Chapter 31 #2
“Oh my God!” Ryan shrieks, yanking his hand out of his pants. He scrambles for his blanket, pulling it over his head like a five-year-old hiding from monsters. “Jackson! You’re supposed to be at the gym!”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, doubling over in the doorway. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Go away!” The blanket muffles his voice. “This isn’t happening!”
“Oh, it’s happening.” I stumble into the room, still wheezing with laughter. “Mr. Hounds Me About My Masturbation Habits just got caught red-handed. Or should I say sticky-handed?”
“I hate you so much right now.”
“You wait exactly two minutes after my shower starts,” I quote him, pitching my voice high in my best Ryan Abrams impression. “The walls are thin, Jackson. I can hear your breathing patterns change.”
The blanket shifts, and one incensed eye peers out at me. “That’s different.”
“How? How is it different?” I drop my backpack and lean against my desk, savoring this moment. “You’re going for it in the middle of the room, same as I do!”
“I thought you’d be gone longer.” He slowly emerges from his blanket cocoon, his face the color of a fire truck.
“Yeah, well, I got tired faster than I expected.” I glance at his laptop, where the video is paused on a particularly flattering shot of Oliver adjusting himself. “Oliver in compression shorts, huh?”
Ryan slams the laptop shut. “It’s the Ice Queen’s latest post. She was analyzing the team’s…proportions.”
“And viewing it required your hand in your pants?”
“I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“Absolutely not. I’m texting Elliot right now.” I pull out my phone, but Ryan launches himself off his bed to grab it.
“Don’t you dare! Jackson, I’m serious!”
We wrestle for the phone, but Ryan’s coordination is compromised by his desperate attempts to keep his unbuttoned khakis from falling. I easily keep it out of reach, typing one-handed.
“Dear Elliot, you’ll never guess what I walked in on.”
“I’ll murder you in your sleep!”
“Ryan, mid-stroke, watching—”
“JACKSON!”
I stop typing, taking pity on him, mostly because he’s on the verge of tears. “Fine. Your secret’s safe. But we’re even now on the masturbation shaming.”
“Deal.” He collapses back on his bed, rebuttoning his pants with shaking fingers. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Drama queen.” I kick off my shoes and collapse on my bed. “I’m taking a nap.”
By the time I emerge from slumber, Ryan’s changed into plaid flannel pants and a NASA shirt. He’s sitting at his desk, pointedly reading a textbook. His laptop is nowhere in sight.
“Hey,” I say with a yawn. “I’m sorry for laughing.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not. That was comedy gold. But I am sorry you’re dealing with whatever this is.”
Ryan’s shoulders tense. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were jerking off to Oliver Jacoby in compression shorts.”
“It was a moment of weakness.”
“It was a moment of truth.” I sit up, studying him. “You want him.”
“Want is a strong word.” He still won’t look at me. “I told you before—I have an aesthetic appreciation for his athletic form.”
“And I told you before—you want to aesthetically appreciate his dick.”
“Can we not?”
“Fine. So, are you going to the event tomorrow night?”
Ryan’s textbook snaps shut. “Why would I subject myself to that?”
“Because watching Oliver perform sensual art with Kyle might finally push you to talk to him?” I prop myself up on my elbows.
“That’s not—I don’t—” Ryan sputters, adjusting his glasses. “The statistical probability of my having a meaningful interaction with Oliver Jacoby is approximately zero.”
“Definitely…if you’re hiding in your room. Elliot and Alex are going. You could all go together, make it less awkward.”
“How does that make it less awkward?”
“Elliot will be too busy having an aneurysm over everyone lusting after Gerard in a thong to notice what you’re doing. And Alex?” I pause, considering. “Alex will be staring at Kyle, wishing it were him up there instead of Oliver.”
Ryan’s face does something complicated. “That’s…a good point.”
“See? Misery loves company. You can pine over Oliver while Alex does the same over Kyle. It’s perfect.”
“It’s pathetic.”
“It’s human.” I lean forward, catching his eye. “Come on, Ryan. When’s the next time you’ll get to see Oliver Jacoby doing interpretive dance in underwear?”
A flush creeps up Ryan’s neck. “The performance aspects are meant to celebrate the human form through artistic—”
“It’s hot guys in thongs, Ryan. Call it what it is.”
Ryan turns his chair to face me fully, and there’s something in his expression that makes me nervous. “I’ll go on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You put everything into your performance with Drew.” His gaze is steady, unflinching. “No holding back, no making it a joke, no hiding behind humor. You lay it all on the line.”
My stomach drops through the floor. The smart thing would be to laugh it off, make some joke about how I’m planning to make it the most ridiculous performance in history.
The safest thing would be to keep my walls up and maintain the comfortable distance that has protected me for three and a half years.
Because Drew’s already hurt me once.
I can’t be hurt again.