“Drew!” Gerard appears at my side. “What colors are you and Jackson using? If you need suggestions, I was thinking jewel tones for maximum contrast against skin.”
“Haven’t thought about it,” I lie, because I’ve thought about nothing else since the blog post went live.
“You haven’t thought about it?” Gerard stares at me as if I’ve personally offended him. “This isart, Drew! You can’t wing it!”
“Watch me.”
The truth is, I’ve imagined every possible scenario. My hands sliding paint across Jackson’s chest. His fingers tracing patterns on my back. The way his breath might hitch when I touch somewhere sensitive. The fact that we’ll be in a glass box, on display, forced into intimate contact while I pretend it isn’t tearing me apart.
“Maybe Nathan’s the Ice Queen,” I say, desperate to change the subject, and recalling what has been blowing up the group chat as of late. “Think about it—freshman, new to campus, probably overwhelmed by all the hockey ass on display.”
Kyle snorts. “So his response is to create a gossip blog? Or to take over one?”
“People cope in different ways.” I shrug, grabbing another pack of sandpaper I don’t need.
“Mm-hmm.” Kyle doesn’t even try to hide his smirk. “And all that stuff about Gerard’s ass jiggling?”
“IT DOES JIGGLE!”
“But you noticed,” I point out, warming to the theory. “In detail. Multiple times.”
Gerard, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly gasps and places his hand on his chest. “Oh my God. Nathan, are you attracted to my ass?”
“NO!” Nathan shouts loud enough that an employee peers around the corner. “I mean—no. Obviously not. Why would I be? That’s—that’s ridiculous.”
“The lady doth protest too much,” Oliver murmurs.
Nathan’s mouth opens, closes, then twists to the side as his eyebrows knit together. A flush creeps up his neck, staining his cheeks crimson as his shoulders hunch forward and his hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’m not the Ice Queen! And I’m not attracted to anyone’s ass!”
“Okay,” Kyle says in a tone that means he doesn’t believe a word. “But hypothetically, if you were?—”
“I’M NOT!”
“—would you use your insider knowledge to orchestrate events that force certain people into intimate situations?”
My phone buzzes before he can formulate a response.
Jackson
Hey, you guys still at Home Depot?
Me
Yeah, paint section.
Jackson
Perfect. I’m almost there.
“Drew’s making his Jackson face,” Gerard announces helpfully.
“I don’t have a Jackson face.”
“You totally do,” Oliver confirms. “It’s like your regular face but dopier.”
“Fuck off.”
We move through the store, loading up on everything we’ll need to fix the deck before spring break destroys it completely. The Hockey House has survived a lot, but seven straight days of partying might be the end of things without some structural reinforcement.
