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I open the door to our room and step inside. Coker follows right after me without a word. He falls onto his bed and palms his face, the same way he did the first day we got here. I think he's about to pass out, head buried in his hands, but he doesn't.
Instead, he rolls onto his back, stretching lazily, and his shirt rides up again. I feel something coil low in my abdomen and I shift on my feet, trying to ignore it as I make my way to my bed. I pull off my shoes before standing up and walking towards the bathroom.
His voice stops me. “I just don't understand you.” I think there's a whine hiding in his voice. “You've been avoiding me since we got here, and now you're going out of your way to cock-block me.”
Cock-block?
Is he really saying what I think he's saying? Not that I have a problem with him liking men. Evidently, I don't. Not only have I jerked off to this guy, but my mind has been wandering in a similar direction since.
I pause in front of the bathroom, hand on the doorknob, and let the silence stretch between us. I don't hear the sheets rustle at all so Coker is probably still on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for a response, but I'm not ready to give one. I chance a look at him and find Coker already staring at me. His eyes hold me in place, in a way that makes it clear he will not let this drop until I answer. I ignore the part of his accusation about me avoiding him—that one is true enough—and instead ask something I've been wondering about.
“You like men?”
He snorts, propping one hand behind his head. “No, I don't like men. But I am attracted to them and fuck them.”
I let that sink in for a second. “But you've had girlfriends?” I ask after a moment.
“Gee, let's see,” he says, finally sitting up and facing me properly. “There's something called bisexuality. It's when someone likes exchanging bodily fluid with women and men. But maybe you're too old to know that.”
A dry chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. Giving up on going to the bathroom, I return to my bed and lie on it.
Austin Coker is … something. That is the most neutral way I can put it. Before we started travelling together, I had catalogued him in the simplest terms. He's talented, obviously, if a bit of a player off the field. According to Sandra, he's very popular with the ladies. Not that I'm judging him for it. With how handsome he is, it makes sense that people are drawn to him. On the field, where it matters, he's quick on his feet, with great instincts, and he has a good head on his shoulder when it comes to the game. Beyond that, he was Sandra's best friend. Someone I smile at politely and never really examine too closely. Until now.
I used to be kind of uncomfortable around him, but not anymore. Definitely not, anymore. But I have to admit that some of that discomfort was because I thought he was too close to Sandra. It's silly since I know they were raised together. It's just their closeness was very different from a sibling dynamics and there was a time I briefly wondered if they had a history. Since I am being honest with myself now though, was my jealousy because of Sandra or was it … something else?
I'm brought back to the present when my bed dips beside me and I realise Coker is now sitting on the edge. His attention is fixed on me in a way that makes my body react before my mind can catch up. My dick twitches in my pants and I shift, trying to shake it off. I didn't ask why he left his bed. If anything, I need him closer—and again, I'm not examining why that's something I want so urgently.
“Does Sandra know?”
He leans forward slightly, fingers hovering near my ankle. “Yeah. I told her after I joined the academy. She used to follow me to gay clubs to pick up men. She didn't tell you?”
I shake my head. “No. We don't … we didn't talk much about things like that.”
The truth is, we didn't talk much at all. Thinking about it now, it's always been like that since we met. I never saw it as a problem at the time. We navigated the easy parts of life and pretended the rest would sort itself out. Our communication was functional and surface level at best, nothing more. Even now, I realise how little we actually shared. How much of our lives ran parallel rather than intersecting. Like everything else I have come to notice in our marriage, it wasn't normal. Couples ought to want to talk about everything with each other.
Coker's hand moves closer to my leg until the tip of one finger brushes against my ankle. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I jerk my leg back without meaning to. Something flickers in his eyes, but it disappears before I can figure out what it was.
“Look,” he says, standing up from my bed. “I'm sorry again about what happened with Sandra. I, uhm … never mind.”
Before I can stop myself, my hands move. I grab him, and the suddenness of it makes him stumble and land awkwardly on top of me. The closeness sets off something inside me. My brain short circuits, leaves the room entirely for a temporary vacation, and all I can feel is him. My hand slides to his cheek, tracing it absentmindedly.
“What are you doing?” Coker's voice is higher than usual, laced with surprise, maybe even alarm.
My brain returns just enough for me to realise what I've done. I drop my hand immediately. My chest heaves and my mind races, already drafting apologies and imagining myself retreating and hiding under a rock for the rest of eternity.
He doesn't stand up, though. Instead, he slides up, pressing closer to me. “Not that I'm complaining,” he says, and I shiver. “I just need to be sure you know what you are doing.”
I swallow, my throat tight, my voice coming out hoarse. “I don't,” I admit. “I haven't been in charge of my thinking faculties since Abuja.”
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