Page 11 of Zero Confusion

“It’s not like there’s real furniture in my dorm room.” Miles sent a crooked smile at Zach before shoving a heaping fork of pasta into his mouth.

“Who says that college doesn’t teach important life skills? You’re guaranteed to learn how to eat dinner with one hand while doing homework with the other.” Zach carefully twirled his plate on one finger. It didn’t spin for very long, but the fact that nothing fell off was impressive in itself. Miles let out a loud whoop and eyed his own plate, as if considering whether to attempt the same feat.

“I feel like this ends with me wearing pasta sauce,” he said, lifting it with one hand to test its weight.

Zach chuckled. “Another important life skill to learn in college—know when it’s time for a tactical retreat.”

“Yeah.” Miles sighed and lowered his plate back to his knees. “I’ll leave the stunts to you. You always were better at balancing. Remember when we had dessert dates, and I kept dropping stuff?”

Zach chuckled at the memories. As kids, they visited each other’s houses for dinner once or twice a week, but that hadn’t been enough. When they were around eleven years old, Miles decided he wanted to eat together with Zach every night, so he came up with the brilliant idea of dessert dates, which had been nothing more than them taking turns sneaking onto each other’s property with whatever dessert they had on hand and eating together in a barn or under the stars.

The arrangement didn’t last long. After a particularly sticky apple cobbler ended up attracting a shocking number of rats to the Bishops’ tool shed, Zach’s dad had been furious, and dessert dates were banned.

“Lucky our houses are so close together,” Zach mused. “With how large the plots are, we could have been stuck walking for half an hour with those plates of pie and whipped cream.”

“Yeah,” Miles said. “But we would have done it anyway.”

Zach couldn’t disagree. Whether ten years ago or today, nothing would stop him from getting to Miles.

Chapter 6

MILES

“What should I wear?”

A twitch of Zach’s lips betrayed his amusement as he watched Miles rifle through the meager selection in his drawer. “You brought nothing but T-shirts and flannel. In fact, I’m not sure you own anything else. Are you asking if you should wear the red and white or the brown and white?”

“Don’t forget the green and white.”

“Ooh, a bold choice. Going wild at college?”

Miles grinned. Zach’s playful teasing had a ring of truth to it—fashion wasn’t something he’d ever cared about. But tonight deserved an effort, and he had something different up his sleeve.

After Zach left the room, he listened for the shower to start and pulled what he’d dubbed his college outfit from the bottom of the drawer. A few months ago, he’d gone to the mall with his roommate, Eric, and his girlfriend, Sarah. She’d been insistent on playing dress-up with the “farm boy,” begging him to try on practically everything they came across. Eventually, Miles relented and bought one of the less questionable combinations—a dark red button-down and a pair of slim-fit black jeans. Nothing over-the-top, but for him, it might as well have been a tuxedo for how foreign the tight fabrics felt.

He’d worn the outfit a few times, mostly to keg parties—which he always left early due to boredom—but he’d definitely noticed an increased amount of attention. He was grateful to Sarah for making him buy it, even though she did end up cheating on Eric and breaking his heart only three weeks later.

There weren’t any mirrors in Zach’s apartment outside the bathroom, so Miles blindly ran a comb through his hair and hoped he looked presentable. An undercurrent of apprehension thrummed beneath his skin as Zach’s footsteps neared. Would he like it? Would he think Miles looked silly?

A gasp nearly escaped him at the sight of his best friend in a tight black tank top and jeans so skinny they looked painted on. Zach acted uncharacteristically shy, refusing to make eye contact with Miles while gathering his keys, wallet, and phone from the kitchen counter. The tantalizing scent of his woodsy cologne trailed behind him, wafting toward Miles.

“Zee, you look…” Miles exhaled in awe, a myriad of ways to finish that sentence bombarding him, making it difficult to pick just one. Stunning. Seductive. Mesmerizing. Magnetic. Impossible to ignore.

Zach was an attractive man without trying—Miles didn’t have a problem admitting that—but tonight, he’d taken it to another level. His messy brown hair was styled, soft strands falling loosely over his forehead to give him an untamed edge. His freshly shaved face had a soft, innocent quality that disappeared as Miles dipped his gaze down to the dark chest hair peeking out of the dangerously tight fabric.

“Thanks…” Zach’s tight smile faded as he finally looked up, his wide eyes sweeping over Miles. “Wow. I guess I was wrong about the flannels. I had no idea you owned something like that.”

“College is the best time to experiment, right?” Miles shrugged and smoothed the front of his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. His most impressive outfit couldn’t hold a candle to Zach’s getup. “Is it good enough?”

“It’s perfect.” His voice slightly hoarse, Zach cleared his throat. “Ready?”

Miles nodded despite the anxiety flaring inside his chest. Was he ready? But Zach was already holding the door open, and there was no time for self-doubt.

They grabbed a Lyft to the club. City lights blurred together into one continuous glowing thread. The sidewalks outside were full of laughter and Saturday-night energy as fragments of bass and melody floated on the air in a discordant medley. Miles stared out the window, trying to unpack his feelings. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to invite himself along. The location wasn’t the problem—he didn’t mind hanging out at a gay club—but the thought of Zach flirting and dancing with other men, looking as captivating as he did, churned Miles’s stomach.

He wasn’t homophobic. Not at all. He loved and supported his friend wholeheartedly, and it wasn’t like Zach was the only gay person he’d ever met. He was aware of the queer couples around campus, few as they were, holding hands or making out.

But this was different. Zach was his person. His best friend. His platonic soulmate. Seeing him with someone else—a hookup, a boyfriend, a random guy at the club—sounded like torture.