Page 37 of Jealous Guy

No response.

I pause, taking a breath and trying to slow my thoughts. I need to make sure I get this right because it’s too important to get wrong. I write as fast as I can and slide message after message under his door.

I’m scared you’re going to get all new friends and forget about me.

I know I’m needy AF when it comes to you, and I’m sorry about that too.

It’s just that I prefer you to other people.

I need you in my life, and I don’t want anything to take you away from me.

I’m sad you didn’t trust me with this (even though I can completely see why you didn’t because I’ve handled it like a giant douche).

I hear a slight crinkle of paper and stop writing, pressing my ear against the door again. There’s a soft thud that might be caused by him sitting on the floor near the door. I write a little faster.

I’m going to stop being a douche. I swear.

I want to know what’s going on in your life.

I want to know when anything major happens to you, so I can cheer you on.

Can you give me another chance?

Please, O.

If you come out, I’ll tell you how wrong I’ve been a bunch more times. I swear.

I’ll cook for a week.

I’ll put my cereal into the bowl first for as long as you want me to.

That gets me a long, loud sigh that sounds a little like it could morph into a scoff. I clamber to my feet, put my nose an inch from his door, and will him to open it. It works. The door swings open, and Orion stands in the doorway, surrounded by reams of paper.

He looks at the ceiling for a long time and then sighs again. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” I say, and I mean it. “Are you talking to anyone? Do you have a crush on someone? Have you been hooking up? Everything. I want to know everything because if it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

His eyes flutter back into their normal position. “Fine.”

I’m so relieved that he doesn’t hate me that I give a squawk and do a weird little hop as we head to the living room. “Should I make popcorn?”

He makes a face. “No.”

“Should I get ice cream?”

He presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. “We’re not eating popcorn or ice cream about this, Jordan.”

“Hmm,” I say, stroking my chin thoughtfully. “Should we drink tequila about it then?”

He considers me for several beats before a flicker of humor smudges his features. “If you’re going to be like this, I think I might need to drink tequila about it.”

I hurry to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses, salt, and a half-full bottle of tequila that Riley left here the last time he pregamed at our place. We don’t have any lemons or limes, but we have a single orange in the fruit bowl. I slice it into wedges and set everything out on the coffee table.

“Orange is going to suck with this,” Orion tells me.

“Citrus is citrus, bud.”

“It isn’t. It’s the acid-to-spirit balance that makes tequila and lemons or limes work. Oranges are too sweet, and too orange-y.”