Page 57 of Jealous Guy

Keeley is my second eldest sister. She’s lovely as well, but more of a second-tier advice-giver because she actively enjoys telling people when they’re wrong.

Good luck with that.

Kirst follows that with a string of laughing emojis and final message.

She’ll tell you’re down bad for Orion in two seconds flat.

After a lot of consideration, I decide not to message Keeley about Orion. Not for any major reason, only because I’m tired of thinking about the whole thing, and talking about it incessantly isn’t going to help me think about it less.

32

Jordan

It turns out, Kirst was right. I’ve somehow managed to develop a thing for Orion.

I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t see it coming. One minute life was good and I was normal, and the next, I was offering to fuck him, let him suck my dick, and losing my mind at the thought of him doing either of those things with anyone else.

Kirst was right about something else too. I don’t have a problem with Orion being gay at all. I really don’t mind. I have no problem with him being gay, as long as I’m the only one he does gay things with. All this messed up crap I’ve been feeling comes down to something embarrassingly simple: I’m jealous. I can’t stand the thought of him being with other guys. Not because there’s anything wrong with other guys, not even because I’m worried about how they’ll treat him, but because I’m possessive and want Orion for myself.

I can see now that I’m crushing on him epically and have been for a while. Any idiot can see that I’m smitten with him. It’s humiliating that it took me so long to identify what I was feeling. It’s obvious when I think about it now. It’s understandable too because he’s the best person I know, and he gets hotter every time I lay eyes on him.

What I don’t understand is why I’m being so weird about it. Instead of telling him how I feel, I’m overthinking things, which isn’t something I usually do. Can’t say I care for it. It’s awful. I keep playing scenarios out in my mind all the time, and getting deliriously happy or very upset about them, even though I know they aren’t real and haven’t actually happened.

I think of Orion all the time, and definitely not always in a PG way.

I can’t take my eyes off his body.

Fuck. I can’t believe how much I like it.

I can’t believe I’ve known him for years and didn’t realize I’m into him. I can’t believe I lived with him for a single day without checking his ass out. I mean, seriously, how the hell did I do that?

Now here I am, following him around the apartment like a puppy to catch a glimpse of it. I go out of my way to walk behind him when he takes the stairs, actively trying not to drool as his cheeks rise and fall in front of me. The thing is, they’re so fucking round, man. And they’re like, there. All the time. In front of me, within reach. I’ve been craning my head at him so hard these past few days at the gym that I’m going to need to see a physical therapist if I don’t get my shit together soon.

I’m exhausted from being horny all the time, and I can’t sleep because I keep hoping Orion will come to my room and get into bed with me. I lie awake for hours planning out what I’m going to say to him the next day that will explain what’s going on. But the second I see him, I’m rendered mute by the absolute terror of what will happen if I shoot my shot and he turns me down.

I can’t understand why I’m being like this.

Rejection is a normal part of life. It is. It hurts. It sucks, but life goes on. My own personal belief has always been that getting comfortable with rejection plays a big role in a person’s success. My mom always says, “It’s not failure. It’s an opportunity to learn.” She says it about all kinds of life events, but I’ve always applied the sentiment to relationships and hookups too.

Striking out is fine. It happens. If you strike out nine times and get laid once, you still got what you wanted, you know?

I don’t let a fear of rejection slow my roll.

At least, I didn’t. Now, I’m not so sure what I do or don’t do.

One thing I do know is that I’m being awkward as hell around Orion, and he’s noticed, and he minds it.

Oh great. Just great. There’s Orion, and there’s his perfect ass. Just attached to his body like always. Quaking gently as he walks from the stovetop to the fridge, scrambling my brain worse than the eggs he’s intentionally scrambling for our breakfast.

He’s wearing sleep shorts and no shirt, and I can’t understand how I ever saw him like this without sprouting a boner. His shorts are well worn. The fabric looks soft to the touch. It’s the kind of fabric that looks like it’s asking to be touched.

To be stroked lightly, following the curve of his ass and back up again.

To be groped, squeezed, and handled for a good, long while before being yanked down.

Orion grabs the toast when it pops up, turning to face me briefly before setting to work, slathering it with butter. He doesn’t face me for long, a couple of seconds at most, but it’s long enough for my gaze to wander to his bulge and settle on it.

I’ve been doing that lately. My obsession with his ass and mouth seems to be extending to a very notable curiosity about his dick.