Cree hid a smile. “Are you about to launch into a spiel about your lord and savior or something?”
A laugh bubbled free from him, rolling over Cree like something fizzy. “I mean, I just wanted to get to know you better. But if you want me to tell you all about my personal lord and savior—Bret Michaels, patron saint of hair spray and questionable fashion choices—I can.”
Cree blinked at him. “Who?”
Jordan gasped, pretending to clutch invisible pearls. “Bret Michaels. Frontman for Poison?”
When Cree continued to stare blankly, Jordan pretended to faint.
Cree’s hand darted out on instinct, keeping him from collapsing dramatically, earning him another radiant smile. His skin was warm. Softer than Cree expected. And when Jordan’s eyes sparkled up at him in thanks, something low in Cree’s stomach tightened.
“How can you not know the greatest ’80s metal hair band of all time?” Jordan asked, staring pointedly at Cree’s large hand still wrapped around his bicep.
Cree dropped his hand—reluctantly. “Not really well-versed in classic rock,” he admitted, amused by the other boy’s enthusiasm.
Jordan scrunched up his face, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, what are you into?” he asked, like it was a test he expected Cree to fail.
Cree shrugged.
Jordan tilted his head. “Are you always this chatty?”
“I—I talk when I have something to say.”
“Am I annoying you?” Jordan asked, sounding more curious than hurt.
“No. Definitely not,” Cree said honestly.
He wasn’t sure how someone could be this bright without burning themselves out, but he liked it. Likedhim.
Jordan bit his lip, swaying side-to-side. “Should I just leave you alone?”
“Only if you want to,” Cree said, hoping—unexpectedly—that the answer was no.
“I don’t,” he said, tone somewhere between flirty and self-effacing. “But I have this problem…”
Cree tilted his head, intrigued. “Which is?”
“Whenever I’m in a conversation with someone and that other person doesn’t speak, I feel the need to fill the silence, which often leads to me babbling and oversharing.”
“Okay,” Cree said.
This time it was Jordan blinking at him owlishly. “Okay what?”
“You talk, I’ll listen,” Cree said. “Seems like a win-win.”
Jordan’s smile spread slow and wicked. “You have no idea the power you’re handing me,” he said. “What if I talk your ear off about string theory or underwater basket weaving or the ethics of time-traveling clones?”
His hands started moving as he talked, punctuating each absurd topic like he was giving the world’s most chaotic TED Talk. Cree was riveted, dazzled even.
His face lit up. “Oh! Or the Mandela Effect and how I swear the Berenstain Bears used to be spelled differently. Or my conspiracy theory that pigeons are government spies. And that if Bigfoot is real, he’s probably super hot.”
Cree was sure his face was expressionless, but inside, his heart was experiencing some kind of weird chemicalcombustion. Every time Jordan switched topics, Cree felt another tiny spark go off behind his ribs.
“I’m all ears.”
Jordan flashed his pretty teeth at Cree. “So…Does that mean you do wanna go somewhere else?”
“What’d you have in mind?” Cree managed. His voice sounded steady, but his pulse was thudding in his ears.
