Chapter 3
JIMMY
SIX WEEKS LATER
Finals suck. My friends are too busy studying to go out. Most of them aren’t even turning up to Barbell Soc, so I’ve stuck helping out the first and second-year students, rather than doing a proper workout myself. I’m stressed. I haven’t done enough revision. I need to do something to chill out.
I text around my friends, one at a time, but the replies all come back the same. They’re too busy revising. Even Angus, who doesn’t need to do any more revision, blows me off. Then again, if he’s not revising, he’ll be blowing Professor Dick. He has stress relief on tap. Lucky him.
I could go to a bar without my friends. Dress up, make it obvious I’m looking to pull. Leeds has some great gay bars. I won’t have any trouble if I wear something that hugs my muscles. Or, I could skip all of that and use a hook-up app. Sex delivered direct to my door. Nice.
I grab my phone. It rings before I can navigate to my favourite hook-up app. Mum.
With a sigh, I answer. “Hi, Mum.”
“How are you?”
“Uh, fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Not too stressed out with finals?”
“No…”
“Oh, good. Billy got very stressed during his finals last year. I'm worried you will, too.”
“No. I’m fine.” Just bored, and itching for a fuck.
“When did you last call Billy?”
“I don’t remember.” Which is true.
The last time we saw each other was Christmas.
It was weird, because it was the first Christmas Flynn hadn’t been part of our family celebration in years.
Billy was the centre of attention. Everyone made sure he was okay and that he wasn’t finding his first Christmas after breaking up with Flynn too hard.
He lapped it all up, playing into it. He was insufferable.
“Would you call him, please? It would mean a lot to him.”
If that’s true, why doesn’t Billy call me? Not that I want to speak to him. I’d blurt out that I fucked Flynn out of guilt. Has Flynn told him? Does Billy even realise Flynn is in Leeds? Well, on a farm near Leeds, at any rate.
“Jimmy?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll call Billy after finals.”
“Why not this evening? There’s no time like the present.” She injects a forced, bubbly brightness into her voice—the same kind of voice used in commercials.
“I’m busy revising.”
“I hate that you two aren’t close anymore.”
I bite my tongue before I say something I shouldn’t. Forcing us to communicate won’t make things better between Billy and me. We’ll have a polite, but strained conversation to keep Mum happy, and then lapse into mutual silence for months on end again.
“Please call him.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll call.”
“Thank you.”
We chit-chat for a while. Mum fills me in on everything happening there, ending the conversation with the question I’ve been dreading.
“Are you coming home after graduation?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Yes, I have. I don’t want to go home. I’d have to move back in with my parents and Billy until I’ve got a job and enough savings to put a deposit down on a place. But if I don’t go home, where would I go?
Steph plans to go to America to investigate the bodybuilding circuit there.
I could go with her. Not that I have the money for a plane ticket, let alone to live over there.
I could stay here. Angus will move off his dad’s farm as soon as he can, but he won’t leave Leeds, so I’d have him for company.
Or I could close my eyes, stick a pin in a map of the UK, and go wherever fate tells me to.
“You’ll always have a home with us,” Mum says.
“Thanks.” I don’t want it. Am I ungrateful? Maybe, but thanks to spending a year backpacking between finishing my A-Levels and starting my degree, I’ve been away from home for almost four years. Why would I want to go back to living under someone else’s roof and by their rules?
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll tell Billy you’re going to call.”
Which means I can’t ‘forget’. Thanks, Mum. “Bye.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up. I stare at my phone for a while. I could organise a hook-up, I've got something to look forward to after I've called Billy.
I open my favourite hook-up app and scroll through the locals who’re looking.
Most of the guys have chest shots as their profile picture, although there are a few showing off tattoos, and even one or two dick pics.
The women tend to have neck-down profile photos, wearing slinky clothes.
What am I in the mood for tonight? Either.
I check out a few profiles, but swipe most of them away.
It’s not usually this hard to find someone I’m interested in fucking. I’m not fussy.
I find a torso that quickens my pulse. The guy has a nice set of pecs and the faintest trace of muscle definition on his abs.
He has no hint of chest hair or stubble, suggesting he waxes.
A man after my own heart. Yes, it hurts like hell, but I’m silky smooth for weeks.
The only downside is having to let my chest hair grow out enough to wax again.
His profile doesn’t say much. Then again, nor does mine.
What is there to say? I don’t need a dossier on someone to fuck them.
His username is a nonsense string of letters and numbers.
Is it the one the app auto-assigned him?
Sometimes, a handpicked username can give me hints about someone’s personality, or the things they’re into, but, again, none of that info is necessary.
I send the guy a quick message, asking if he wants to come to mine to fuck—no point in bothering with pleasantries or small talk.
I want sex. Nothing else. I make it clear that I want to top.
I love sex. It’s my second favourite hobby, after weightlifting. I love getting hot and sweaty with another body pressed against mine. I love making someone else come undone, watching as they orgasm thanks to me.
My phone makes a ping sound. Grinning, I check the reply. He wants my address and a time to turn up. Nice. I give him both, giving myself an hour to call Billy and shower. I wait for a casual ‘see you then’ response, and call my twin.
He takes his sweet time to answer. “Jimmy. So good to hear from you.” Pause. “I’m going to take this in my room.” His voice is muffled now, suggesting he’s got his hand over the receiver.
I listen to his footsteps thumping up the stairs, and then to the whine of a door hinge, followed by a soft clunk.
“Mum put you up to this, didn’t she?” Billy asks.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Ten Brownie points for you,” Billy says.
“How are you?”
“Hasn’t Mum filled you in already?”
“Yes, but I want to hear it from you.”
“I’m fine. Work’s a drag, but what can you do? How are your finals going?”
“Uh, all right.”
“Mum said you sounded stressed.”
“I’m fine.”
“I crammed last-minute for all my finals. It worked for me.”
I don’t want to admit that I’m doing the same thing. I hate that we’re alike in so many ways.
“Have you heard from Flynn?” Why am I asking that? Yes, I want to change the subject, but changing it to Flynn is fucking stupid.
“No.” Billy’s voice is tight.
“What happened between the two of you?”
“Hasn’t Mum told you that too?”
“She said you fell out of love.” Which isn’t an explanation at all.
“He wanted to be a farm boy more than he wanted to be with me.”
Is that true?
I resist the urge to remind him that he was never supportive of Flynn’s dream. Oh, he might have said the right things to Flynn, but then he'd bitch about it to me. He was convinced Flynn would get bored with farm work.
“He was living with his grandma for a bit, but Mum ran into her the other week and discovered that he's moved out.”
“Oh?” Is my feigned ignorance believable?
“Yeah. He got a job on a farm somewhere. His grandma wouldn’t tell Mum where. I’m not sure what she thought Mum would do with the information. It’s not as if I’m going to chase after him and beg him to come back. I can do better.”
I clench my hand into a fist. My brother, the arsehole. “Are you seeing anyone?”
He laughs. “Nah, I’m just making up for lost time, fucking everything in sight. I was missing out, only screwing one person. He wasn’t even that good in bed. I’m enjoying being single. Like you.”
“That’s great.” I spit the words through my teeth.
“We've talked for long enough to please Mum. Enjoy your Brownie points.”
I press my clenched fist against my thigh. “Bye.”
He hangs up.
I put my phone down and wipe my hands over my face. Time to forget my evil twin, have a shower, and make my room presentable. I can’t wait for my hookup to arrive. Stress relief, here I come.