I nodded inunderstanding.
“Yeah, I could see that.”
“Right?” he said, grinning at me. “Man, that’s what I told my buddy Riko at the time. He gave me shit for it, and I was like, ‘Brother,you telling me if Tom fucking Selleck asked you to take a mustache ride, you would sayno?’”
He snorted and ashed his joint, his eyes nearly fully closed now, as he giggled at the memory. “I told him he was full of shit. Everyone thinks Tom’s hot, man; it’s like science.”
“Do you think that makes you, you know… gay?” I asked, and Turtle shrugged.
“Probably not, man. I love pussy too much to be gay.”
“But you would fuck Tom Selleck if you could.”
Turtle somehow managed to give me a‘what a stupid question’look, even with his eyes basically closed.
“Get real, bro. ‘Aint no one fucking Tom Selleck. Tom Selleck does the fucking.”
And I wasn’t sure if it was a contact high or just the way Turtle had a way of making literallyeverythingfeel unserious, but I burst into hysterical laughter and couldn’t seem to stop for a ridiculous amount of time.
We spent the rest of the night watching the movie and arguing over whether or not Johnny Utah and Bohdi were secretly kind of into each other, and that was the reason for their spicy rivalry in the film.
By the time I left to head home, I’d decided I wasn’t going to worry too much about whether I was gay or not.
I was clearly attracted to Riddick, and I definitely was still attracted to Quinn. The only trouble was that I knew Quinn was into me, and she would hook up with me if I initiated something.
Could I say the same for Riddick?
Probably not.
Was he even gay, or into dudes, or whatever? Were the intense feelings that had started brewing in my chest completely one-sided?
Also, if they weren’t, what was I supposed to do about that?
‘Tom Selleck does the fucking.’
My eyes widened at the realization that Riddick was definitely the Tom Selleck in this situation out of the two of us.
If he was into me… would I want him to fuck me?
My dick twitched in my shorts at the thought, and I swallowed.
Oh-no…
I was in trouble.
And this wasn’t the kind of trouble my dimples could get me out of.
When Blake showed up, she offered to drive me back home since I needed to call it an early night.
“So, Turtle tells me you’re officially training for your suicide mission,” she deadpanned as she drove.
I shot her a devilish smirk and shrugged.
“Sure am, babe.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I’ve seen you surf, Finn. You’re good, but you’re notthatgood.”
“I’m notthatgoodyet,”I corrected her, and she let out a little annoyed huff.
