He scurried out of Damon’s dressing room and back into his own, grabbing the jacket and slipping it on.
“You know, you basically admitted you miss me tickling you,” Damon said. “Which, if anything, makes you more a masochist than I am a sadist.”
“No!” Elliot said. “I fucking hate it. Never ever do it again.”
“I’m going to. Now that I know how much you love it.”
“No! If you tickle me again, I’ll…”
“What?” The door clicked as he opened it. “What will you do?”
Elliot stepped into the open space outside the dressing rooms. He couldn’t think of an adequate punishment because Damon’s eyes widened, and he breathed out, “Wow.”
Elliot’s spine tingled as Damon drank him in. He wanted to preen, wanted Damon’s eyes to stay on him like that forever.
Ms. Montré came around the corner and clapped, snapping Elliot out of his fantasy.
“Oh, look at you, Elliot!” She came over and brushed the tops of his shoulders and yanked on the jacket to check the fit. “You look perfect. He looks so good, doesn’t he, Damon?”
“Yeah,” Damon said, his voice a little hoarse.
“Did yours not fit?” Ms. Montré asked.
Damon shook his head and handed over the jacket. “Too small.”
She’d already grabbed alternate sizes and handed Damon a different jacket.
He slipped it on and stepped in front of the mirror. He spun around, checking the back before buttoning the jacket like a suave secret agent or something. He’d gotten a fresh haircut yesterday. It was buzzed in the back and the sides. His short, tight curls expertly shaped on the top.
Elliot was a slob compared to the perfection of his best friend. Why Damon was even friends with Elliot, a shy and pimply gamer nerd, he didn’t know.
Elliot’s tiny inconvenient crush was not only stupid but downright delusional.
“So handsome. Such beautiful boys.” Ms. Montré said. “I can’t believe you both are all grown up.”
“Mom,” Damon whined.
She waved him off. “I’ll find ties to match your dates’ dresses.”
When Ms. Montré was out of earshot, Damon asked, “So if you were taking a guy as your prom date, what tie would you get?”
“Huh?” Elliot realized he’d still been staring at Damon and yanked his eyes away.
“If you were taking a guy, like, what color tie would you get since neither of you would have a dress to match?” Damon clarified.
Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know. Something basic, I guess. Blue or red, maybe.”
Ms. Montré reappeared and waved around a hot pink tie and a bright orange tie. “Found them!” She held them up to their necks, and they made disgusted faces at each other in the mirror.
“Kinda wish I was taking a guy,” Damon mumbled.
Elliot huffed a laugh, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.
Me too, he thought.Me too.
Chapter Ten
Damon spent three weeks trying to figure out if he was gay.
