Page 41 of Jealous Guy

Scratch that. I love this idea.

It might be the best idea I’ve ever had.

22

Orion

It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Jordan offering to fuck me is the most preposterous suggestion he’s come up with since I met him, and that’s saying something. It’s so crazy that I hardly have words to describe how crazy it is.

It’s obviously not going to happen. It would be a huge mistake. It would be the biggest mistake imaginable. Jordan freaked out when he found out I was gay. Imagine how he’ll react if he puts his dick in me.

It would be a disaster.

Unfortunately, knowing that hasn’t done a thing to stop me from thinking about it.

I’ve thought about it on repeat pretty much every second since he brought it up. I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I couldn’t concentrate in class today. I didn’t taste my breakfast or lunch. I hardly even appreciated it when Jordan put my cereal—and his—in the bowl before the milk.

I’ve limped through the day, assaulted by an incessant loop of X-rated imagery of Jordan and me together. Both of us naked, moving in time with each other. Him and me. His body and mine, joined exactly the way I’ve always wanted them to be. My legs open. My mind too. Him taking me. Blasting through my defenses and fucking me until I get over my obsession with him.

The worst of it is that I haven’t been able to use Reality to keep any of this at bay because Jordan offered to do it. He brought this harebrained idea to life. Him, not me.

He said he’d do it aloud, not in one of my fantasies.

He said it, and I swear to God, he looked like he meant it.

23

Orion

Islink into the apartment later than usual, making up a bullshit excuse about having eaten on campus when Jordan offers me dinner. I haven’t eaten, and I’m lying about it because I’m currently embroiled in the deepest level of overthinking imaginable.

Obviously, Jordan didn’t mean it when he offered to have sex with me. He was talking out of his ass. Anyone can see that. He got himself into one of his turbo-charged problem-solving modes, and he said something he didn’t mean. He’d had some tequila beforehand, and maybe it hit harder than it usually does. Sometimes he gets more fucked up if his mood is heightened before he drinks.

I’m sure that’s what happened. He was upset because we argued. We don’t fight often, but he hates it when we do. He did some shots, and then he said things he didn’t mean. It’s that simple.

I’m a hundred percent sure that’s what happened. But because my overthinking really is a form of mental illness at this point, I’ve locked myself in the bathroom, and I’m doing things I usually do when I manage to convince myself I have what it takes to bottom before going cruising.

This time will be the same as all those times. I know that. I’m going to walk out of the bathroom in a minute. The fresh, unsteamy air will hit me, and I’ll be mortally embarrassed that I even wasted my time thinking it would happen.

Come to think of it, I might not even need to leave the bathroom before it hits me tonight. I’m still in the shower, rinsing shampoo from my hair, and I’m already embarrassed by my actions.

Oh well. I guess I’ll have to put this down to a lesson learned, though I do wish I could stop having to learn this particular lesson. It’s so goddamn boring to learn the same thing over and over again.

I think I’m going to have to develop a new problem soon, so I can start learning lessons about something different. Yeah. I’m going to start working on that. I’ve come out to Jordan now, so I should probably come out to my mom sometime in the near future. Maybe I can get some debilitating anxiety about that, and it will distract me enough that I stop douching for no reason.

God, that would be nice.

I step out of the shower, dry myself, and wrap my towel around my waist.

I open the bathroom door absently, expecting the hallway to be empty, and nearly jump out of my skin when it isn’t.

Jordan is standing directly across from me, leaning back against the wall with both hands deep in his pockets. He tilts his head back when he sees me. Burned paper and frayed edges doing something truly spectacular to his lips. He looks real and unreal. The same as he has a million times before, but there’s something about him tonight that gives rise to a pang of longing that’s so endless I can’t get air into my lungs.

A seriousness about Jordan’s demeanor makes my voice stick in my throat.

I’ve seen him looking at people like this. I know this look. The penetrating gaze. Gold flames flickering in the shadows. I’ve seen him looking at girls like this more times than I can count. I recognize it, and though it makes no sense when directed at me, I know what it means.

Jordan Slater is down to fuck.