“You hurting?”
“Little bit,” Bowie says. “Two thousand yards of butterfly this morning.”
“Want me to work on it?”
They accept my diversion with grace. “Sure.”
Bowie runs up to their bathroom to grab the Tiger Balm. When they return, they pull off their shirt and sit between myknees. I squeeze out some Tiger Balm and start working it in, digging my thumbs into the crunchy spots, using the heel of my hand to work on the knots.
My hand turns cool and tingly as I work, the menthol and camphor tickling my nose as I press against Bowie’s rich brown skin. Their shoulders are broad and round, with little striations from their strong muscles. They remind me of Liam’s shoulders, the way he looked with his shirt off in the changing room, the way he looked in his underwear, and I’m glad I wore jeans today because they won’t show my embarrassing reminiscence.
I’ve worked on Bowie’s shoulders dozens of times and never gottenan erectionexcited. But I can’t stop thinking of Liam, who’s in the other room, talking to my sister.
I’m a terrible brother.
Bowie grunts when I hit a tender spot.
“Stop?” I ask aloud, but they make the sign for more. I dig in with my elbow, and Bowie tenses for a second before relaxing. I keep wiggling my elbow, feeling the crunch in their muscles or tendons or ligaments or whatever it is that’s hurting. I bite my lip, controlling my pressure, so focused I don’t notice Liam’s back until he blocks the TV.
My elbow slips, and Bowie arches away to avoid me hitting their shoulder blade.
“Oh.” Liam stares at us, at Bowie with their shirt off. “Uh...”
“Hey,” I say. Liam’s still got his phone in his hand. “Good call?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck as I drag my thumbs along the sides of Bowie’s neck. Bowie melts a bit. Liam just stares at us, this weird expression on his face, like maybe he wants me to work on him too.
“I can do you next if you need. Bowie said today’s practice was rough.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Liam shrugs. “I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay.” I finish rubbing the Tiger Balm in, and Bowie pulls their shirt on. “Lemme wash my hands and I can finish kicking your ass.”
Liam laughs. “Fine.”
We play a couple more rounds—I win them all—until the doorbell flashes. Bowie throws down their controller without even pausing, leaving Pichu standing there all vulnerable, and leaps off the couch to grab the pizza.
I pause the game. I might be competitive when it comes toSmash, but I don’t take cheap shots.
“You hungry?” I ask.
Liam nods. He bites his lip, then looks at me. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for letting me hang out tonight. I didn’t mean to somethingsomething.”
“I’m glad you could come. I wish we’d hung out more before.”
Maybe if I’d gotten to be friends with Liam before this year, things between us could’ve been different.
Then again, maybe it would’ve been worse. Maybe I’d have asked him out and he’d have gently let me down, but then things would’ve been awkward, and we’d have drifted apart.
Maybe he and Jasmine would’ve started dating way before that. Then she could’ve skipped Man Bun Nick and Stanky Tristan and possibly even Monsieur Baguette. Maybe they’d be an official couple, boyfriend and girlfriend, happy and going to homecoming and Sweetheart and prom together.
Maybe they’d have dated and broken up and I’d have an old, wrinkled list in the back of my notebook.
Liam’s talking to me again.
