Page 36 of So I'll Know
I glance at him. “So, you’re bisexual?”
He pulls in a breath. “Actually, I’m androsexual.”
“You’re what?” I feel confused and so far out of my element.
“It means gender is irrelevant, but I’m attracted to masculine qualities. It’s a subset of pansexuality.”
I nod slowly. “And pansexual is an attraction regardless of gender?”
“Yes.” He smiles. “Does that answer your question?”
I nod, but my brain is spinning with the information becauseobviously I’m not as straight as I thought. “We should go to the bathroom and then get back on the road.”
Jeremy nods. “This place really lives up to its name, huh?”
“The Dismal Nitch? Absolutely. You should see Cape Disappointment. Ten out of ten, it does, in fact, disappoint.”
Jeremy bursts out laughing. I stare at him from the corner of my eye because it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEREMY
We parallel the coast, winding our way along Highway 101, and I can’t help the giddy feeling that takes over my gut. Cannon Beach has always been a haven of sorts for me, though it also harbors a few negative memories, mostly the trip following my parents’ deaths and my stint in foster care. It’s also the first place I started cutting myself. I swallow down the sour emotions, forcing my brain to embrace the happier times, and the anticipation returns. Of course, I didn’t plan on visiting with my present company, but hopefully even Marcus’s grumpy ass can’t ruin this place for me.
We crawl through the little town, which is largely empty this time of year, except for locals clad in dark raincoats, a stark contrast to the colorful crowds of tourists during the summer months. I direct Marcus up the main road until we pass the last shop and turn right on a little side street that dead ends at a beach house perched over the ocean. Like many places around here, the house has white trim and is slatted with wooden planks that have been weathered by the elements to look like driftwood. A hand-painted sign, visible from the gravel driveway,hangs near the door and reads, Otter Limits. Pictured on it are two sea otters holding hands.
“This is it?” Marcus asks.
“Yeah.” I wait for a hint of judgment to color his tone like when he visited my apartment. But it never comes, and I’m grateful. The beach house doesn’t look like much, but it means a lot to me.
He cuts the engine. “Is it a rental?”
I shake my head. “My aunt’s ex-boyfriend, Mike, owns it. They dated for most of my childhood, and he was the closest thing to a father figure I had after my dad died. They stayed friends after the breakup, and he lets us use it whenever we want.”
“That’s really nice of him. I can’t say any of my exes would be that kind.”
“You have a lot of exes?”
His shoulders stiffen defensively. “Not a lot.”
“You seem like a heartbreaker,” I say with a knowing hum.
“My high school girlfriend, Lizzy, would probably agree with you.”
I give him a hard look, though I’m half joking. “What did you do to poor Lizzy?”
“Nice try, but that’s a conversation that requires a lot of alcohol.”
“Oh!” I clap my hands together. “Noted.”
Marcus rolls his eyes, unbuckles his seatbelt, and exits the truck. I do the same, then grab my bag and approach the house while Marcus gets my suitcase and his duffel. I enter a number code in a lockbox by the door and fish out a brass key, fitting it into the lock with a jerky turn. I glance around as I enter. Everything looks pretty much the same as when I visited last fall: dark hardwood floors that lead from the foyer to a well-stocked, albeit small, kitchen and an open living room with a gray sofa and a leather armchair facing a TV, flanked by impressivebookshelves. The west-facing wall is all large windows and a sliding glass door that leads out to a small patch of grass with a rickety staircase winding directly to the beach.
The windows are open, so the space smells like sea salt and old books.
I hear Marcus enter and turn to find him hauling my suitcase into the living room with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and my bag of car snacks clutched in his other hand.
“Don’t worry. I got it.”
