Page 47 of AJ’s Fire

“Josh’s friend? From Thanksgiving? The one who’s going to be staying with me this month.”

“Oh, right, Josh’s roommate.”

Jamie went on to talk animatedly for about twenty minutes about the room in his basement where he stored a bunch of old junk, and before I could even think about asking him again about hypothetical later-in-life coming out stories, we were wrapping up our conversation.

“So they can come on Friday. But I’ve got patients. Are you at the station, or…” He dragged out the word, a pleading tone in his voice. “Or could you possibly hang around here during the day and wait for the bed delivery? You can hang onto the car until then. I don’t need it.”

I guess we had been talking about a new bed. Probably for that junk room in his basement. I tried to focus on my brother.

A quick check of my calendar confirmed that I was off on Friday. “Yeah, sure. Count on me, bro.”

“Thank you! I thank you. Devon thanks you!” I almost asked again who Devon was but stopped myself. He was going to be living with my brother and my niece for a month. I guess I would have to put some effort into remembering Josh’s best friend. “Bye, Aje!”

My brother really was way more excited than furniture delivery should warrant. I tried to reply, but he interrupted again.

“Oh, wait! You called me. What’s up?”

I chuckled at my distracted brother. “Nothing, man. Just checking in. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full with your visitor. Let me know if I can do anything else to help out.”

I swapped out my phone for the TV remote, then just stared at the screen. The news was rambling on, mostly about the president’s reelection and upcoming inauguration, and I watched distractedly, occasionally focusing on whatever man was on screen, trying to figure out how I could have gotten my sexuality so wrong. Arbitrarily, I could tell some of the men were hot, just like some of the women. The president in particular, as it turned out, was a remarkably attractive man. But did any of them get my motor running?

Nope. Not really. For that matter, neither did many of the women.

For the space of one commercial break during the Afternoon Now! news program, I worried that I’d reached out to Jackson for the wrong reasons. Had it really just been sympathy and the need to see him happy? To make him happy. I closed my eyes, blocking the guy on the TV commercial who was frolicking around in skimpy underwear, and I imagined Jackson similarly clad instead. In my imagination, a playfully smiling and almost fully naked Jackson dropped his heavy helmet on top of his head, his bright eyes shining out from under it as he danced to the synthesized pop music playing through my TV.

And there it was. That feeling, that swoop that I thought was worry or bro code camaraderie. Nope, it was fucking lust, and I had been feeling it for the better part of a year, or maybe even longer. Along with something softer. Softer yet stronger.

“Fuck,” I huffed out as I collected up my things for my shift. I said it again as I swiped my keys from the bowl I kept on the kitchen counter. In my head, I said it with every step I took as I jogged to the station, dumped my stuff in my locker, and took up residence in the gym, pushing myself to the limit and thinking about my best friend.

Because the thing was, that swoop, that feeling I’d been ignoring? It wasn’t just lust. I knew, sitting there on the preacher curl machine, my arms straining against too much weight, that the feeling was so much more.

“You’re early.”

“Darren,” I grunted on an up curl. “Happy New Year. Did you have fun?”

“It was fun.” He looked wistfully away from me.

“Did you guys go to Freeda’s again?”

“Nah, we opted for a club. A little dancing. A little action in the bathroom.” All of a sudden, I felt the need to focus on my arm motions. It’s important, you know, to make sure your positioning is right when you’re lifting.

“Is the great AJ Gordon blushing at the mention of a blow job? I thought you were more enlightened than that. I know you don’t have an issue with gay dudes. Hell, I’ve met your younger brother. That blond, broody guy. The writer.” Darren fanned himself in case the tone he’d used on the words blond and broody hadn’t clued me in that he thought my brother Vance was hot. “Didn’t think I had to worry about talking sex around the king of pus ...”

I placed the bar down as quickly as I dared and stood up. “You most certainly do not,” I interrupted as I forced a smile on my face. Even I could tell it wasn't my old AJ talking about boning smile. “You think you’re the only one who's ever gotten blown in a bathroom?”

Darren laughed as he walked away, yelling over his shoulder, “Who said I was the one getting blown?” Jackson brushed past him as they crossed paths at the gym door, looking back and forth between us, clearly having heard that final comment.

He stood wide-eyed in front of me, and all I wanted to do was run up to him and kiss the shit out of him. The marching band that resided in my stomach took to the stage to perform a seventies disco medley.

The smile I had forced for Darren turned soft and real as I looked at Jackson. “You’re here early.”

“So are you.”

“Needed to blow off a little steam.” I tipped my head to the equipment.

“Same,” he muttered before heading to the bench press. I followed automatically and spotted him as he worked. This was something we’d done countless times, but my heart fluttered, and my dick tightened as he lay there waiting for me to adjust the weight. His eyes were closed, legs spread on either side of the bench, baggie shorts gaping.

When I said, “All set, Jax,” it came out, unbidden, as a whisper. He grabbed the bar and immediately started pushing himself harder than I thought was prudent.