“You’re still into anime.” My voice rings with fondness.
“Yeah. It’s awesome.”
“Sounds good.” I’d watch anything if it meant spending a bit more time with him. Today has been better than I could have dreamt. “You’ll have to choose something, though. I haven’t watched anime since—” I snap my mouth shut, look away, and release the bowl as if it was molten lava.
Since everything turned sour between Jimmy and me.
He touches my shoulder. “Hey. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
I look at him, blinking. “Yeah?” My question is quivering and tentative.
“Yes. I’ve had a great time with you today.”
I smile. “Yeah, same.”
“Let’s not worry about the past anymore, okay?”
I swallow and nod. Can we? Probably not forever, but at least we can ignore it—and the Billy shaped elephant in the room—for now.
He collects the bowls and dumps them in the sink, along with the pots, pans, and utensils he used to cook with.
We go to the sitting room. The last time I was inthis room, we fucked on that sofa. I can’t help but glance around the room at all the places my clothes ended up. The light shade. The TV. At the time, it felt like the worst mistake in the world. But now I can’t get Jimmy’s profile picture out of my head. That chest. Those abs. I almost melted when he flexed his arm muscles earlier, on the tow path.
I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. Not about Jimmy. We’ve only just reconnected and things are precarious between us. Besides, part of me is still in love with Billy.
“Armchair?” Jimmy suggests.
Can he guess what I’m thinking? Maybe not all of it. My thoughts are far too chaotic and messy for that. But some of it.
“The sofa’s fine.” What an idiotic thing to say, but I can’t take it back. “It has the best view of the TV.”
“That’s by design.”
“Oh?”
“In case any of us wanted to Netflix and chill.” He winks, but then winces. “Sorry. I’m not suggesting we should.”
“Anime,” I say, as if that’s going to sweep the awkwardness away.
“Right. Anime. Not Netflix.”
Not that what’s on the TV makes any difference to that saying.
He grabs the remote, and we sit, not close enough to touch. He suggests a handful of short series. The kind of thing we could watch in less than three hours.He also shows me the blurbs for some films, but I have no idea what is and isn’t good, and he's already seen them all.
“You choose,” I say. “Show me your favourite.”
He rubs his hands together. “How do you feel about swimmers? It’s not a boy love series, but the sexual chemistry is there.”
“If you like, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
“All right. Series one. Let’s go.”
He navigates to the right series, presses play, puts the remote down, and makes himself comfy on the sofa. He man-spreads, and I can’t say I mind, even if the closeness of his knee to mine makes my breath catch. He loops his arms over the back of the sofa, his hand achingly close to my shoulder. It would be so easy for him to move his arm a fraction and end up hugging me, but he doesn’t, and there’s no way I can vocalise that I wouldn’t mind if he did. How can I want something and still be so messed up and guilty about it?
The series is fun. It uses flashbacks to introduce us to all the main characters, including the guy who was their bestie and teammate, and is now their rival. It doesn’t take many episodes for me to agree with Jimmy: the sexual tension between the characters is off the charts. It’s disappointing that it’snota boy-love series. There’ll be no kissing. No payoff for the tension. I laugh, and I sit on the edge of my seat during the competitions. The best part? Stealing glances at Jimmy and seeing the pure joy on his face as he mouths thedialogue. It’s a series he's watched several times and loves. By the time the end credits roll on the last episode of season one, I’m eager to see more, only it’s late, and I have to be awake and up early to milk the cows.
“Well, what did you think?” Jimmy asks.
