Page 12 of Jealous Guy

Muscles burn faster than usual, and after a few reps, I hit a wall.

The weight won’t budge. Not an inch.

By the time the workout is over, Jordan is looking at me strangely. “You feeling okay? You don’t look all that good.”

“I’m fine,” I say sharply.

I’m about to tell him there’s nothing wrong, that I just need an early night, when he changes the subject. “You keen to hit The Pardon tonight in that case?”

He waggles his eyebrows in a way he thinks is very convincing. It isn’t. It makes him look ridiculous. When I’m a hundred percent over my little problem with him, I won’t find it adorable at all.

“Come on.” He jabs me in the side a couple of times, dancing in my peripheral vision like he’s a boxer or something. It also shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is. But we are where we are. “It’ll be good. Rowan and Riley are gonna be out for sure, and Andy and West might come too.

“Hell n—”

He makes his eyes big and uses the same tone moms use when bribing their kids with ice cream to do something they don’t want to do. “Summer’s going to be there.”

My face feels a little numb when I speak. “Will she?”

My insides squeeze uncomfortably.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I asked a question, that’s all. I asked for confirmation about the physical whereabouts of a girl I know. I didn’t say anything blatantly untrue. I didn’t.

Still, I taste the lie on the tip of my tongue, bitter as bile, as I swallow it down.

7

Orion

It’s quiet at The Pardon tonight. The lights are low and the music isn’t too loud. Thank God, because my head is still pounding.

I was on the fence about coming out, but on balance, I’m not all that mad Jordan dragged me out. Rowan and Riley were here when we arrived, already a few good rounds in. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them, so it’s nice to catch up. Rowan is one of those super together guys who always knows where he’s supposed to be and what he’s supposed to be doing. He acts a little older than the rest of us, which can make him seem a little unapproachable, but he isn’t. Not when you get to know him. I’m not saying he’s the kind of guy you should fuck with because he definitely isn’t, but he’s good people all the same.

Riley is the type whose exterior doesn’t match his interior at all. He’s built like a brick shithouse, but he cries during rom-coms. He isn’t embarrassed about it either. He’s easy to be around, even for me. Kind of like a teddy bear who didn’t get the memo that he’s the size of a grizzly. I like him a lot. I tell Jordan so all the time. It drives him crazy.

Jordan does this thing where he acts crazy possessive of me. He’s done it since we were kids, and he still hasn’t gotten bored of it. He’s like that. If he does something once or twice and gets a good response, he sticks with it for life.

I’m pretty sure he only does it to make me feel better about myself, but I can’t deny that I enjoy the hell out of it all the same.

We have the same dumb conversation whenever we’ve hung out with other people. I’ll say something about having had a good time with someone, or that I think they’re nice, or interesting, or whatever, and Jordan makes a face like he’s bitten into a lemon. He says super dumb shit like, “What? Are you going to be their friend now? Are you going to drop me? Kick me to the curb after all these years? That’s fucked up, O, and you know it.”

I roll my eyes and try not to show how much I like that he responds that way. If I play my cards right, I can provoke him to say even more unhinged shit. It’s the best.

Jordan and I head to the bar to buy our drinks. We get stopped by a couple of girls. One of them I’m not all that concerned about because she’s not his type, and the other I’m less a fan of. Her name is Nat. I’ve met her a few times, and I don’t love the way she looks at Jordan. Like he’s red meat, and she has an iron deficiency.

Unfortunately, he’s looking uber-hot tonight, so I know there’s no way he’s not going to draw attention. He’s wearing pale, washed-out jeans and a white T-shirt. It’s a look that shouldn’t be a lot, but on him, it is. It really is. I’ve never managed to work out if it’s his body or the way he carries himself, but something about him makes it possible for him to throw any old thing on and look insanely good. Not just good, stylish. Put together.

This T-shirt is a little shorter than the ones he usually wears, falling slightly below his jeans button and acting like a slutty striptease every time he moves his arms.

Speaking of his arms, this particular T-shirt is a little snug around his biceps. Not in a try-hard way. In a my-arms-are-so-sexy-my-T-shirt-can’t-handle-it way.

It’s making it really fucking hard for me to think straight.

Jordan flashes his fake ID and orders a Bud Light for himself and me.

By the time we get back to our table, Andy and West have arrived. They’re sophomores like us. They shared a room in the same dorm Riley and Rowan lived in last year, but Andy moved out at the start of this academic year. They’re still practically joined at the hip though. Andy’s an art major. West is some kind of math genius.

Jordan greets them with extreme enthusiasm, issuing hugs, fist bumps, and slaps on the back like it’s his job. My greeting is more controlled. Practiced. I’m exactly as polite to them as society dictates is appropriate, no more, no less. Especially to Andy.