Chapter 11
I go to bed at eleven, but get up at eleven thirty, when it becomes obvious that all the blankets in the Western Hemisphere are not going to warm me up.
I don’t know what my problem is. The thermostat is working fine, which means that the temperature in the room should be perfectly pleasant.
And yet, my bones seem to have turned into ice, cooling me from the inside out until I can’t lie between the sheets without shivering.
Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe it’s an omen of imminent death.
Either way, I’m considering locking myself in the bathroom and running the blow-dryer, just to let my half-frozen brain cells thaw, when I remember the existence of the hot tubs.
There are two. The one closest to my room is, I immediately realize, an absolute no-go: Shannon and Ethan are in it, alone, sitting inappropriately close and whispering giggled nothings in each other’s ears.
Joining them for what is clearly foreplay would traumatize me for life, and my therapy bill is already high enough.
Pass.
I pad my way to the other tub, teeth chattering as the cold air drifts in the folds of my bathrobe. I find that one occupied, too. Otto, Mike, and Jesse are sitting in it, steam wafting between them as they talk about something that looks serious and maybe work-related.
What a choice I am confronted with. I could either chance Shannon and Ethan doing it in front of my very eyes, or spend an as-yet-undetermined amount of time witnessing Mike moon over Otto, Otto tolerate being mooned over, and Jesse…
I don’t know. I have no idea what Jesse does. Things are too complicated with him at the moment, and I’m still reeling with what he told me earlier today, so I decide to silently tiptoe away from the deck.
But.
“Hey, Viola.” Mike waves at me with a smile. “You came to soak with us!”
Fuck. “Um, hey. Actually, I was just going to—”
“You can sit over here.” He scoots over, making room on his right. It has the clear advantage of putting him very close to Otto’s thigh, while ensuring that I’ll be sitting…right next to Jesse, of course.
Shit.
“Right. Thank you, Mike.”
The water is heaven—if heaven were a delightfully warm pool shared with somewhat questionable company.
Although maybe I’m judging the guys too harshly?
Mike seems happy to have me around, and even Otto waves at me like he could conceivably imagine enjoying my presence, which makes up for the perennial grimace on his face.
Jesse noticeably averts his gaze the moment I start taking off my bathrobe, and doesn’t look back at me until I’m in the water up to my collarbone. Then it’s short, furtive glances that don’t quite seem to know where to land, as though he’s afraid I’m not wearing a swimsuit or something.
Bet you’d hate that, huh? is my first, automatic, confrontational thought. The one informed by the anger and hurt I’ve cradled since the mistletoe incident. But it falls apart the second I recall recent revelations.
Actually, maybe you wouldn’t hate that. Maybe you wouldn’t mind? Maybe you’d even…
That’s it. I need to stop. I’m overthinking this for no reason. Jesse simply can’t see very well, since his glasses are off again. And he’s too busy arguing with Otto over who knows what.
“It’s actually way better than 4—”
Jesse snorts. “Please.”
“The map is more postapocalyptic, and the leveling is more interesting than the perk system”—another snort, but Otto ignores him and continues—“and the crafting is far superior.”
“Doesn’t matter, since the story is so weak.”
“It doesn’t need a strong story, because—”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “Are you guys talking about Fallout 76?”
They both turn to me. “Yes,” Otto says, sounding exceedingly British and bored. “Jesse wouldn’t know a good game if it bit him in the arse.”
I laugh in his face. “Are you kidding me? Fallout’s a nightmare. It has no story, no NPCs, no VATS.”
“Buggy as hell,” Jesse adds, looking mildly nauseous.
“Oh, god, yes. Why did they rush it out? It’s unfixable at this point.”
“Multiplayer is not that good, either.”
“Right—everyone’s so spread out. I’ve been shot, maybe once?”
“For real. And it’s dull, no dialogue interactions to manipulate—”
“—right, you’re just wandering around, with no consequences to your actions.”
“I don’t understand why so many people love it.”
“Me neither! It’s the most overrated—”
Otto rises abruptly to his feet, splashing all of us with hot water. “I’m going to bed,” he says crisply, looking between us with narrowed eyes. “And you two are idiots.”
He gets out of the tub with an unexpected amount of grace. I blink at the sudden reveal of his rosy, freckled skin, and am wondering whether I should apologize when Mike, too, stands.
Unlike Otto, he keeps the splashing to a minimum. “Um—I’m gonna go, too. It’s getting late and all that, so…”
He vanishes, all but running after Otto, before we can wish him a good night.
I turn to meet Jesse’s eyes. “What—what just happened?”
“An impressive display of emotional maturity?” He shrugs, and it’s impossible not to notice how broad his shoulders are. The shift of his muscles under the wet skin of his chest.
“Is Otto mad? Did I just single-handedly undo the truce between Nephilim and FlyButter by telling the objective truth about Fallout?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. His grudges aren’t very long-lasting. And he’s probably been masterminding this for a while.”
“Masterminding what?”
“An excuse to get some time alone with Mike. Without letting Mike know that he was initiating it, of course.”
“You think so?”
“I definitely wouldn’t put it past him.”
“So—do you think he’s still into Mike?”
Jesse tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, over the years they’ve been on and off about forty times, and whenever they’re broken up Mike is a mess, but Otto is always…he never seems upset. I kind of assumed that all of Mike’s pining was one-sided.”
“Are you kidding?” He snorts. “Otto’s obsessed. He’s very good at hiding any kind of emotion that isn’t anger or scorn, but you should see him when he’s drunk. He talks about Mike like it’s an Olympic sport. He once made me read the poetry he wrote about Mike’s calves.”
“Was it good?”
Jesse winces. Visibly.
“Yeah. I don’t even know why I asked.”
“You know Mike’s family is from Guatemala, right?”
I nod.
“Otto is trying to learn Spanish to make a good impression on them.”
“No way!”
“He’s being tutored by a multilingual sixteen-year-old who insists on calling him Ocho and forces him to sing the number song every session.”
“Oh my god.” I laugh into my palm. Should I tell Mike about this? It’s absurd, all this unacknowledged mutual pining. “Why don’t they just…stay together, if they like each other so much?”
“I’m not sure they are aware of where the other stands.”
“Why don’t they communicate, then?”
“I don’t think it’s that simple, Viola.” His smile is small, and something about it hits too close to home, reminding me of the conversations he and I had yesterday and…was it really just this morning?
Uneasiness sweeps over me, carried by the sudden awareness that with Otto and Mike gone, there are fifty percent fewer people in this hot tub.
The air is thick with steam and discomfort, and Jesse and I no longer need to be this close.
I should scoot over and sit across from him.
But I’m afraid that it might seem like a rejection of sorts, and… that’s not what I want.
Ask him, urges the voice that dwells inside my head. Ask him if something changed in the past year. Ask him if he still likes you. Tell him that before he humiliated you in front of your loud, inappropriate family, you used to have a crush on him. Tell him about the sex dreams—
What? No.
I mentally club the voice with an imaginary baseball bat, forcing it to shut up.
I’m not subjecting poor Jesse to a nonconsensual recap of my horny subconscious.
Instead, I swallow, bite the inside of my cheek, and search for something to fill the silence.
“So. Tell me what your favorite games are at the moment.”
Jesse smiles. His gaze wanders away, to the dark forest and the white tops of the tall pine trees, and I immediately miss it. “This feels like a trick question.”
“Yeah, a bit. I can go first, if you want,” I offer.
“Please, do.” His eyes are back on me. Suddenly, I can’t remember what being cold feels like.
“I’m going to start with Red Dead Redemption 2, of course—I know you’ve played that one. With and without the corollary drinking game, I assume.”
He frowns. “You know—I hate that stupid drinking game so much, and so does Otto. But every time we play it, Ashley is the last one standing by a fucking mile, and every time we tell ourselves that we need a rematch.”
I bite back a laugh. Should I reveal Ashley’s secret?
Nah. Some things Jesse will need to find out for himself.
“I believe in you. Never give up on your dreams.” I lift my hand out of the tub, meaning to pat his shoulder, but realize at the last minute that touching him here and now might not be a good idea.
My hand hovers awkwardly an inch from his glistening skin before dropping back underwater—and Jesse looks at my movements the whole time.
I clear my throat. “Hmm, my second-favorite game is probably Bloodborne.”
“Good one. It was my reason to live for a couple years.”
“Same here. And then…” I bite my lower lip. “How weird would it be if I said Zephyr’s Blade?” It’s Jesse’s most recent game. And it’s so good; when it first came out I wanted to punch my own eyes from jealousy—and to cry joyful tears because it existed.
“I don’t know.” Jesse looks at me, amused. “Are you going to say Zephyr’s Blade?”
I pretend to think about it. “I guess I could. The problem is, I heard that game won a quadrillion awards, and I’m not sure it needs more attention.”
“Maybe it wants more attention. Specifically, your attention.”
“Does it?”
Jesse nods. A bit eagerly.