“Oh dear god,” he choked.
“You can never tell him,” I said. “Paul is a sweet, soft, innocent soul and this would crush him.”
“Uh,” Corey said. “We’re speaking about the same Paul, right? Like, Paul Auster? Because he’s not sweet or innocent. Maybe a little soft, but he’s the type where the weight looks good on him, so—”
“It would destroy him,” I said. “Can you imagine, hearing from his oldest and dearest friend that said friend is having sexual relations with his partner?”
“In your dreams,” Corey said.
“That is beside the point!” I said shrilly. “The fact that I even dreamt of such a thing means that I have some unconscious desire to fuck Vince.”
“Huh,” Corey said. “So, using that line of logic, that must mean you also want to fuck Darren—”
“You shut your whore mouth,” I snarled at him. And then I coughed. “I mean, what? Pshaw. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Darren who?”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. Because I’m not an expert at people who pine over each other. I didn’t spend last summer drowning in the angst that was Tyson and Dominic, after all.”
“Ah, yes. The twinkie and his cop. They’re so precious. And we are nothing alike.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“You would do well to remember that. Darren is an asshole and I want nothing to do with him and I also hate his face and his ridiculously muscled body.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“His personality also leaves something to be desired. He’s narcissistic at best. At worst, he’s borderline sociopathic. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more self-involved than he is.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“I don’t even know why we have to be talking about him right now. What possible value does someone like him even have to society as a whole? All he does is fuck twinks and piss me off.”
“He also watches every performance you have,” Corey said mildly.
“Right?” I exclaimed. “He is so creepy. Why the hell are we even talking about him again?”
Corey grinned. “Honestly, I have no idea. You were the one who had sex dreams about him.”
“About Vince,” I corrected. “Darren just happened to be there. And Paul.”
“And the marching band.”
“Yes, that. This can never get to Paul. Why, the betrayal alone would absolutely devastate him. I cannot be responsible for the emotional destruction of my best friend.”
“Yes, Sandy.”
“Hand me my phone.”
“Why?”
“I have to call Paul,” I said. “The weight of my guilt is crushing me and he has to know the truth.”
“But—”
“Corey!”
He knew better than to sass me while I was emotionally conflicted. He merely remarked on the fact that it was two in the morning
and surely it could wait until a more reasonable hour. But Corey couldn’t understand the depths of my pain. Paul needed to know, so we could begin to mend the rift that would undoubtedly spring between us. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too large to overcome. We couldn’t lose almost two decades of friendship because I’d suddenly developed a brothers kink at the age of thirty-one.