. Personal trainer.

I hand it to Adrian and then reach for my seatbelt.

“Do guys hit on you often?”

“Not often. ”

“But they do.”

“Sometimes. It depends.”

Adrian’s mood shifts as we drive. I take the card from his hand and throw it out the window before rolling it back up.

“You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“The problem is, I think I have a lot to worry about.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but I know he needs to stew in his feelings for a while first before he’ll be ready to talk about what’s bothering him.

We ride to his house in silence, and when I park, he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh.

“I love you.”

My lips quirk up. “I love you. ”

When he departs, I head back to my door with a head full of questions.

We’ve been wrapped up in our own personal bubble, but we haven’t talked about a few important things. Will he ever come out? What does that mean for us if he doesn’t? Are we expected to be a secret forever, or is forever not even an option for him?

I tell myself I’ll wait for him to bring it up, but really, I’m afraid of hearing his answers.