The truth was significantly less interesting.

At eighteen, before they were really them, Mack had asked if guys ever hit on Will.

Will had laughed.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What if one did?”

Will had looked at him like he was insane.

“Dude. I don’t do that.”

Then he stole a cookie from Macks plate and went back to the movie they were watching.

That had been the end of it.

Mack got his answer and adjusted accordingly.

Seventeen years later, during a charity golf tournament, he walked around the side of a clubhouse looking for Will and discovered a man with his hands in Will’s curls.

Will was not stopping him.

The confusion lasted about five seconds.

The anger arrived immediately afterward.

Because if men had always been an option, then a conversation from their rookie year suddenly required some clarification.

The resulting argument had very little to do with sexuality.

It got worse when Will revealed this wasn’t a recent thing.

Worse when he pointed out they hadn’t discussed hookups in over a decade.

Worse when he casually admitted there had been other guys.

Then Will mentioned the brothel in Amsterdam.

Mack threw his hands up.

“That was years ago. I didn’t tell you because nothing happened. They invited us in. I was curious.”

“And I was curious how that guy was going to -.”

Mack cut him off.

He brought up the hotel room conversation instead.

Dude. I don’t do that.

Will winced.

Because he finally understood the problem.

Mack wasn’t upset that Will had hooked up with men.