No, Mick. I just thought I’d offer, set up a time to pick you up, and then ghost you.
Jack
Smartass.
I’d love to. Thank you!!
For the record, I’d rather hang out with you than die.
Nate
Thank you. My goal in life is to always be a step above making someone yearn for the urn. Pick you up in an hour?
Forty minutes.
I bet I could be there in thirty. I’m halfway presentable right now, just have to change my shirt and take a shit.
Jack
Okay, Atlas might have been onto something.
See you whenever your bowels are empty.
He makesit to my place in twenty-five minutes. When I leave my dorm and see him idling at the curb, he raises his arms and pumps them a couple times in celebration. Grinning, I hurry my steps.
“Hey,” I greet him, climbing into the passenger seat of his truck.
“Micky Mouse,” he returns, flashing me a smile. I blush a bit when I notice he’s wearing the crop top I bought him. It seems to be the shirt most often on rotation in his wardrobe, which makes me happy and embarrassed in equal measure.
“Library first or bookstore?” he asks, rotating his palm against the steering wheel and pulling the truck away from the curb.
“Can you show your belly button in the library?” I ask, looking at the smooth skin of his tummy. Nate laughs.
“I love hanging out with you,” he comments happily. “Let’s do bookstore first.”
“Okay. Are you looking for something, or?”
“No”—he shrugs, glancing up at the rearview—“I just figured you’d want to go. You said the other day that the pickings had been slim on books at the thrift store.”
Self-conscious, I shift in my seat, fiddling with the strap across my chest. Did he really offer to go only because he knew that’s what I would want to do?
“We don’t have to,” I tell him quietly. “We could do whatever.”
“Nope,” he replies cheerfully. “We’re going to thebookstore, and the library. Those stuffy old librarians can suck it if they don’t like my belly button.”
“Oh my god,” I say on a laugh, shaking my head. “Librarians aren’t stuffy. And they’re not all old, either. Stop stereotyping librarians.”
“I’ll bet you that at leastoneof the librarians there is both stuffy and old.”
“I will not take that bet,” I tell him, making my voice as snooty as I can. He laughs, shooting me a grin before looking back at the road. “Seriously, though, you don’t have to go with me to the library. I know that’s not really your?—”
“Mick?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Nate says calmly. “How’re things going? I hate that we don’t get to talk as much anymore.”
“Fine. Same as usual. How about you? Is Marcos?—”
