Page 42 of Jealous Guy

I’ve never seen him looking at me like this though. Never. Not once. Not even when I’ve tried to conjure it up in my dreams. His smile is easy and free like always, but there’s a heat in his eyes that lands differently when it’s aimed at me.

Jesus.

What’s going on?

Am I hallucinating?

God, I hope not. I’m not equipped to deal with that kind of thing at all.

Jordan cocks his head toward his bedroom door, and his smile fades completely. What’s left in its place is a simmering suggestion that makes my heart race. I’m almost completely positive I’m right, but if this isn’t what I think it is, his expression is very, very confusing.

“What do you say, O? You wanna?”

I glance left and right surreptitiously and then work my gaze slowly up his body. He’s wearing an old pale-pink T-shirt and low-slung sweatpants. Dark charcoal ones that fit like a dream. A sex dream on steroids. A slut show with all the bells and whistles. His hands are balled in his pockets, causing the fabric to stretch as it curves over them, but despite that, I can see the clear outline of a hefty bulge between them.

Wait.

Is he hard?

Sweet Jesus. I think he is. And he’s not trying to hide it. If anything, his hips are thrust forward slightly, so I can’t miss it. Blood rushes to my cock so hard and fast my head spins.

Now, I’m almost positive I know what’s happening because Jordan is being about as subtle as a slap in the face, but I can’t quite make myself believe it.

“W-what do you mean?” I ask, adopting an unpleasant, nasal tone.

His lips remain neutral, but a glimmer of fondness lights his eyes. He was expecting the question, or at least he isn’t surprised by it. “I mean, do you want me to do you, Orion?” He takes a step toward me. The space between us sizzles and cracks. “D’you want me to punch your V-card?”

The smile is back and more confusing than ever. He’s smiling at me like he always does. Like he’s my friend. Like he knows he’s being a shithead, but he’s not going to let that stop him because he also knows I have the same dumb sense of humor he does. “Break your seal… Pop your cherry… Deflower you?”

“Deflower?” I snort, wrinkling my nose. “Deflower? Ugh. That’s cringe, man. Don’t talk like that. Not even you can pull it off.”

Of course that only provokes him. He’s enjoying the hell out of this conversation, and he’s nowhere near done. His eyebrows are arched comically high, and they creep a little higher with each ridiculous euphemism he comes up with. “Wanna earn your stripes? Turn in your spurs? Consummate our…friendship?”

“Consummate our friendship? Seriously? Ew.”

His hands are still in his pockets, but he’s taken another step toward me. At least, that’s what I think until I look down. When I do, I notice he isn’t the one who took the step. I did. I’ve migrated to the middle of the hallway to meet him without meaning to. I’m standing so close to him that I can hear his voice through my skin. I can feel the hair on his arms against mine. No, not against my arms. Against the palm of my hand.

My hand moves, and I realize I’m touching him.

I’m as close as I can get to him, naked except for my towel, and I’m running my hand up his forearm slowly. Intentionally. I’ve never touched him like this. Never. I’ve used a considerable amount of energy to make sure I don’t. It should feel foreign. Brand new and awkward.

It doesn’t.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It feels so right that it feels strange we haven’t been doing it all along.

Now, I admit that I’m so horny I can’t feel my face, and my decision-making faculties might not be at their best, but even so, I know having sex with Jordan would be a mistake. A gargantuan, life-changing mistake.

It’s not often that one has this kind of clarity, especially not before you do something. Usually, you do something and then realize afterward that it was a bad decision. Usually, when you make a decision, you think it’s the right thing to do. You weigh your options and make the best choice you can at the time.

It’s rare, I think, to find yourself in a situation like this. Where you know for a fact that you’re making a mistake before you even make it.

But here’s the thing: in life, we regret the things we don’t do more than the things we do.

It’s true. Ask anyone. Your grandma. Your elderly neighbor. Talk to people who’ve lived a lot or are near the end of their life, and ask what their biggest regret is. Almost every single person will list things they didn’t do.

Opportunities they missed. Chances they didn’t take.