“Oh no,” Elliot mutters.
“Oh yes.” Gerard’s eyes light up with evangelical fervor. “Ryan, let me tell you all about hockey butts.”
“Please don’t.”
“I am the foremost expert on this topic.” Gerard gestures grandly at himself, gripping what the good Lord gave him. “I have the biggest butt on the team. This is not bragging. This is a documented fact. Kyle even measured once during a hazing ritual we don’t talk about.”
“We really don’t talk about it,” Drew confirms.
“The point is,” Gerard continues, undeterred, “hockey builds a very specific kind of body. Thick thighs. Powerful glutes. The kind of rear end that could crack walnuts. And Oliver?” He whistles low. “Oliver is blessed in that department. Top three on the team, easy.”
“I’m aware.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and everyone covers their snorts.
Gerard’s grin threatens to split his mask in half. “You’re aware! Did you hear that, guys? He’saware! Ryan, you dog! You’ve been appreciating the goods!”
“I may have—during the dry humping, there was some—my hands were?—”
“He grabbed Oliver’s booty!” Gerard announces to the room, pointing at me for emphasis. “Our Ryan fondled our captain! This is a momentous occasion!” Gerard clasps his hands together, face mask flaking onto his shoulders. “And as the team’s resident glute expert, let me assure you: You’re in for a treat. Hockey butts are very jiggly, especially when you’re?—”
“OKAY.” Elliot’s voice cuts Gerard off. He’s sitting stiffly on the floor, his own face mask cracking around the edges as he fixes me with an expression that somehow conveys both exasperation and genuine concern. “Enough about butts.”
“But I wasn’t finished!”
“You’re finished.” Elliot adjusts his glasses, which have somehow acquired a smear of green paste. “Ryan, can I offer some actual advice? The kind that doesn’t involverear ends?”
“Please.”
“Ask him out.”
The simplicity of it stops me cold. “What?”
“Ask. Oliver. Out.” Elliot enunciates each word as though he’s speaking to someone particularly dense.
“But we’ve already—I mean, we’ve done things…”
“You’ve done things,” Elliot agrees. “You’ve kissed. You’ve had what Gerard insists on calling a ‘friction situation.’ You’ve held hands, watched stars, and had romantic picnics. But you haven’t actually defined what you are to each other. Right now,” Elliot continues, his voice surprisingly gentle, “you’re friends who are boys who like each other and make each other come. Which is fine, if that’s what you want. But based on everything you’ve said tonight, that’s not what you want. You want a boyfriend. So ask him to be your boyfriend.”
“It can’t be that simple.”
“It really can be.” Elliot shrugs, the movement sending more green flakes cascading down his shirt. “The only thing standing between you and an actual relationship is the fact that neither of you has said the words out loud.”
I stare at him, my mind spinning. He’s right. All the kissing, touching, and romantic gestures mean nothing if we never actually acknowledge what we’re building toward.
“I need—” I push myself to my feet, nearly tripping over Jackson’s leg in the process. “I need a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I bolt for the bathroom connected to our dorm, slamming the door behind me and immediately turning on the cold water. The faucet sputters, then releases a stream that I cup in my hands and splash directly onto my face.
The shock of it helps. Marginally.
I grip the edges of the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like someone who’s been emotionally eviscerated by his friends, which is 100 percent accurate.
“Okay,” I tell my reflection. “You can do this, Ryan. You can go back out there and finish this sleepover, andthen tomorrow—or maybe the next day—you can ask Oliver to be your boyfriend. Elliot said it was simple. He’s usually right about things.”
My reflection does not look convinced.
“It’s just a question,” I continue, gripping the sink harder. “One question. ‘Oliver, will you be my boyfriend?’ See? Easy. Simple. Not terrifying at all. You survived a county fair with hockey players. You can survive asking one boy one question.”
I splash more water on my face, take three deep breaths, and square my shoulders. The face staring back at me looks more composed.
