“Ohhh, ow,” I say touching my hand to my head.

“Here, let me.” He gathers up the flashlights and they immediately spill out of his arms and back onto the floor.

“No, you know what?” He smirks, leaning back against the counter. “Never mind. I’ll get them later.”

“Hi,” I say.

He reaches for my hand at the precise angle I know is just out of reach of the security camera. “I’ve missed you.”

I don’t even try to hide my shock. “You have?”

“Well, yeah, of course. You were one of my closest friends and then you just . . . stopped coming around.”

I pull my hand back and cross my arms over my chest. “I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, Lucas. And if I recall, you were ready to ask someone to be your boyfriend. Someone who wasn’t me. What, did you expect me to come up here and check in on you? Oh, yeah, let me just go hang out at this gas station, so I can see how my old fling’s new fling is going.”

His expression hardens into hurt. “I thought you were supportive of me. I even told my parents.”

And at that my heart does twinge. “How’d they take it?” I ask gently.

“I think it’s safe to say they’re still taking it. Some days everything is normal—eerily normal—and on other days they act like I’m sending them both to an early grave. But they didn’t kick me out, so that’s a plus.”

I hate that not getting kicked out is the sunny side to this difficult situation, but I’ve heard of this exact thing going a lot worse for plenty of people.

“Well, that’s good. I’m—I’m proud of you.” I shake my head. “But that’s not what I’m here for. I need . . . beer. And liquor. And a lot of it.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t really do that so much anymore, and I definitely don’t supply for big parties if that’s what you’re getting at. Too risky.”

“Come on,” I tell him. “It’s one shindig for a bunch of queer kids at school.”

“Listen, if this was only you and Clem wanting a six-pack or a bottle of Everclear, I could make that happen, but a whole party? I’m not looking to get in trouble.”

I take his hand again and channel the same argument Clem used on me. “I never got invited to any of the parties in high school like you did, Lucas. I’ve never had that classic high school rager experience. This is my one chance. Help me. Please.”

He sighs. “Is it true you’re running for prom queen?”

I nod.

“God, you’re way too fucking cool for this place.”

That gets a laugh out of me. “Tell me that again after I’ve been stuck in this place for forty-plus years.”

“Nah. You’ll leave us all in your dust. Besides, you and Clem are off to Austin the minute you walk across that stage.” He smiles. “All right, you got a list?”

I hold up a folded piece of paper between two fingers. “As a matter of fact.”

I was in this stockroom only two weeks ago and already it feels so much smaller than I remember. Perched on the desk in my usual spot, I wait while Lucas puts together a pile for me, which is growing to be much larger than I expected.

“Kyle Meeks is throwing this party?” he asks.

“The one and only.”

He rolls a keg over to the back door. “The student government nerd?”

“Along with his boyfriend, Alex.”

Lucas shakes his head. “Those two always stressed me out.”

“What’s so stressful about two well-adjusted gay boys who have their lives perfectly planned out right down to what flowers will be at their wedding?”

He laughs, leaning against the keg with his feet crossed at the ankle. “So I’m not the only one?”

“Oh, I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about how they make me feel like I must have missed part of orientation day at gay camp.” My voice is bittersweet.

“You know,” he says, uncertainty in his voice. “You always kind of made me feel that way too.”

My brow furrows in shocked confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean,” Lucas says. “You’re so sure of yourself. You always have been. You’ve never been sorry for who you are.”

“Well,” I say, “It’s pretty hard to hide it, Lucas. No matter how hard I try—and I’ve tried plenty—it’s everywhere. The way I walk. The way I talk. I didn’t wake up and pray to be a walking gay billboard.” Sometimes falling more on the femme side of the spectrum sends me into a massive thinky, feelsy spiral. I don’t hate those pieces of myself, even if they sometimes scare me. Those attributes are part of me, but it’s just a small sliver of who I am. And yet for so many people, it’s all they see. It’s the whole package. Fat. Femme. Judgments made. Case closed.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know that . . .” He closes his eyes for a minute and flexes his fists, like he’s physically gathering the right words. “I know that people assume I’m straight. And I don’t usually correct them, because it’s easier that way.”

I sigh. I think this is the most we’ve spoken ever. Our mouths were busy doing . . . other things. “I know you know that. I’m just hurt, okay? You hurt me when you told me you were ready to come out. I thought you were ready to come out for me. But that’s silly, because coming out isn’t for anyone but you. I thought it meant that . . . that you’d want to be together.”

He clutches his hand to his heart and cuts across the stockroom to me. “Oh, Waylon, I’m—” He shakes his head, and I can see him connecting the dots about how exactly I might have come to that conclusion. “I’m so sorry. If it helps, Rashid totally freaked out when I told him. I think he might like me, but maybe he’s just not—”

“I don’t need all the details,” I tell him in the kindest way I can.

“Right. Of course,” he says, riddled with embarrassment. “I meant what I said, though. I do miss you.”

He leans into me then and parts my legs with his thigh. My body begins to react almost immediately, and the semi I managed to hide when Tucker touched my thigh is still fresh enough in my memory that I pitch a tent almost instantly. (Yes, Tucker simply touching my thigh got that much of a reaction out of me. Thank Goddess for tabletops.)

Lucas brushes his lips against mine, softly at first, nudging me, and then with more force. It’s the kind of kiss that makes me want to yank him even closer until our bodies meld into one heap of limbs and sweat, but—“Stop,” I say, my voice too soft at first. “Stop.” This time my voice is more firm. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to pull back from him.

“I’m sorry,” he says instinctively.

“For what?” I ask him. “Dumping me the first time or toying with me just now and making me your second choice?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“My life is a lot of things right now, and not much of it is good, Lucas, but one thing I know for sure is that I can’t be anyone’s second string. Honestly, I’d rather be alone. At least then I know I’ll have chosen myself.”