“Thanks, Matt. That means a lot; you have no idea.”
Now I feel like I know Jason a little better. What I felt on the rooftop feels so distant. I can trust him. He’s just a guy, and we have a lot in common. It makes sense that he’d want to be friends with me.
He doesn’t have an ulterior motive. That’s just my stupid paranoid brain talking.
Still, I can keep my wits about me. We can get close without me talking about my family. I already feel like I know so much about him, and I hope he feels the same way about me.
So what if I don’t know his last name?
It’s just a word, right?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We end up playing Smash Bros. for about an hour. Again, it takes me a while to get over the nerves, but now I feel like I’ve settled into a comfortable groove with him. I just feel like we mesh really well. I can be myself around him, and he seems to like it.
I haven’t mentioned my sexuality again, but I know that he knows.
This is so new. And so freaking awesome.
After Jason wins yet again, he turns to me.
“Hey, do you wanna go for a swim?”
It’s pretty hot out. Even in the AC, my shirt is stuck to my back.
Plus, if we go swimming, I’d get to see him shirtless.
There’s one small problem, though.
“Yeah, but I didn’t bring any trunks,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”
“Dude, I’ve already seen you in your underwear, it’s fine. Or you could borrow some of mine, if you want?”
“I…”
He pushes my leg. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can keep playing.”
“No, I want to. Is it weird to borrow your clothes, though?”
“If it was weird, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“Okay then, sure. As long as you’re cool with it.”
“I’m more than cool,” he says, then grins, so I know he’s about to say something stupid. “I’m ice-cold.”
“Ugh.”
Still smiling, he stands and walks over to his dresser. He rifles through it, then pulls out a pair of trunks.
“Here,” he says, and he quickly tosses them at me. I catch them with one hand. They’re bright blue and have neon-pink watermelon slices on them. They’re also pretty short, and feel silky and expensive.
I raise an eyebrow.
“I know,” he says, smiling. He saunters over to me. Damn, he’s so tall. And just … so big. His chest is broad, and his biceps look especially great right now. “They were a present. But they don’t fit. I’ve never even worn them.”
He’s standing really close, and I can smell his cologne now.
“They’re not exactly my style,” I say.
He smirks. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you wore color.”
“You better not.”
He beams. “You can get changed in the bathroom; it’s down the hall.”
I leave his room and enter the hall. He closes his door behind me, presumably to get changed into his trunks.
The bathroom is just as well designed as the rest of the house. The decor is stone gray, and I really like it. I step out of my jeans, then switch into the trunks. Once I’m done, I pull my shirt off and check myself out in the cabinet mirror above the sink.
My chest is skinny, pale, and totally smooth. My ribs kind of jut out, and you can see the bones on the top of my shoulders and my collarbone. Also, my attempts to get a good tan haven’t really worked, but at least my farmer’s tan is mostly gone.
Still, the paleness kind of works with the trunks, because they’re so bright. I flex and can see a faint curve of muscle on my arms and can sort of see some definition on my chest.
Actually, maybe I’m not that skinny anymore.
The trunks are shorter than my normal ones; they cut off at mid-thigh. I know a lot of guys wear theirs this short, but I never have. It doesn’t look bad; it’s just … different. I’m anxious about a lot of things: how hairy my legs are; a mole I have on my chest, near my heart; and how skinny my thighs are.
I don’t think this much of my thighs has seen the light of day in years.
Literally years.
I tug my shirt back on, then walk back to Jason’s room. His door is open, and he’s standing in front of his mirror, putting sunscreen on his shoulders.
He’s wearing tropical-print trunks and his tank. The trunks are pretty baggy, reaching his knees. I know that’s a less cool length than mine, but he makes them work.
He looks down at my trunks. “I was right.”
“About what?”
“I knew those would really suit you. You can keep ’em, if you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man. It’s not like I’m going to get smaller. You can have ’em.”
I can’t help but smile. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, it’s really no problem.”
“Well, thanks. It’s very nice of you.”
He rubs sunscreen onto the back of his neck.
“Sunscreen?” he asks.
I take it from him and rub it into my face and neck.
He glances at me, his gaze soft. A cold jolt pulses through me, like he can tell I’m thinking about how hyped I am to see him shirtless again.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Jason showing skin off clearly does something for me. I’m not sure that’s a normal thought to have about a friend.
But anyway.
“You missed a spot,” he says. “On your forehead.”
I touch there and feel the excess sunscreen. I rub it in silently as we both go downstairs. Sunlight is streaming in through the glass windows. On the dining table is a silver MacBook, along with a leather journal.
Dad has one just like it.
We reach the pool, and I notice there are two towels hanging on the black metal pool fence.
So this is happening. How should I act? He’s about to take his shirt off, and I know how hot he is. I guess I should be totally blasé about it. I have to act like I don’t care that he has a great body.
Yeah, that sounds like the best strategy. Feigning total obliviousness.
Abs? What abs?
We enter the pool area, stopping beside the water. Fuck, it’s about to happen. I smell chlorine and sunscreen. Around us is white sandstone, along with a few deck chairs. There are a bunch of pool toys floating on the surface, slowly drifting in the breeze. Jason taps on his phone, and “Happier” by Marshmello and Bastille starts playing.
I lean my head back, and look up at the blue sky.
“I love this song,” I say, because I do.
“Me too! I…”
And then, just like that, mid-conversation, Jason grabs the collar of his tank with two hands, and pulls it off. Like it’s no big deal.
“They’re so good, right?” he says. “I work out to Marshmello a lot.”
“Oh, cool.”
I try my hardest not to look. I really do.
But I can see him out of the corner of my vision. He’s perfect. Even in broad daylight, with nowhere to hide, he’s perfect. It’s bananas. I don’t even know how a body can look like that IRL. His skin has this glow about it that’s weirdly captivating. I think he might shave his chest, as it’s completely smooth.
He hangs his tank by the towels, then comes back and stops in front of me, resting his hands on his hips. I keep my stare up, looking at his face. Not his abs, not his abs. Nowhere on his body is safe, though, I like it all so much.
I wonder if this is how straight guys and some queer girls feel about boobs. If like, being in the presence of them takes over their mind.
Shirtless guys do that for me.
That’s all this is.
It’d happen with any guy. It’s not Jason specifically that’s making me feel this.
I promise.
He’s smiling a small smile, and it’s still the cutest thing. Also, when he took his tank off he kinda messed up his hair
, so there’s now a dusty-brown spike sticking up on the crown of his head.
“Want me to hang up your shirt?” he asks. “Unless you plan on swimming in it?”
“Not yet.”
“Dude, what?”
It’s Jason, I figure I can be honest.
I swallow. “Sorry, just … you look so good, and I feel like I can’t compete.”
“Oh, hey.” He sits down on the edge of the pool, facing me. Seriously, his skin looks so nice. “Want to talk about it?”
I cross my arms. “You’re, like, perfect, man. How am I supposed to take off my shirt around you?”
He laughs. “Well, thank you. But, dude, this isn’t a contest, and I’m not going to judge you. I promise.”
“That sounds like something a judgy person would say.”
He rolls his eyes. Okay, I deserved that.
“Besides,” he says. “You’re forgetting that I’ve already seen you, remember? I know I like how you look, so you have nothing at all to worry about. Trust me. Your beach body is whatever your body looks like right now.”
It’s so nice my first thought is that he’s lying. I’m gay and have access to the internet. I know gay dudes seem to like only ripped jocks. I wish that wasn’t the case, but the evidence is pretty overwhelming.
But why would he lie?
“You do?” I ask.
He nods. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”
I grin. “Okay.”
He puts his hand out. I take off my shirt and hand it to him. He walks it over to the fence and hangs it up beside his. They’re side by side, barely touching. I keep my focus away from him as he walks back to me.
Being shirtless feels good right now. It’s warm, and it’s nice to feel the breeze on my skin. I made the right call.
“You work out,” he says, then he steps down onto the first step. Again, he moves dangerously close. Now that we’re both shirtless, I’m even more aware of the space between us. Any contact might lead to a dangerous situation, given that I’m only in trunks.
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“What?”
He points at my chest. “You’re pretty buff, man.”
I’ve never been called that. Ever.
“You’re buffer.” I straighten up and tense as hard as I can. I stretch and catch him watching. “I just do push-ups in my room sometimes, it’s nothing.”
We both sit down on the first step, so our legs are in the water but our top halves are totally dry. I enjoy the sunshine.
“So what’s your routine?” he asks.
I push away the urge to make a joke. “Push-ups and body-weight stuff in my room, but that’s about it.”
“Really?”
“Why?”
“Nothing, just stick with it. Maybe you could give me some pointers?”
“Oh, please, you so don’t need that. You’ve got, like, abs and stuff. You’re doing fine on your own.”
He stretches out, so his arm is behind me. “Thanks, man. They finally came in, I’m so happy.”
I stare down at the water. Crotch, behave.
But now he’s inches away from me, and we’re talking about our bodies. It’s like he’s trying to get a rise out of me.
“How about you?” I ask.
“Well, I play baseball, obviously, which is great cardio, and I work for my uncle as a mover. Since I’ve been doing that, it just sort of happened. Seriously, moving couches is one hell of a workout.”
I look. His abs really are defined. They look shiny right now, because of the sunscreen.
Or maybe he’s starting to sweat.
He smiles and leans a little closer. “I’m totally lying. It was a lot of work. I do this YouTube ab workout, like, every day, and I track my calories. Abs are made in the kitchen, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And they don’t show all the time; I worked out this morning because I thought we might hit the pool.”
So he prepared. I guess maybe he’d wanted to be impressive. And he is. But still.
“Your shoulders are nice,” he says, glancing at me. “So’s your back.”
“Um, thanks. So are yours.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Speaking of,” he says. “Can I ask you something deep?”
“Anytime.”
“Are you happy with your body?”
“What makes you ask?”
“What you said before. Do you really have body-image issues? We can talk about them, if you want.”
“Um. Maybe I do? For the most part I’m happy, I guess.”
“Why just for the most part?”
“I know I don’t look like the standard definition of hot for a gay guy.” I show him my arms. “I’m so twiggy.”
“You’re not twiggy. Look at me, dude, you’re not. You’ve got nice arms, and I’d kill for your frame. You’re kind of a twink, actually.”
“Fuck you, I’m not a twink.”
I can tell from his grin he’s messing with me.
“Yeah you are.”
“Shut up, bear.”
“Excuse me, do I look big and hairy to you?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re an asshole!”
“You started it.”
“That’s fair.” His smile fades. “But seriously, Matt, I just want you to know you’re hot. You’re too good-looking to not know that about yourself. I feel that way about all my friends, actually.”
“Thanks. So are you, in case you doubt it. You’re, like, so hot. Seriously, man, it’s, like, whoa, sometimes.”
“I’m glad you think so. But hey, if you want to put on some muscle, we could work out together sometime. You could get a guest pass to my gym, and I could show you the basics.”
“You’d do that?”
“’Course! It’d be fun for me, too.”
“Cool.”
He takes a step lower into the water so it reaches his waist. I wince, bracing myself, and follow him. He waves his fingertips through the water.
“I have another deep question,” he says.
“Go for it.”
“What do you want to do after school?”
“Like, for college, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
I decide to be honest. I’ve never told anyone this, but I guess that’s pretty typical when it comes to Jason. He just has this way of making me open up, like it’s easy.
“Um. I like the thought of studying film.”
He nods. “I should’ve guessed that.”
“I dunno. It’s a long shot.”
“No way, I can totally see you doing that. You clearly have the passion for it.”
I let myself fantasize for a second. “Being a movie critic would be really cool. It’s so hard, though. It’s, like, who do I think I am, you know? It’s so competitive, and I’m not naturally talented. I don’t have a chance.”
“Don’t worry about that, everything is hard these days. Promise me right now you’ll at least try to make it.”
“Ha, sure thing.”
“Shake my hand on it.” He offers his hand.
“All right, if I ever…,” I say.
“Not if, when.”
“Okay, sure. When I make it, I’ll call you and thank you for that time in the pool when you told me to follow my dreams.”
“You better.”
I like the thought of that.
Us, still friends, even as adults. I’m not even sure how that’d work, though. By that point, we’ll both be full-fledged members of our respective families. We’ll have all these responsibilities. Dad doesn’t have any friends; he doesn’t have time for it. His whole life is about his family.
We shake hands. Our grip lingers maybe a second longer than normal, so I pull my hand away.
“How about you?” I ask.
“Um, I dunno.” He cracks his knuckles. “Baseball’s the only thing I’m really good at, but I’m not good enough to go pro. I thought it was my ticket out, but it’s not
. I know that now.”
He winces, and he starts blinking rapidly.
I hit a nerve. I should be careful of it.
But oh man, do I relate. I often fantasize about being so good at something I’ll be able to leave my family behind. I can’t ask about it, because of our deal, but still. It’s nice to know he’s thought about leaving as well.
“Okay, that sucks,” I say. “But is that what you want? To go pro?”
“I did want that, before. Now I know I can’t. I guess I’d like to be involved with it in some way, because I really do like it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He grins. “Well, now you do.”
He falls backward, fully into the water. So I guess that conversation is over. I step into the water. It’s nice, just warm enough. I swim up to the inflatable unicorn floating by the edge and try to pull myself up onto it. As I do, a Lizzo song starts playing on the speakers.
I lose focus and tumble off the unicorn. The seam scratches me. Damn it. I grimace, and check my forearm, to see I have a brand-spanking-new paper-thin scratch. It stings like a mother.
“Aw, buddy,” says Jason. “You all right?”
“Yeah, it’s nothing.”
I swim back up to the unicorn and try again. This time I manage to get onto it, with one of my legs on either side.
“Huzzah!” I say, throwing my hands up in victory. I almost lose my balance, so I put my hands back down. Jason laughs.
“Nice work,” he says. “That one’s tricky.”
He wades through the water, making his way up to me. His hair is wet and spiked now.
“Back off,” I say, because I can tell from his smile what he’s going to do. I splash him, trying to keep him away. He keeps advancing, so I try to swim the unicorn away, which obviously doesn’t work.
Jason reaches me and flips the unicorn over. I fall off, sinking under the water. I kick up, break the surface, and get a breath in. I wipe the water from my eyes, slicking my hair to the side, so it’s out of my eyes.
Jason is smiling, which makes me smile, too.
“That was rude,” I say.
“You loved it.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders, and before I can react, he pushes me under. And just holds me there. I struggle, but he’s holding me tight.
The Friend Scheme Page 9
