“Thanks, man.” He crosses the room in three easy strides. “I didn’t see you at the party.”
I know Oliver well enough to know that it’s neither a question nor a statement. More of an observation, and I don’t know what to think about that. He’s always been attuned to my thoughts and emotions in a way that not even a therapist couldmanage. And unfortunately for me, that sixth sense of his hasn’t gone away after all these years.
The words, “Not really my scene,” come out in a croak. I shove my hands into the pockets of my khakis, not wanting him to see them shake; to see how much he still affects me.
I’ve never told Oliver about my crush on him when we were kids. For all he knows, I only ever saw him as a friend. A surrogate brother. As someone you could never imagine marrying.
“I ran into Jackson upstairs. He said you guys have plans this morning.” He tilts his head, studying me with emerald eyes. “Something about a moon documentary?”
“It’s playing for one week downtown,” I say. “Speaking of which, is Jackson ready? We really need to?—”
“RYAN!” Jackson’s voice is followed by the sound of a herd of elephants. He appears in the hallway, disheveled. His shirt is inside out, his hair is shaggier than ever, and…oh my.Is that a hickey in the shape of the Big Dipper on his neck?
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he says frantically while hopping on one foot to pull on a sneaker. “Drew and I were?—”
“Watching highlights of last night’s game?” I suggest dryly.
Oliver snorts. Jackson turns pink from his ears to his collarbone.
“Something like that,” he mumbles, finally getting both of his shoes on. “Ready to go?”
“I’ve been ready.” I glance at my watch. “The documentary is in twenty minutes.”
“Shit. Okay. Let me—” Jackson pats all of his pockets. “Keys, wallet, phone…”
“Your shirt’s still inside out,” Oliver points out, far too amused at the situation than I think is warranted.
“Fuck.” Jackson strips it off, and I politely study a fascinating water stain on the ceiling while he fixes it. “Better?”
“Slightly,” I jest. “Can we go now?”Before Oliver decides to strike up another conversation.
“Yes! Moon time!” Jackson grabs my arm and drags me toward the door. “See you later, Oliver!”
“Have fun, nerds.” Oliver waves goodbye, and I convince myself I’m reading too much into him watching me leave. Jackson’s frenzied energy is what has him entertained; I was merely caught in the same frame.
But denial is a river, and I’m drowning in it.
4
RYAN
Iregret not bringing a jacket. The theater is colder than an icebox. Beside me, Jackson’s shoulders bunch as he twists sideways, his knees knocking against the seat in front, elbows tucked tight against his ribs. He shifts his weight, oblivious to the frigid air that has me crossing my arms over my chest.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Did they design these for toddlers?”
I glance at his predicament. “Perhaps your lower half has grown from all the fucking you’ve been doing with Drew.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and Jackson’s face turns the color of a particularly vibrant nebula. “That’s not—can that actually happen?”
“No, Jackson.” I can’t help the fond exasperation that creeps into my voice. “Your ass doesn’t expand from sexual activity. That’s not how human anatomy works.”
“Oh, thank God.” He slumps in relief. “I mean, not that I’d mind if—never mind.”
The previews roll, casting flickering shadows across his still-pink face. I fidget with my ticket stub, folding it into smaller and smallersquares.
“So,” Jackson says, lowering his voice as other moviegoers file in. “What were you and Oliver talking about?”
“We weren’t really talking. I congratulated him on his win, and he mentioned that I avoided the party.”
