He pushes his empty plate away, making me realize I’ve barely touched my pizza. But I’m not hungry. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says. “The uh, sex thing. But also not wanting to come out. Like I said, there’s no rule that you have to.” He pauses, twirling the edge of his beer bottle on the table. “For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think a crappy, ignorant comment your dad made that long ago necessarily has any bearing on how he would feel or what he would say now. If you did tell him.”

“Believe me, I’ve considered that. But I’m pretty comfortable with my life. And what he doesn’t know about me can’t hurt him.” And what I don’t know about him can’t hurt me. The last thing I want is confirmation that he’s not the kind of guy I hope he is.

Brenden reaches out and wraps his hand over mine where I’ve got my bottle in an iron grip. Okay, this is new. His warm touch encourages my muscles to loosen.

“I’m not judging your choice. And I know you don’t normally do feelings and stuff, so I’m gonna drop it. But you said we could talk about you pretending to be my boyfriend, and I don’t see how that’s possible if you’re in the closet.”

When I make the mistake of gazing down at his hand, he takes it away.

“If you don’t want your dad to know you’re gay, then this is risky,” he continues. “I know he’s out of town right now, and we’d only be pretending in front of May’s grandparents, but still. What if someone else here finds out? You know how quickly Mayweather rumors spread. There’s no way people wouldn’t tell your dad.”

He's right. But I don’t see how anyone would find out. It’s not like I plan to make out with him in the middle of the town gazebo. Shit, I wouldn’t do something like that even if I was out. Public displays are absolutely not my thing.

And yet, the thought of making out with Brenden sends a flash of heat through me. But I shake it off and attempt to think this through.

My dad’s out of town. He’s stuck on crutches for weeks because of his accident. It would’ve been difficult for me to take care of him and keep a constant eye on him to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid when I work so much. Plus his bedroom is on the second floor of his house, and I live in the tiny apartment above the diner. So the easiest solution was for him to go stay with my aunt who’s retired and lives in a one-story house forty-five minutes away.