Sure. As long as we don’t discuss my penis.
Ryan
I make no promises.
The Brew is blessedlywarm after the arctic tundra that is February in Berkeley Shore. I spot Ryan immediately, sitting in our usual corner booth, the one with the slightly wobbly table.
“You’re forgiven for the tissue box comment,” I say, sliding into the seat across from him.
He pushes a latte and a sandwich toward me—turkey and avocado, no tomato. “We need to discuss last Saturday night. I’ve been analyzing the biomechanics and psychologicalimplications of the performances.” He pulls out his phone, and I see he’s taken notes. “First up, Kyle and Jonas. The angular momentum required suggests a coefficient of friction between—” He catches my blank stare. “Right. Layman’s terms. It was really fucking athletic.”
I snort into my latte. “That’s one way to put it.”
“But here’s what’s interesting,” Ryan continues, warming to his subject. “The performance wasn’t just about physical prowess. The synchronization of their movements and the maintained eye contact during high-stress maneuvers indicate a deep psychological attunement. In astrophysics, we’d call it phase-locking, like binary stars orbiting a common center of mass.”
“They were definitely orbiting something,” I mutter, remembering where Jonas’s face was when Kyle flipped him upside down.
“Exactly!” Ryan points his sandwich at me. “Now, Gerard and Nathan—that was fascinating from a completely different perspective. Nathan was clearly the submissive partner in their routine. The way he allowed Gerard to manipulate his body position, the visible physiological responses—flushed face, dilated pupils, involuntary muscle tension?—”
“He was mortified,” I interrupt. “His face was purple.”
“Mortification and arousal often present with similar symptoms.” Ryan takes a thoughtful bite of his sandwich. “The vasodilation causing the facial flushing could indicate either emotional state. But the way Nathan kept returning to proximity with Gerard, despite multiple opportunities to create distance…”
“Nathan’s not into Gerard,” I protest. “Gerard’s with Elliot. Everyone knows that.”
“Physical attraction doesn’t always follow logical parameters.” Ryan’s using his professor voice now. “In my observations of celestial bodies?—”
“Please don’t compare Nathan to a celestial body.”
“—gravitational pull exists regardless of current orbital commitments. Nathan’s reaction to Gerard’s gluteal proximity?—”
“His what now?”
“Gerard’s ass, Jackson. Nathan’s reaction to being that close to Gerard’s ass suggests an involuntary attraction response.”
I shake my head. “He wanted to die. That’s not attraction—that’s trauma.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that interpretation.” Ryan takes a precise sip of his tea, and I notice something interesting. He’s been systematically breaking down every performance except…
“What about Oliver and Mason?” I ask, watching his face carefully.
Ryan’s eye twitches. “Standard public display of intimacy. Nothing particularly noteworthy from an analytical standpoint.”
“Nothing noteworthy?” I lean back, a grin spreading across my face. “They had clothed sex on roller skates. I’m pretty sure I saw someone cover their eyes.”
“It was…athletic.”
“Just athletic? Not worth analyzing the biomechanics of Mason’s leg on Oliver’s shoulder? The coefficient of friction between their bodies? The phase-locking of their hip movements?”
Ryan’s cheeks redden slightly. “I didn’t think it warranted the same level of scrutiny.”
Holy shit.Ryan’s jealous. My perfectly composed, analytically minded roommate is jealous of Mason grinding on Oliver Jacoby in public.
“You know,” I say casually, “Mason’s pretty flexible for a defenseman. The way he arched his back when Oliver dipped him? That requires serious core strength.”
“I suppose,” Ryan mutters.
“And the trust required for those moves? They must have practiced together a lot. Probably spent hours working on their…synchronization.”
