We got to my room. James kicked the clothes on the floor and took off the jacket I’d loaned him.
The light on the bed was dim. The shadows perfectly fell on the lines of his muscles and smooth, tan skin.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I muttered, leaving the provocative exhibition behind. I heard noises as I started brushing my teeth.
I should’ve locked myself in because James snuck up behind me after a few minutes. I jumped when I saw his face in the mirror.
“James?” I asked with my mouth full of toothpaste. “What do you want? Why are you taking your clothes off?”
I averted my gaze as his black boxers hit the floor.
“Am I not allowed to take a shower?”
His back looked like an inverse triangle, wide up top and slender on the bottom. I feasted my eyes on every muscle and stopped right before his butt.
What a fucking shit show, I thought to myself as he disappeared into the shower. I put on the usual T-shirt that I wore to bed and got under the covers. I stared at the ceiling until James got out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his waist.
“Can I borrow your boxers?” he asked.
I nodded, and he rummaged through my underwear drawer.
I looked at the TV to avoid watching him change.
“Fuck, I can’t fit in here.”
James curled his lip into a smirk, motioning to the mattress that I’d set up on the floor for him.
“You slept here once.”
“I’ve grown since we were in elementary school. Nine inches, to be exact.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He climbed onto the bed and eyed on the poster of Jacob Elordi inEuphoriahanging on the wall.
He was talking about boxing, but his mischievous smile didn’t go unnoticed.
“I don’t like fighting,” I muttered reluctantly.
The sight of blood made me uncomfortable, and I couldn’t stand violence. James, on the other hand, reveled in it.
“Now, tell me, Jax, what’s better than . . .” He pointed at a photo of a shirtless Jacob Elordi.
“James, that show doesn’t exactly glorify Nate’s character. You know that too—it’s a criticism of him.”
“I’m not talking about beating the crap out of anyone or hurting someone. I’m talking about the adrenaline rush of taking a risk. The freedom of being yourself,” he answered, untangling his messy, wet hair with his fingers.
“Are you telling me that beating the crap out of people is better than sex?”
“It wouldn’t be exaggerating.” He grinned.
He sprawled out on the pillow, and I couldn’t help but tease him.
“Nine inches, huh? You’re such a dick.” He playfully punched me in the side.
“Can I sleep here in your bed?” he asked, motioning to the mattress that we lay on.
I sucked on my piercing to alleviate the tension. “No.”
