Warm Winters: A Bisexual Story

The Beginning

The ice frozen to the pavement crackled beneath my feet. The harsh winter air stung my cheeks like little pieces of glass. I gripped my jacket, pulling it tight around my torso.

Looking equally as cold, Mason shuffled next to me. His cheeks were flushed bright red, contrasting Eastwood's snowy white backdrop.

Mason's around five-six, with wavy sandy hair, grey eyes, a sprinkle of freckles, and glasses that always slide down his nose. That is, when he wears them. He always complains about how they make him look.

"Nick?" he called, getting my attention with his crooked smile.

Once I met his eyes, he continued. "Alright, so I was thinking you should come over tonight. My parents are on a work trip in New York all weekend."

I grinned, playfully nudging him in the ribs with my elbow.

 "And is the mini-fridge unlocked?"

"Yep! Thankfully, Susan forgot to lock it on her way out." His eyes glinted with excitement.

His features straightened suddenly, becoming serious."Wait, do you think you could some of your other friends?"

"What other friends?" I asked, furrowing my brow in mock confusion.

"Oh, come on," he rolled his eyes at me playfully.

"You're Nick Apperman. Eastwood High School's legendary track star? Girls practically fall at your feet, and still, none of them are good enough for you."

"I'm not sure about that," I laughed softly, looking down at my battered converse.

"It's common knowledge," he insisted, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets forcefully.

Mason paused for a second, his eyes glassing over.
"I still don't get why you slum it with me."

"I'm not 'slumming' it with you Mason." I patted him on the shoulder. "You're best my friend."

A small crooked smile returned to his lips. He pushed up his glasses nervously. They always fell to the same spot, leaving a little pink speck on the bridge of his nose.

"As I was saying... Can you invite Emma and Grace tonight? You're closer with them."

"Yeah sure. Don't worry about it" I shrugged, flashing him a grin.

We reached the corner of Birch Avenue and Capital, Mason's street.

"Text me about how it goes! Adios!" He called as he turned.

"Will do! Adios!" I said back, giving him a quick wave.

In a flash of sandy hair, he disappeared around the street corner.

As I continued on, the icy wind stung my cheeks, and rippled through my jacket.

After what seemed like an eternity, I made it to my house. It was a simple gray two-story house, with a white picket fence. An "Eastwood High-School Athlete Lives Here" sign sat in the center of the yard, accompanied by "Put The Christ back In Christmas."Both were there by my dad's insistence of course. Our house looks like any other white suburban middle-class home in Eastwood.

However, one unusual feature stood out against the conformity. Our lower porch was overflowing with various green winter plants. My mom had switched out her fall plants just last week. There were so many pots on the porch, it was difficult to find a clear path to the door without knocking over one of my mom's prized possessions. My mom started watching "Big Dreams Small Spaces" two summers ago and was hooked ever since.

I carefully tiptoed around the prickly plants, and pulled the door open. The indoor heat whooshed out, greeting me after my long 15 minute walk in the cold.