Ryan’s jaw tightens. “Jackson?—”
“I’m just saying, from an analytical standpoint, the intimacy of their performance was notable. The way Oliver’s hands mapped Mason’s body, the?—”
“Alright!” Ryan sets his cup down harder than necessary. “Yes, fine, their performance was…effective. Oliver clearly has experience in partner-based activities, and Mason is adequately flexible for someone of his build. Happy?”
My cheeks ache from the shit-eating grin stretching across my face. “Ecstatic. This is payback for all the masturbation jokes, by the way.”
“I don’t want to be your roommate anymore.”
“Lies. Youwantme to be your roommate because I pretend not to notice when you analyze Oliver’s game footage for academic purposes,” I say, parroting what he texted me earlier.
Ryan’s face is now the color of a ripe tomato. “That’s completely different. I’m interested in the statistical?—”
“You’re interested in his ass.”
“Sports analytics is a legitimate field of study!”
“So is anatomy.” I take a smug bite of my sandwich. “Want me to ask Drew if Oliver’s single?”
“Don’t you dare.” Ryan is genuinely panicking now. “Besides, you can’t even talk to Drew without turning into a walking hormone.”
And just like that, we’re back to my disaster of a situation. The smugness drains out of me like air from a punctured balloon. Because he’s right, I can’t even think about Drew without my body responding as though I’m thirteen and finally discovered the pleasure that can come from my dick.
“That’s different,” I mumble.
“Is it, though? Let’s examine the evidence. Increased masturbatory frequency directly correlates with your new relationship. Inability to maintain focus during academic activities. Physiological arousal responses to mere mentions of his name?—”
“Okay! Jesus, I get it.”
“You’re exhibiting all the classic symptoms of severe infatuation complicated by sexual frustration.” He pauses, studying me over his glasses. “The question is: what are you going to do about it?”
I stare at my half-eaten sandwich.What am I going to do about it?Keep jerking off to memories while pretending everything’s fine? Wait for Drew to realize this was all a mistake? Hope the Ice Queen loses interest before I completely lose my mind?
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly.
As much as I try, I can’t shake the nagging thought that I’m just another body to Drew. A convenient one, perhaps, but temporary, nonetheless.
Beaches lookdifferent in the winter darkness. The same stretch of sand where Drew and I took the Polar Bear Plunge is now a monochrome landscape under the star-studded sky. The ocean is angry tonight, waves crashing against the shore with enough force to send spray into the frigid air.
“This is where it all began,” I say, pulling my coat tighter as Ryan and I sit down on a military-grade thermal blanket.
“And if it weren’t, you’d be, what? Masturbating a normal amount?” Ryan adjusts something on the telescope, then sits back on his heels. “Jackson, can I ask you something?”
“Since when do you ask permission?”
“Fair point.” He pulls out his star charts, unfolding them carefully in the dim light of his red flashlight. “What exactly are you afraid of?”
The question hits harder than the wind coming off the water. “I’m not afraid. I’m?—”
“You’re terrified,” he interrupts, but his voice is gentle. “You’ve been dating Drew for what? A month? And instead of taking advantage of the situation, you’re hiding in our room, conducting a one-man production ofMasturbation: The Musical.”
“That’s not—it’s complicated.”
“Most things involving human emotions are. That’s why I prefer the stars.” He gestures upward. “They’re predictable. Quantifiable. A star’s life cycle follows specific patterns based on mass and composition. No surprises.”
“Must be nice.”
He points to a section of the blackened sky. “See that bright star? That’s Betelgeuse, in Orion’s shoulder.”
