“You’re right. I’m not. That was comedy gold. But I am sorry you’re dealing with whatever this is.”
Ryan’s shoulders tense. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were jerking off to Oliver Jacoby in compression shorts.”
“It was a moment of weakness.”
“It was a moment of truth.” I sit up, studying him. “You want him.”
“Want is a strong word.” He still won’t look at me. “I told you before—I have an aesthetic appreciation for his athletic form.”
“And I toldyoubefore—you want to aesthetically appreciate his dick.”
“Can we not?”
“Fine. So, are you going to the event tomorrow night?”
Ryan’s textbook snaps shut. “Why would I subject myself to that?”
“Because watching Oliver perform sensual art with Kyle might finally push you to talk to him?” I prop myself up on my elbows.
“That’s not—I don’t—” Ryan sputters, adjusting his glasses. “The statistical probability of my having a meaningful interaction with Oliver Jacoby is approximately zero.”
“Definitely…if you’re hiding in your room. Elliot and Alex are going. You could all go together, make it less awkward.”
“How does that make it less awkward?”
“Elliot will be too busy having an aneurysm over everyone lusting after Gerard in a thong to notice what you’re doing. And Alex?” I pause, considering. “Alex will be staring at Kyle, wishing it were him up there instead of Oliver.”
Ryan’s face does something complicated. “That’s…a good point.”
“See? Misery loves company. You can pine over Oliver while Alex does the same over Kyle. It’s perfect.”
“It’s pathetic.”
“It’s human.” I lean forward, catching his eye. “Come on, Ryan. When’s the next time you’ll get to see Oliver Jacoby doing interpretive dance in underwear?”
A flush creeps up Ryan’s neck. “The performance aspects are meant to celebrate the human form through artistic?—”
“It’s hot guys in thongs, Ryan. Call it what it is.”
Ryan turns his chair to face me fully, and there’s something in his expression that makes me nervous. “I’ll go on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You put everything into your performance with Drew.” His gaze is steady, unflinching. “No holding back, no making it a joke, no hiding behind humor. You lay it all on the line.”
My stomach drops through the floor. The smart thing would be to laugh it off, make some joke about how I’m planning to make it the most ridiculous performance in history. The safest thing would be to keep my walls up and maintain the comfortable distance that has protected me for three and a half years.
Because Drew’s already hurt me once.
I can’t be hurt again.
32
DREW
Fucked up doesn’t even begin to explain what I did. Idiotic is the kindest word you could use to describe me. To be perfectly honest, I don’t expect Jackson to show up to tonight’s event. I know I wouldn’t if the roles were reversed.
