Peyton wanted to strangle him. Instead, he satisfied himself by just trying to smother him with a couch pillow.
An hour later found Peyton back on the sofa with a decent dinner spread half-gone and feeling better than before. Taylor was lying on the floor in front of the coffee table, rubbing his full stomach.
“Why do we do this to ourselves?”
Peyton snorted and sipped on his water. “A mild form of sadism? Or wait…masochism?”
“You’re so vanilla,” Taylor said, then propped up on his elbows. “Speaking of. Linden and I had an idea.”
“You do realize you and my brother talking about my kinks is super creepy,” Peyton pointed out.
Taylor waved him off. “It’s not about your kinks. And actually, it was Allie’s idea but I went to Linden for help.” He shifted up onto his knees, then shuffled over as he dug his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the screen. “Don’t be pissed.”
“That pretty much guarantees I’m going to be pissed,” Peyton warned.
Taylor scoffed as he stared down, navigating through a page Peyton couldn’t quite see. “Yeah, well. Anyway, we signed you up for a dating website.”
Peyton almost ascended into another realm of being, because what? “You didwhat?”
“Relax, I didn’t publish it,” Taylor said. “Yet.”
He turned the phone around and the first thing Peyton saw was a photo of himself. It was surprisingly a good one—probably one that Allie had taken since she was a wedding photographer and had a keen eye. But that wasn’t enough to take the edge off his shock.
“What were you thinking?” Peyton asked, his voice low.
Taylor shrugged and let the phone go when Peyton reached for it. “That you’re lonely and feeling some type of way. I thought a few dates might not be the worst way to get your feet wet, you know? It’s not like you have to fuck these guys. It’s not Grindr.”
Peyton felt his cheeks redden as he read over the bio, which was a little too flattering, and then his likes and dislikes which were annoyingly accurate. “The Baker’s Man?”
“It’s cute. And it works. And it’s kind of like your Instagram,” Taylor said.
Peyton pursed his lips in annoyance. “Anyone who I pick up on this app is going to expect sex.” He kept reading and noticed the distinct lack of mention about his stoma, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. It wasn’t something he wanted to hide, but it also wasn’t something he wanted to constantly talk about.
“You’re not looking for your prince charming, bro,” Taylor said, dropping down onto his ass and reaching out to squeeze Peyton’s ankle. “You don’t need to impress anyone. And you sure as shit don’t have to fuck them just because they expect it.”
Peyton knew that. Of course he knew that. He just tended to get into awkward spots because he had a hard time telling people no. That was also back before the stoma when the worst that could happen was mediocre anal in a bathroom stall with not enough lube in the tiny condom box packets.
He hated himself for missing that, suddenly.
“I don’t think I can.”
Taylor sighed but he didn’t relent. “You need to get back out there and practice. Are all the guys on here probably douche bags? Yes. But it’s also going to give you a taste of what it’s like when you’re finally ready to date for real.”
Peyton stared down at the screen, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was picturing some random date’s face when they heard about his body.
“It’s not doing you any good to sit around with all these scenarios in your head. The truth is, you don’t know how people are going to react. You have no idea. And chances are, most people won’t care nearly as much as you think they will.”
Taylor was right on one thing—Peyton didn’t know how people were going to react until they found out about him. But what Taylor failed to understand was dating as a gay man. Taylor was bi, but he’d been with Allie since his freshman year of college. He didn’t understand the constantly pressing need to be perfect. Taylor had never shown up to a date only to see disappointment and rejection on the guy’s face because he was missing a six-pack, or he didn’t look like fucking Channing Tatum.
And granted, there were people in the world who wouldn’t care. He wasn’t foolish enough to think there weren’t. He knew somewhere out there were maybe half a dozen guys who would love him just as he was. But finding them was like finding a needle in a big pit full of other needles that were all slightly longer, and sharper, and could cut deeper.
He just wasn’t sure if he had the strength to let himself be hurt while he was searching.
“I get what you’re saying, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to date someone when I can’t even connect with my own body.” He stared at his hands when he spoke, but at Taylor’s pointed silence, he glanced up and saw a strange expression on his friend’s face.
It took him a second to recognize it for what it was: guilt.
“What did you do?” he asked in a low voice.