Page 50 of Jealous Guy

Of course he’d mind. He’s straight.

“Yeah, he’ll be there.”

Jordan spins around, making a face similar to the one he made when he bit into the orange the night we had the big fight. Something is definitely up with him when it comes to Andy and West. I’ve started to worry that I seriously offended him with what I said about West being gifted. Maybe I should be done with it and tell Jordan I’ll let him take care of my investments, not West. Future wealth and financial stability be damned.

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “I dunno. Sounds kinda lame.” I’m about to argue because in the history of pizza there’s never been a single lame thing about it, when he continues, “You know what we should do though?”

I shake my head, bewildered. Truthfully, I’m only half-interested and a lot horny.

“We should check out Dorothy’s.”

It’s the last thing I’m expecting him to say. “Um, that’s a gay club, Jordan.”

“I know that, Orion. I said I’d be your wingman, remember? When we had our little”—he makes a small, furtive hand motion because he doesn’t want to refer to our fight directly—“thing. I said I’d go out with you, didn’t I? So, let’s do that tomorrow instead of Benny’s.”

Now, between you and me, I’d like to go to a gay club with Jordan Slater as much as I’d like to stick pins in my eyes—and that’s taking into account my serious phobia of needles. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of anything I want to do less. For one thing, he’s going to hate it. For another, the mere thought of hooking up with someone else makes my skin crawl.

A deluge of unpleasant emotion pools in my rib cage and sinks to my belly.

This is a sign. Maybe this is the sign I need to let me know it’s time to move on. What happened between Jordan and me is done. It was an earth-shattering, life-changing experience, but it was a one-time thing.

It was a big deal to me, but it was no big deal to him, and I need to remember that.

I need to get over it. I have to.

I’ve needed to get over Jordan for years. I’ve thought about doing it incessantly, and I’ve lied to myself a lot about my progress, but maybe it’s time for me to actually do it.

27

Jordan

My throat goes bone dry and a chill that feels a lot like horror leaches into my bones. “I-is that what you’re wearing?”

Orion looks sheepish and flashes me that I’ve done something wrong, and I’m sorry look. “Yeah, but I can take it off if you want. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Nah.” I wave him off. I’ve suggested he wear it more times than I can count. I’ve literally encouraged it, so of course it’s fine. “I don’t mind at all. Looks good on you, bud. Keep it on.”

He’s styled his hair a little differently tonight. Back off his face more and kind of swoopy. He was in the bathroom for longer than usual, so I guess he’s put some effort into getting ready.

He’s wearing black jeans, his good black leather belt, and my lucky shirt.

The shirt I never strike out in. Seriously, never. That thing isn’t normal. It’s made of some crazy testosterone pheromone shit I don’t claim to understand. I can’t explain it. I can only vouch for its success rate: one hundred percent. Actually, it’s higher because I’ve had some epic threesomes thanks to that shirt, so more accurately, it has a strike rate of around one hundred and twelve percent.

And Orion is wearing it to Dorothy’s.

I don’t even know why we’re going to this fucking club. The last thing I want is to expose Orion to gay men who are looking to hook up. I don’t know why I suggested it. I guess I panicked about him spending time with Andy and started talking out of my ass, but even so, going to a gay club with a gay guy I don’t want around other gay guys is a terrible idea.

It’s a horrible idea.

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

I wish I could go back in time and put a fucking muzzle on myself. Jesus.

Dorothy’s is unassuming from the outside but dimly lit in shades of purple, pink, and ice-blue inside. There’s a long glossy bar along the far wall that disjointedly reflects most of what’s going on in the room, and there are a few tall tables dotted around with small groups of guys standing around them. It’s still pretty early, so the dancefloor isn’t majorly happening yet, but something tells me that’ll change soon.

Orion steps a little closer to me, glancing around and gnawing on an imaginary hangnail.

“Don’t be nervous. You look fine,” I tell him.