Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Chapter Nine
Tony
“So I guess I’m officially bi now.” I leaned back in the wooden chair at my sister’s kitchen table, fiddling with the label on my beer bottle. She and my brother-in-law had fancy West Coast taste in beer, some microbrewery out of Bend that I hadn’t heard of. I wasn’t drunk by any means, but I was loose. My face was warm, my body content to be hanging in Angel’s cozy home, the distant sound of teens gaming in the living room a pleasant soundtrack. After days of wanting to talk to someone, anyone, my sister was as good a choice as any.
“Since when were you not?” Angel didn’t seem remotely surprised at my admission, giving me the sort of pointed look that made me forget I was the older one.
“What do you mean?” I frowned only to earn a vague gesture from Angel, who waved her beer around like the answer was obvious. “You made the assumption based on my choice of friends?”
She wouldn’t be the first person to assume that because I had gay friends like Eric and Jonas, and now Sean, that I must be some flavor of queer myself. But I’d expected better than stereotypical presumptions from my little sister.
“Heck, you’ve even met women I’ve dated,” I added, voice sharper than it needed to be.
“Who you date doesn’t make you any more or less bi.” Angel snorted. “No, Tony, I made the assumption based on your set of eyeballs. And mine.”
I made a scoffing noise, but she grinned smugly as she crossed her arms over her ample chest. Like me, she had the olive skin and dark hair of our Italian ancestors, but with a stockier Irish build, more like the mother neither of us could remember much.
“You definitely notice way more men than your average straight boy. I just assumed—yes, assumed—that your days in the barracks were filled with hot man-on-man action you weren’t telling me about.”
“Hardly.” I snorted. I liked to think I’d been more subtle about what caused my gaze to linger, but apparently not. Which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it kind of was. I was still working on distancing my thoughts from the hyper-macho environment of the Rangers, where it mattered how others perceived me. I forced myself to soften my tone. “I casually dated any number of women. No other action.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Never Serious about anyone. Not surprised you’re just now getting around to telling your favorite sister you’re bi.”
“I don’t do serious.” I gave a weary sigh. I’d rather talk more about my transition from maybe-bi to oh-my-God-definitely-bi than resurrect this tired discussion of why I should give love a chance. “Relationships are a crap shoot at best. Look at our parents. Toxic from the get-go, and a lot of innocent people bore the fallout.”
“Or you could look at Ed and me.”
“He’s a good guy,” I allowed. “But just because you got a lucky roll with him doesn’t make relationships a good idea for me. The more committed you are to someone, the more you stand to lose.”
“Said like someone who will be happy with half of an ice-cold bed at sixty.”
I grimaced. “How about I get through my forties first?”
“Okay, old man.” Angel laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. “So what brought on this sudden need to announce your bi-ness? Juicy hookup I should know about?”
“Nah,” I lied, waving a hand in the same manner she’d used earlier. “Just…thinking.”
Thinking. And kissing. But Angel didn’t need to know that.
“Is thinking a grown-up word for crush?”
“No.” I didn’t do crushes any more than I did relationships. My enjoyment of Caleb’s company was not a crush. I wouldn’t allow it to be.
“Am I the first you’ve told?” Angel regarded me carefully through kind eyes. “Were you expecting a certain reaction from me?”
“Maybe I wanted to see how it felt to say it aloud.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’m not ready to shout it from the old bank clock tower, but I knew you’d be supportive.”
“I’m your sister.” She briskly rubbed the back of my neck. “You’re the best big brother I could ever have asked for.”
“I am not.” My neck went hot and tight under her cool fingers.
“Am so.” Angel stuck her tongue out at me, and for a moment, she was fourteen, not in her late thirties. And all was right with the world. I’d known she’d understand, ease some of my decades of tension over never discussing my sexuality, never going there, never asking myself the hard questions about who and what might make me happy.
I scooted closer so I could give her a one-armed hug. At the same time, a commotion broke out in the living room, a loud chorus of groans and curses.
“Cosmo? What’s going on?” Angel called out in that tone of moms everywhere—lightly suspicious but not overly concerned.