This series follows characters from the Watching Him Back series. If you're confused by some of these dummies then you know where to start.
“Ah, shit.”
My professor’s gaze locks on me. “What was that, Mr. Givens?”
I smile at Dr. Aulgur. “I said, ‘perfect.’”
When her eyebrows go up like that I know she doesn’t believe me, but what the fuck ever. I just don’t want to be paired with What’s His Face. He doesn’t even look back at me.
“Do you know him?” Carter whispers.
I shake my head. Like I'd fucking tell anyone. Getting assigned a lab partner instead of choosing our own is real junior high shit, anyway. Carter gets paired with a hot girl from St. Louis, lucky bastard. We move to our assigned stations, and this guy gives me a nod.
"I'm Dillon," he says.
"I heard."
He's silent for a second, then goes, "Well, then I won't pretend I didn’t know your name, or that I didn't catch you making out with my roommate at the Theta party on Saturday night."
This is fucking why I fucking didn't fucking want him as my fucking partner. "I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, pulling gloves from the dispenser.
Dillon smiles like we're making small talk just like everybody else. "Bullshit. Why else would you be so mad to be my lab buddy?"
"I just prefer to look at dead bodies with someone I know." I know that I'm not supposed to want to punch him in his bright white teeth. Not just because we're in class, but because Brantley told me his roommate was actually, for real gay. It would look like I was picking on him. Nope. Calm down.
“Relax, man. I’m not going to say anything,” he says, like he’s doing me a fucking huge favor.
I still can't look the guy full in the face. "Anything about what?"
Dillon snorts a little. "I've made out with girls before. It's no big deal. Could you hand me the gloves?"
"Yeah, but that's normal," I retort.
"Only if you’re attracted to them." He's so fucking cool about it. Though I'm still irritated, I'm a little impressed. "Seriously, Jay, it's not a big deal. I won't tell anyone about it."
"You had better fucking not." For god's sake, why can't I just say thank you? Old habits, I guess. Aaron would have slapped me upside the head. I try to change my tone. “I was so fucking wasted. Not exactly how I wanted my night to end.”
He shrugs. “Brantley doesn’t remember anything, if that helps.”
I know that because of course I fucking checked. “My question is if Valerie knows,” I try to joke, “because she promised us a threesome and I’d still love to hit that from the back.”
Now Dillon gives me a look that makes my balls shrivel. “I get it. You’re super straight; it was a drunken mistake. Don’t be gross about women.”
“I’m not!” I say loudly, and Dr. Aulgur gives me another glare. I shut up for the rest of class.
I’d love to ditch my new lab partner as soon as class is over, but Carter comes over to greet us.
“You played for Ray-Pec, right?” He shakes Dillon’s hand. “You were a big deal over there.”
“I don’t know about big deal, but yeah,” Dillon says, “I played.”
Carter turns to me as we exit the building. “Bruh. Remember that wide receiver we hated on Ray-Pec? The one we could never catch?”
I look at Dillon, who shrugs.
"I don't get it, man," Carter says. "Why aren't you playing football here?"
Dillon shrugs again, all shy and shit. "I don't like that kind of pressure. Plus—" and here he actually glances at me. Fuck off. "—locker rooms are pretty homophobic. For every pass I caught, man…"
Well, way to suck the fun out of sports, gay guy. Now everything just feels sad. Like, he got real pitiful with that last sentence.
Carter doesn't even get it. He's like, "That's it? Shit, dude, like, you're pussying out, Jay's injured, and all the fucktards from St. Louis and Chicago are walking around all cocky and shit like we’re a bunch of hoosiers that don't know a tight end from a running back. You gotta come out."
Weird choice of words at the end, and I snort, and Dillon does, too.
"I'm totally out, man; football just wasn't fun anymore," he replies.
Carter still doesn't get it. "So you did come out in the summer? I didn't see you."
"Sophomore year of high school."
"And you made All State how many years?"
Dillon's grin couldn't be bigger, but he just says, "Four."
Carter's face freezes while he tries to figure that out.
I can't take it anymore. "Carter, dickbrain, he's telling you he's gay," I said, smacking the back of his head. "Came out, like, out of the closet."
"Oh." Carter processes, and I can actually see it when his eyes refocus. "Oh! I mean, whatever, man. One of our best friends on the team came out on graduation day. It was crazy. Actually, his boyfriend goes here. Ex-boyfriend. Do you know Crispin? Like, super small, super flaming, always wearing something weird like a little…" Carter does a splay-legged scuttle, “little goblin?”
I don't like thinking about graduation. I know I'm not supposed to be mad at Aaron for being gay, but I can at least be mad at him for picking fucking Crispin Vieira. That little cocksucker is literally the worst.
Dillon kind of shrugs and glances at me again. Leave me alone, dude. He says, "I'd like to say something about how the gay kids don't all know each other, but…Yeah, I know him."
Carter continues dumbly, “Yeah, so like, he and our friend had been on the downlow for fuckin’ months, man. Aaron was like, ‘This little bitch has been fucking me up the ass!’ to like, everybody. His parents were so pissed.”
Dillon laughs. “Cris told a slightly different version, but I heard about how Aaron was living with him until school started.”
And just like that, gay kid sucks the fun out of it. Now Carter and I are just going “Hm” and “Yeah, sucks” like trying not to have to explain why Aaron didn't stay with either of us.
“Okay, well, I gotta be across campus in ten, so I’m going to run,” Dillon says, breaking the awkwardness.
Human Biology this semester is going to be torture.
Once we've met, Dillon is everywhere. He's in the cafeteria, curly hair sticking up every which way as he waits for an omelet on Saturday morning. He's at the Rusty Pony on Sunday for their half-price appetizers, licking blue cheese and buffalo sauce off his fingers. I'm doing Bulgarian split squats in the gym and Dillon shows up in his Under Armour and basketball shorts.
Even—get this—there's this girl named Kayleigh. She's a Theta pledge, and she is fucking hot. Like, tall, toned like a model, super white teeth, great tits, and she has this bouncy curly red hair that falls halfway down her back. Plus she always wears those sexy little crop tops, or does that biker shorts and hoodie thing so that you can tell her ass is like this perfect bubble. Plus, she's always smiling, so I'm sure she's super nice. She's the kind of girl you don't bring up when you're talking about banging college bitches, because you just wouldn't do that to her. Kayleigh is too fucking classy.
I'm at a Sig Ep party with Carter, and Kayleigh walks in. I'm like, yes, now's my chance, so I spend the entire night trying to maneuver my way close to her. We’re finally in the same little circle of people, and then the others go to grab more jello shots. I’ve been trying so hard not to be a douche, and Kayleigh seems open, so I ask her out.
"Sorry," she says gently. "I just—I couldn't do that to Dillon."
"Dillon?" I repeat. Are they dating? Is he not actually out? Or is he bi?
Kayleigh gives me this sad look like I kicked her puppy. "He's one of my best friends, and I know you’ve been super mean to him. It just wouldn't be right."
Carter laughs when I tell him this story later. "Maybe you and Dillon should kiss and make up."
"Fuck off," I retort.
"Naw, seriously," he insists. "If you want to get to Kayleigh, be nice to her bestie."
I’m not pledging Greek because my parents are worried about hazing and shit, but everyone I know is in a frat. There’s also nothing else to do in this town, so every weekend is figuring out which house to party in. Easy enough to figure out how to be nice to Kayleigh’s bestie.
"Are you going to the foam party on Friday?" I ask casually in lab.
Dillon shakes his head, and then sighs. "Yeah, actually." I knew this, but it makes it way easier knowing that he doesn't want to go. We work in silence for a little bit, until he does what I want and asks, "You?"
"Naw, man," I say. "My friend Carter's pledging Sig Ep, and they're all having a tournament. Fortnite, I think. It’s supposed to be a fundraiser."
Dillon seems to perk up at that, but he doesn't say anything.
"You wanna come? I’ll cover your entry." I can feel him analyzing me, but my face is all up in the microscope. "Okay, I found the water flea."
Dillon passes me a dropper of alcohol and replies, "I could make it."
Dillon fits in easily with the guys, making fart jokes like everyone else. I wonder if it's habit or experience. You almost can't tell he's gay, but every so often he'll look at some guy with this kind of like, sleepy gaze, up and down real quick, and it's totally obvious that he's imagining that guy naked. He only does it when they're not looking, so I can't tell if he does it to me. He does smile at me different than everyone else, and I wonder if that's because he knows I have a dumb secret; like, even Carter doesn't have that kind of shit on me.
What Carter does have is even less of a filter than me. “Hey, are you biracial?” he asks Dillon just out of nowhere.
Dillon doesn’t stop pouring chips onto a paper plate. “Yeah.”
“Okay, I was wondering.”
“Why?” Dillon asks in a way that’s definitely a trap.
“I figured you were too dark to be Middle Eastern or something. Plus the nose is different, I guess. And blue eyes, brown skin.” Carter points at his own face to contrast. “Who’s black; your mom or your dad?”
I punch him in the side. “That’s fucking rude, bro. Stop microagressing.”
“I wasn’t!” Carter looks at Dillon, rubbing where I hit him. “Was I?”
Dillon makes a funny face, like yeah duh, and just walks back into the main room.
“Who are you trying to impress?” I hiss at Carter.
My friend shrugs. “What? I was just making conversation; I only know that he played All State and is gay.”
“Then talk about football. Or that we’re in Human Biology together.”
“Jesus. Sorry, mom.”
“LeAndre would—”
Carter scoffs. “You always bring him up like he and Aaron are Jesus and John the fucking Baptist. We’re all just people, bruh. Chill out for half a second, kay?”
I let him walk back into the den alone. Am I really being that much of a tightass? Kayleigh is big into social issues, though, and if Dillon tells her that I called out a friend, then that could earn me a lot of brownie points. I hope I used “microaggressing” right.
“—with fruit,” Dillon is saying when I make it back to the tournament.
"You're kidding," Carter scoffs as I flop down on the couch.
Dillon's eyes slide to me and back again, and shakes his head. "Said it was better than pussy 'cause he didn't have to work for it." He grins a little, getting into the story. "Bananas were his favorite. He'd drape the peel over his dick," he shifted to mimic the act, "and wrap his hand around it to jack off."
Carter and the guys guffaw. "That's sick, man," someone says, and I say it's better than spreading peanut butter on your balls for a dog to lick off, because I always have another story.
"That's fucked up," Carter declares. “Dude, can you imagine Porkchop—”
I wave my hands quickly. “Don't drag my family pets into this, pervert.”
"That's like the guy in Washington who died from getting fucked by a horse," Dillon adds, and all eyes are back on him. It's a true story, there's a documentary, and now bestiality of any sort is outlawed in the state. Carter looks it up.
"How do you know this shit?" Carter asks, and then he gets that look when he's about to say something mean that he thinks is funny. "You got a Google alert for 'fucked up the ass?’ Get around the porn blockers?"
I go stiff. You're not supposed to do that, are you? Like, you don't out somebody in front of a bunch of strangers. Everybody's quiet, but Dillon acts like he hasn't noticed.
"Naw, it's 'cause I learned how to read in school," he says in that same tone. "Newspaper, motherfucker."
"Who the fuck reads a newspaper anymore?" asks another pledge. It's turned from guys shooting shit to some weird bear-baiting, and I don't know how to fix it.
Dillon shrugs. "People who don't spread peanut butter on their balls for the family Labrador, probably."
I kick Carter in the shins. "Where's the fuckin' pizza, asshole?"
It's clearly an attempt to change the subject, but it helps that Carter forgot to order it on his way over.
Once we’ve both been knocked out of the tournament, Dillon and I end up walking home at the same time because Carter's passed the fuck out and Dillon has even farther to go than me. I don't know what to say to him. Like, I invited him along, but just because I was trying to prove I'm not a complete asshole.
"Sorry about Carter," I say awkwardly.
Dillon gives me this look I can't read, and says, "I can take care of myself."
"Dude, I'm not saying you can't, I'm just sorry you had to, or whatever." I shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.
"It's fine, bro, I know you're doing this because of Kayleigh." He shakes his head at my protest. "Seriously, it's fine. I had fun. Carter's mean, but he's just insecure."
I shuffle. "Yeah. Well…"
"I'll tell Kayleigh you were friendly and all, but she's gonna date who she wants. I can't really control that." Dillon's gaze slides to the side a little when he adds, "and to be honest, dude, you're not really her type. She likes tall, brainy guys."
"I'm tall."
He laughs, "You’re five-nine at most, just like me. Probably five-eight."
"And I'm not a fucking idiot."
Dillon sighs. "You know what I mean. Kayleigh dated valedictorians in high school."
Most of me wants to get mad, but there’s no better way to kill my chances with Kayleigh than to let my anger show now. For all I know, Dillon has been updating her the whole time on Snap or something. So I choose to pretend.
“All good, man. Just want to make sure you didn’t feel too weird,” I say with a shrug. “If I didn’t know Carter I wouldn’t have gone, so. You know.”
Dillon chuckles like he can see right through me. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you in lab, I guess.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
We part ways, and I’m suddenly in a better mood not having to babysit him anymore.
If I could have it my way, that would have been our last real conversation. Dillon clearly doesn’t like me, and I have enough friends already. The thing is, we're still lab partners, and so every Tuesday and Thursday we have to get along enough to complete assignments. It’s not like we have to meet outside lab, so it’s fine. I just have to be nice enough that I don’t get a reputation as a homophobe, just in case Kayleigh’s getting reports.
When my phone dings later in the semester I expect it to be anyone but Dillon.
What's going on tonight? I need to be around people.
He’s using the school messaging system. I don't know whether it's funny or annoying that he uses proper English. I reply, TMP toga party. Gonna b fking cold with a snowflake for emphasis. Then, after thinking about it for a second, I add, im going to up psi. Just drinks nothing official
He can come if he wants to or not. Like he said, Dillon can take care of his own fucking self.
By the time he shows up I'm one drink past buzzed and I've gotten to second base already with some toga party escapee who told me tequila makes her horny as fuck. Dillon’s eyes are red and he looks upset when he walks in. My guess is stoned and in the paranoid stage. Like, I could get up and be all friendly, but I’m trying to hide a half chub while what’s-her-face gets us more punch. So I just nod and don’t stop him from sitting on the other end of the raggedy couch.
“Hey,” Dillon says over the noise. He has a cup in his hands, so maybe this isn’t his first stop of the night. That would be helpful.
“Hey,” I say back. “Do you know anybody else here?” At Dillon’s puzzled look I explain, “I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m waiting on a girl to come back, and then we might, uh, disappear for a little bit.”
Maybe if I was sober I could read the, like, forty different facial expressions that pass over Dillon’s face, but not tonight.
He finally says, “Okay.”
And just in case the main expression I saw was confusion, I say, “She’s getting us punch, but you can have mine, because we’re definitely going to head upstairs. You might want to find somebody else to talk to.”
Again the fucking parade of emotions, only to settle on totally neutral. I’m not a fucking mindreader. And can I get a little credit for giving him a head’s up? The guy fucking invited himself.
Dillon's eyes kind of slide to the side, like when he told me I wasn't Kayleigh’s type. "I’ll be fine for, what? A minute? Two, if she’s lucky?"
"I don't get any fucking complaints," I say, getting angry.
"Of course you don't," he replies with a shrug, "because girls don't tell guys that stuff to their faces."
"How would you fucking know? Or let me guess: all your friends are girls. Classic gay shit." Even as the words leave my mouth I feel a little guilty. Aaron would have slapped me upside the head for talking to him like that.
Dillon looks pissed now, too. He points a finger at me, and says, "Fine. Here’s how I can tell you suck in bed. You aren't the hottest guy on campus—not even top ten—but you act like you’re God’s gift to women way out of your league. You have a nice body, I’ll give you that, but I only know that because I can't remember the last time I saw you outside of class with a shirt on. That tells me," his tone gets mean, "you’re thinking about you, not your partner. I'd bet money that you don't jack off to porn. You jack off while looking at your own dick. And I bet that when you're with a girl, you're always perpendicular to her so that you can watch your abs flex and your cock fuck her. I'll bet you think that's like, the hottest thing ever."
"All guys watch themselves some," I respond. "It's not like you don't." It's a lame defense, but I'm kind of drunk and I just don't get why Dillon is being such a jackass. Why do I need to know I'm not the hottest guy on campus?
He points his cup at me. "I don't, because I like to focus on my partner when I fuck."
I know that Dillon is trying to make a point, but a part of me is curious by what exactly he means. Does he, like, always look into the other dude's eyes? I thought gay guys did it doggy style. Maybe his back is super flexible, and Dillon can twist around to see behind him. Or is he on top?
The girl, whose name starts with an A for sure, comes back with drinks and gets straight into my lap. She’s drunk, I’m drunk, and Dillon’s just being a fucking bummer. Just to show Dillon that I’m actually not shitty with women, I only kiss her for a little bit before I say, “Oh, sorry, This is Dillon. We’re in lab together.”
She leans across me, giggling a little, and shakes Dillon’s hand like it’s a goddam business meeting. “I’m Abbie. With an i-e.”
Dillon looks at her like he looks at me when I can’t understand an assignment. “Hi Abbie,” he greets her. “You doing okay tonight?”
“I am now,” she replies, holding up her cup. “I didn’t get you one, but do you want it? It’s Hawaiian punch, pineapple vodka, blue something, and triple sec. It tastes like juice!”
Dillon accepts her offer, and I try to pull her focus back to me. She’s soft, her lip gloss tastes like strawberry, and her tits are perfect handfuls. If Dillon’s pouty ass wasn’t sitting there, this would have been a successful night for me already. But instead I’m half watching who all he’s saying hi to. He doesn’t just know me, which is maybe why he chose this over the toga party. Or does Dillon know people because of playing All State, other guys who quit because it stopped being fun?
Abbie-with-an-i-e wiggles on my lap. "You're not paying attention to me," she pouts.
I put my cup down. "I am.”
“Girls aren’t supposed to date guys like you,” she says. Dillon rolls his eyes.
I put my hand on Abbie’s hips. “Then what are you supposed to do with guys like me?”
She giggles, and that’s the only opening I need to pull her mouth to mine. Abbie is clearly hot for me, which, like, whatever, but it's just satisfying to prove to that asshole that I'm not a shitty fuck. If I were, would hot chicks be all over me?
Dillon is watching us. Says I don’t crack the top ten hottest guys but can’t take his eyes off me. Fucking pervert probably gets off seeing me make out with her, imagining himself in Abbie’s place. Like, I'll bet he thinks about me when he jacks off, like all the times he's seen me at the gym, when he's running around doing pull-ups and shit while he's been trying to look up my shorts in the mirror. Or when we're in lab together and our arms touch, and he's turned the fuck on by, like, how warm our skin is on contact even though there's a goddam cadaver in front of us.
"Hey, you can't do that in front of people," Abbie says into my mouth, and I realize I'm like, grinding her on me real hard.
So I stand up. "Then I'll do it in private," I say, helping Abbie stand. She squeals a little bit when I pull her upstairs.
I don't even take her clothes off. My dick's out, her panties hit the floor, and I roll on a condom before she has time to say, "I forgot your name." Abbie's one of those girls who has to say something with each, like thrust. An ooh or ah or oh yeah, or whatever, it's like, please shut up a little because this isn't my room. But mm, mm, that's some warm and welcoming pussy. Judgmental Dillon is probably still downstairs, wishing it were him. Seriously, why won't he leave me alone if he doesn't want me to fuck him?
"It's too hard," Abbie whines.
"Shit, sorry."
She lays a sloppy kiss on almost my lips. "S'cool, just, like, go a little slower."
Dillon isn't there when I go downstairs. Whiny prick. Probably jealous. Or went to find some other guy.
Weird enough, I actually catch up to him about halfway back to the dorms. "Calling it a night?" I ask. Dillon flips me off and keeps walking, but I jog after him. A good buzz and just-been-fucked energy is making me feel way nicer than before, so I explain myself. "Sorry, bro. Pussy called."
Dillon gives me this cold, cold look over his shoulder. "For three minutes. Congratulations."
"I made 'er come quick," I say. I'm kind of joking, but what I'd like to do is shove him off the sidewalk. I can't do that, though, because he's gay and I have to be careful. It was longer than three minutes, though. Dillon makes this "yuck" noise and walks faster.
"What do you want from me?"
He whirls around, nearly falling—is Dillon drunk?—and throws his hands up. "I don't even know! I just want you to be…different."
Different? "What the fuck, man?"
"Just stop being so insensitive to everybody."
I poke him in the shoulder. Lightly, though, so I can't get in trouble. "Maybe you need to stop being so damn sensitive."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you!"
Dillon shouts back, "No, fuck you! You don't know a goddam thing about me or my life, so you can take whatever you think I'm mad about and shove it up your ass, because that's not it!"
"Then what is it?" I ask, throwing my arms out dramatically in a way that almost sends me stumbling.
"My boyfriend dumped me yesterday, and then I found out that he has been cheating on me since I got here. The entire fucking semester!” Dillon rages. At least it’s not about me. “The gay community here is miniscule, and the bastard still found a way to sleep around, which means that a ton of people who I thought were my friends knew! The whole fucking time! And nobody told me; I had to find out. Like, it’s not polyamory, or ethical non-monogamy, or an open relationship if your boyfriend tells you to your face that you’re exclusive. Then I had to tell Cris, the only other person who was unaware, that our shitty boyfriends were fucking each other. But he’s not over his high school ex anyway so it’s just me hurting. That sucks, okay?"
"So go fuck someone and get over it." Even as it leaves my mouth I know it's not the right thing to say. Dillon had a boyfriend this whole time? I may have had him wrong, which makes me feel kinda guilty for thinking he was like a pussy hound or something. Cock hound, I mean. Ass hound.
Dillon looks like he's about to cry, seriously. "I'm not like you, okay? I really liked him, and I thought things were going—you have no idea what that's like, do you." It’s not a real question. "You've never put yourself out there. You don't fucking know how."
What I don’t fucking know is how to react right now. Am I supposed to, like, hug him or something? "Hey, dude—"
"No," he interrupts. He even flips his hand up between us, which is the gayest thing I've ever seen him do. "I don't know why I bothered. I came here hoping that you're just be a fucking friend instead of trying to prove how macho you are."
I shuffle my feet. I wasn't not being his friend. Carter wouldn't ever have gotten upset at me like this. LeAndre hadn't either. Actually, the only friend who had yelled at me in the last ten years was Aaron. Maybe it's a gay thing. It didn't feel good then, and it actually feels worse now. "Come on, man, I didn't mean it."
Dillon's blue eyes narrow. "The problem is that you do mean it, Jay. All that offhand shit about fucking somebody to get over so someone else, being too good for relationships, just playing the game for pussy…you mean it, because your cromagnon brain can't wrap around the idea of people interacting with even a hint of sincerity, or, I don't know, emotional investment! If you were smarter I'd think you were a sociopath, but for now I'll just call you a stupid fucking asshole."
Oh. My. God. The fuck? It's like, I'm trying to be nice to him, and Dillon just throws it back in my face. I can't hit him, but holy shit I am ready to punch him right in his jaw.
“Don’t call me stupid,” I manage to say. “Stop calling me that.”
Dillon turns to walk away.
“I fucking serious, bruh,” I say, trying to sound threatening. This used to be easy for me. Like, eight months ago a Dillon-type wouldn’t have tried to step to me like this.
He looks back without slowing down. “Do your own work from now on. I’m not carrying you in class anymore.”
Dillon doesn't say a damn thing to me during lab on Tuesday, which is just as well. Actually, maybe not so well, because we're supposed to figure out how one of the cadavers died, and I get it totally wrong. Dillon figured it out super fast, and then just sat and played on his phone while I poked around the dead guy's chest cavity. Cardiac arrest. Did not get that, even though his heart was four times the normal size.
Am I really that dumb?
A small part of me is like, don't take it so hard; Dillon was just as drunk as I was. Then I get called into three different professor's offices. "You need to study." “This isn’t high school.” “You need to apply yourself." "You're wasting your parents' money like this." "Are you taking this seriously?" I'm only taking fifteen hours this semester. Freshman Writing, Human Biology, and Statistics were supposed to be blow off classes. I actually tried in Macroeconomics and Spanish. I should have gotten at least a C if I had studied, right?
"How'd you do on the Bio quiz?" I ask Carter when I see him at lunch.
He raises both his middle fingers. "B-minus for an hour of cramming. Fuck yeah, motherfucker! You?"
I'm going to shoot somebody. "Fifteen minutes before class got me a D," I lie. I’d forgotten we had a quiz at all. Seriously, am I stupid? There's a sick feeling in my gut. Studying can be helped, but dumb is dumb. My ACL is healing well, but I’m still going to be a year behind for football, and with a bad GPA my chance of transferring to a D1 school is shot. If I'm really not smart and I can’t play then I need a backup plan for this college shit. I gotta, like, start flipping burgers and work my way up the ladder. My dad's gonna kill me.
"Coming out tonight?" Carter asks, and I come back to the present.
"Nah, I got to study," I say, and add like it's no big deal, "I'm flunking four classes, so I gotta get my grades up."
Carter actually laughs. "Holy shit, man! How'd that happen so fast?"
"What do you think?" I reply with a grin. Why am I smiling? This isn't a joke. This isn't funny at all. "Too much time chasing pussy."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna fucking study, duh." I shake my head. "From now 'till the end of the year."
Carter claps me on the shoulder with mock sympathy. "The pussy will still be there when it’s over."
"I hear that."
He puts his fingers together like he's describing a fine wine. "It will be, how do you say, matured. Ripe, and ready to be plucked."
I laugh. “A fine vintage from the early twenty-first century, perhaps of the Tri-Delt region, will be just the ticket.” I sound fucking ridiculous. “But I gotta figure out how to raise this fuckin’ GPA in the meantime. Want to help me in Bio?”
Carter shoulders his backpack as he stands from our table. “Bruh. Find the hottest girl in each of your classes and ask her to be your study buddy,” he says like it should be obvious. “Two birds with one stone.”
It’s not a bad idea, but a lot of the hottest girls in my classes are mad at me for—if I’m honest while I’m feeling down on myself already—good reasons. I try a couple of them, just in case. Nothing too obvious. “Hey, I’m tryna tear up these midterms. Wanna study together?” Taryn straight up tells me that I shouldn’t be allowed to be near women before I get sensitivity training. This day fucking sucks.
And here’s the thing: I know who that leaves me. Not my actual friends. I would rather flunk out than ever ask them for help. Like, look at how fast Carter ducked outta there. Plus, I got a reputation to uphold, you know? DIllion isn’t even the first gay guy I’ve had to apologize to. Sure, I didn’t know Aaron was queer when he called me out for being a bully last spring, but at least it makes sense why he was so protective of Viera. What I mean is that I’ve had that horrible feeling of eating fucking crow, and I know I can do it, and I know that wanting to crawl into a hole goes away eventually. That’s maturity, baby.
The next day I find Dillon in the library, of course. He’s with fucking Viera, who notices me first and nudges Dillon to look up. I thought all his friends betrayed him by not telling him about the cheating boyfriend, but maybe…oh, he told me Crispin was the other victim…this really fucks with my plan, but I don’t have a backup, so I dive in.
“What are you listening to?” I ask as my opener.
Dillon pulls his earbuds out with a disgusted look that nearly shrivels my spine. “Black Pumas.” He says it like a challenge.
“Oh, I like ‘Colors’ a lot,” I say, because I don’t just listen to white artists, okay? Nevermind that my one black friend introduced me to them. “Can I apologize to you real quick?”
The surprise on his face is worth the direct approach. “Oh…okay?”
I’ve already sat myself next to Crispin across from him. “This is gonna be uncomfortable, so just, like, bear with me.” It’s what the chatbot advised and, unlike with all my essays this year, I took the time to tweak the script so it sounds like me. “I’m really sorry I was such an asshole to you on Saturday. Yes, I was already drunk and on a mission, but that’s not a good excuse.”
Dillon’s expression barely changes, but Crispin’s eyebrows have shot nearly off his head as he glances between us. This could actually be good.
“Viera can cosign that I don’t have the best track record with like, thinking before I act,” I say like I regret it, then turn to the little queer kid in question. “Like, I was a total fuckwad to you in high school, right?”
“Um, pretty much,” Crispin replies.
“And I don’t expect us to ever be friends or anything,” I say quickly, just in case he’s about to make one of his sarcastic little comments. “All that was peak, like, gut-reaction shit.”
“And your gut is mean,” Crispin mutters.
Dammit, now I gotta apologize to this little asshole, too? Fine. “Yeah, and that sucks. I have a lot of—what is the word for it? Reverse education or something?”
“Unlearning,” Dillon suggests quietly.
“Unlearning to do. Yeah. Which I know is my responsibility. It’s slow going, because like you both have told me, my brian don’t work so good.”
The self-deprecation works; Dillon’s expression softens. “Jay, I didn’t mean that.”
I press on. “Nah, you were right. I’m desperately trying to find a study buddy, or a tutor or something, because I am close to failing my way out of college.” Here’s where Crispin actually comes in handy, because I turn to him. “I’d fucking pay at this point. Are you in Freshman Writing this semester? Or Macroeconomics? Statistics?”
“No,” he says shortly. Little shit probably tested out of his entire first year.
I turn back to Dillon. “Are you?” I already know the answer.
“I have Writing with Dr. Stadler and Stat with Valero,” he says, sounding wary.
Now I pretend to be surprised. “Wait, seriously? Sorry, this was not my actual plan here,” I lie easily, “but is there any way that you could help me study? Like, I will be your little fucking minion for the rest of the semester. For the year.”
Dillon leans back in his chair. “Do you remember the last thing I said to you on Saturday?”
“That you weren’t going to carry me anymore,” I quote him, trying not to get mad all over again. “And I swear to God you won’t be carrying me. It’ll be, like, accountability. I will both beg and pay you.”
Now Viera stands up with one of his little huffs. “Take his money,” he advises Dillon. “It’s reparations.”
“What?” I ask, but Crispin walks away. Because I need to show growth I don’t flip him off. Okay then, I guess he’s done. What a cunt.
Dillon doesn’t look happy, exactly, but he doesn’t go anywhere.
"Dude, come on," I finally say. "I'm sorry. Really."
His eyes narrow. "I'm over it already."
"Are you?"
"Yeah."
"Are you?" I ask again, my voice sliding playfully. I give him a knowing look, and Dillon's stony face cracks. He gives me a reluctant smile and nods.
"Yeah."
"Good." Really good, actually, because I'm going to fail this test if I don't get help soon.
Kayleigh struts up then, throwing a friendly arm around Dillon. “Hey, boo,” she says, ignoring me, “you ready for Sociology?”
He squeezes her back and says, “Yeah, hang on. Jay, let me get your number so I can text you when I’m free. The school app has been eating my messages.”
Kayleigh raises her eyebrows gracefully, finally looking at me.
“Yeah same.” I hand over my phone. “Seriously, thanks so much. And gimme your socials.”
“Fuck no!” Dillon laughs, “I don’t want you looking me up!”
“Why not!?”
“Because I’m your tutor, not your bro.”
Kayleigh pulls him away and I want to make a smart ass comeback so goddam bad but I want to look good in front of Kayleigh more.
It only takes, like, fifteen minutes to find Dillon’s accounts. Kayleigh’s profiles are all private, but she’s friends with Ellie who’s friends with Atsuko who I hooked with at the beginning of the year. I feel like a fucking detective when I find the right Dillon and his curly-headed profile pops up. It’s nothing incredible; lots of group photos, the only mirror selfies are silly costumes, all the videos are inside jokes. He likes hiking, he’s close to his siblings, and he misses the family cat. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I ask him if he’s been home to see Nugget lately. But then I see him in a shot with the LBTQIA+ Alliance and his arm is around this one dude’s hip, who’s the only one not tagged in the picture.
That’s gotta be the cheating ex. Okay, now I fucking have to find this guy. Takes me a little longer because the only other person in the group I know is Crispin, who blocked every account I have. But finally I find him. Marcus aka OnTheMarc1818 is exactly the kind of gym selfie-taking narcissist you’d have to be to cheat on a nice guy like Dillon. He’s already got a bunch of pictures with the new guy, but he didn’t even bother to delete any of the stuff from when he was with Dillon. Maybe I found his finsta, because he hasn’t tagged anyone. (I’m a fucking genius.)
Then I scroll down enough to find a picture of Marcus and Dillon kissing and throw my phone down.
Holy shit.
I know I shouldn’t look at it again; Dillon would be pissed. But if I tell him how to find an account like this, so that he knows if the next guy is a piece of shit, then maybe…I pick up the phone. I’ve seen two guys kiss before. Maybe Aaron and Crispin were the first two guys I’d seen in person, but even Hallmark lets gay guys kiss now—I fucking made out with Brantley, even if he doesn’t remember it and I barely do. It’s not a big deal. But the feeling in my stomach, like the nerves I used to get before games, doesn’t go away.
It’s a regular old, like, a we’re-at-a-picnic photo. They’re on a blanket, Dillon looks like he’s going to laugh even if his eyes are closed, and Marcus is looking at the camera. Smarmy. I’m sure OnTheMarc1818 here posted this one because neither of them look as weird as most people do with their faces mashed together. Staged. So fucking cringe.
I scroll further down. I really shouldn’t watch any of the videos. It’s fine, though, because there’s nothing sexual or romantic in any of the others. Dillon has his shirt off in one of them, but it’s with a bunch of people at the lake. And he just kind of runs past; I had to pause to make sure it was him. He wears his tight workout gear in the gym. So I already knew he had that body, though I’m a little surprised he doesn’t shave his chest. He’s filled out a little more since the beginning of the semester.
Swiping out of the app in a hurry, I turn on music as though it will override the images filling my brain. No need to think about Dillon kissing his ex. He’s going to tutor me. I got what I wanted, and it didn’t even take that much begging.
I shouldn’t have poked around that Marcus guy’s socials. Then again, it makes me feel good that I’m better looking than that piece of shit. And if Dillon ever asks, I can show him how to play detective for his future boyfriends. So it’s not even a big deal.
It’s whatever.
It’s fine.
I manage to not bring it up when Dillon finally sets up a tutoring session. Well, kind of. He said I wasn’t his bro, which feels bad. The same chatbot that suggested I apologize with specifics also said I should ask Dillon follow up questions about shit he’s already brought up. It steered me right the last time, so after a full hour of being a loyal study dog I try out one of the friendship-building tactics.
“You and Viera are still friends, huh? Is that weird in the, you know, queer community here?”
Dillon looks at me like I grew a second head. “Cris is the only other one who didn’t know.”
“Yeah, you said. No, I just mean, like…who do you, like, date? If you’re mad at everyone.” I’m showing compassion and an interest in his life. Good job, me.
“It’s not the first thing on my mind, which is maybe why my grades are better than yours,” Dillon retorts.
“My friend Aaron chose the only out gay guy in the whole school, even though he was on the football team and probably could have, like, hooked up with anybody. But I guess that little fairy was the best option,” I explain. “I’m just wondering if he and you were in the same boat. But you’re not dating Viera, right?”
“No, and don’t call him a fairy.”
“Sorry.” Good for me for apologizing in the moment. “But seriously, there has to be another option. Somebody less girly.”
“Still rude. You’d think that if Aaron was such a good friend that you’d try to be nice to his boyfriend,” Dillon comments sharply.
"He just irritated me, that he was so—" I mimic Crispin's hand movements.
"Okay, I get it, stop." Dillon shakes his head. "God, Jay, sometimes you don't seem like a real human being. You're more like a character out of some anti-bullying PSA."
"The hell?" What a shitty thing to say.
He ticks my sins off his fingers. "You’ve been an actual, physical bully. You use homophobic slurs. Even though one of your best friends came out, you discriminate more against the guy who's more femme and non-white. Hand me the book."
I do as Dillon asks, but I have to defend myself. "He was a genuine prick to me, though! Like, we had a lot of classes together, and every time I got something wrong, fucking Crispin would make fun of me."
Dillon's whole vibe gets a little nicer.
"Then, if I got something right, there'd come his fucking comment, something about how 'it speaks!' or compare me to one of those dogs that presses buttons to talk."
"So it's not that he's gay, it's that you don't like his personality," Dillon clarifies. "That's okay."
Now I can’t hide my relief. "Seriously?"
"Yeah! Like, if you can seriously not get along with someone without bringing their sexuality into it at all, that's not homophobic."
I think on it for a second. “Maybe I’m a little homophobic.”
Dillon laughs, like belly laughs, at my realization. “Now that you know, you can do better.”
“I’m dumb as shit and a homophobe,” I groan. “This is a fucking bummer.”
“I can help you study,” Dillon promises, “but you gotta do the work on that other stuff.”
“Hey, at least I’m not racist, right?”
“Well…” and Dillon’s gaze slides away again, and I’m not sure if I’m laughing or crying.
“I gotta read some books,” I groan.
“You can do this, man. The Black Student Union and the LGBTQIA+ Alliance both have lending libraries.”
I wonder a little bit if Kayleigh would notice me borrowing stuff.
I’m home for Thanksgiving and leaving the grocery store because my mom forgot to get me Nerds Gummy Clusters.
It takes a second to recognize him because I guess I didn’t expect to see someone going to school so far away, but one of my high school buddies is walking in as I’m walking out.
"Aaron!"
His bright brown eyes shine. "Oh my god, hey!"
I pull him into a hug; I don't even care. I haven’t seen Aaron since the last graduation party (LeAndre’s, I think) and he’s grown a beard and filled out in a way that looks good on him. “Holy shit, man! What are you doing home?”
“Thanksgiving, duh,” he answers. Then he shrugs, looks sad for a second, and goes, “My folks are letting me come to lunch, so…”
Fuck. I forgot that Aaron’s parents basically told him to quit being gay. I don’t have anything to say to that, so I change the subject.
"Did you see LeAndre on the Gatorade ad? Isn't that fucked up? Guy never took a picture in high school. Now he's a fuckin' model."
Aaron grins. "He does have crazy bone structure. Like, nobody in real life should be that hot. We can't handle it. We spend all our time trying to be LeAndre."
I laugh. I never understood why Aaron wasn't more popular. I mean, I know that chicks supposedly have better gaydar than dudes, but that never stopped a determined cheerleader. B-E Aggressive, after all. He's funny, he was always really smart, and he looks like an actor who always plays the hero's smartass best friend.
"So how you been?"
He just grins. "You probably don't want to hear it."
I fold my arms. "Dude, give me some credit. My lab partner is gay."
"Good for you," Aaron says back, but he does that thing where the side of his mouth pulls a little, like he's trying not to smile. Come to think of it, he did that way more last year than in the whole time I've known him. Ugh, that fucking Viera .
“So, what,” I ask, “you get drafted onto the Berkley team after all?”
A wide, proud grin appears on my friend’s face. "No, Crispin and I are together. Back together."
"Ugh."
"I told you, you didn't want to hear it."
I wave a hand. "It's not that he's a dude, dude. It's that it's fucking Crispin goddam Viera."
Aaron narrows his eyes. "Well, I feel like a motherfucking adult for having resolved our distance issues and feelings. So, congratulate me."
I laugh. "Congratulations, motherfucker. Are you still staying with his folks?"
"Yeah. It's weird how cool they are with me."
"Probably because their own kid is such , a f—" I reword when Aaron gives me a warning look "—fierce queen."
He socks me in the shoulder. "Did your gay lab partner teach you that?"
“Yes. And I’m sorry you had to catch me; I’ve been doing some reading.”
“Okay, you can’t sound so smug about it,” Aaron laughs at me.
I shove him lightly. “Shut up, white boy.”
“You shut up, white boy!”
“I’m trying to be understanding, here. I just don’t, like…I don’t fucking get it. When did you—” I lower my voice as other people pass us, “like, when did you even know? Like, toddler age?"
Aaron shakes his head. "Naw, man. For me it was maybe in the beginning of seventh grade. Puberty."
None of us had noticed? Damn. "But how, even? Was it like, you were suddenly all about banging dudes?"
He laughs. "Certain dudes, yeah. I just started noticing things about them that I hadn't before, like the way they stood, or smelled. Maybe other guys notice that stuff, but…I don't know, it turned into crushes. Like I wanted to be around that person all the time, and make him laugh, and make him admire me, and think I was hot." He snaps his long fingers. "That's probably it, actually. When I realized that I wanted a guy to think I was hot, it was like, yeah. I'm definitely gay."
That was it? "Pfft. If you're hot enough, everyone will want to get in your pants."
"I’m picky," my buddy says with a grin.
I groan, "Viera is you being picky?"
Aaron looks smug. "I know you think it's gross, but Crispin is my type."
"He's so weird, though!"
"Exactly."
I gesture to the west. "Aren't there small, weird, mean gays in California? Isn’t that where they, like, make them?"
"Sure, but…I don't know, man." Aaron shrugs happily. "There's nobody like him, you know?"
I make a disgusted face. Thank god there isn't. One is too fucking many. "But how do you like a guy? How does it even happen?"
Aaron laughs like I just asked him the meaning of life. "I don't know, dumbass. Same way with you and a girl, probably. I think about him all the time. Being around him always feels great. I miss him. I text him about dumb stuff. I call him just to hear him talk; we do our homework together. I care about whether he's happy or not, and if I can help make him happier. The usual shit." Aaron pauses and looks up to the ceiling like he does when he's thinking. "Well, that could just be friendship, probably. Wanting to have sex with him really pushes it into the liking column, probably. Shit, I don't know."
I shake my head sadly. "Man, you are pussy whipped. Calling just to hear him talk?"
He thinks about it for a second. "Ass-pussy whipped."
"You are fuckin' nasty," I laugh. “Who the fuck calls it an ass-pussy?”
"I call it what it is," Aaron responds with a grin. “Because your boy here fucks.”
"We’re all fucking, dipshit," I say, mostly because it's the kind of response he expects out of me. Really though, when was the last time I felt that way about anyone? I've never been the called-to-say-hey type, and in high school it was easy to just stop by each other's house. I texted LeAndre about dumb shit. Him, my girlfriends, Aaron, Carter—I cared about whether they were happy or not, but I hadn't felt any differently about the girls than the guys. The girls were more mysterious, more fun to chase, and the sex part was fuckin' great, but…Maybe that just meant I hadn't fallen hard yet, like, not in love. Lately, though, it's like there just aren't any girls worth pursuing.
"So is this lab partner Dillon?" Aaron interrupted my thoughts.
Fucking Viera!
"Yeah." You know what? I'll just fucking say it. "Apparently we met when he walked in on me and his roommate drunk, making out."
Aaron's brown eyes go wide, and then he starts laughing so hard he doubles over. "Oh my god, Jay."
"Man is ugly as fuck, so I'm glad I don't remember anything except them opening the door."
He laughs harder.
"I would have forgotten, except Valerie, the girl we were trying to get with—so hot, by the way, tig ole' biddies and a fat ass—was like, 'Where did you guys go?' the next day, and I just told her I blacked out." Aaron holds his gut like he's about to pee himself, so I add, "And he must be a fucking slobber-er, because when I woke up I could smell his mouth, like, all over my face. I was so confused until I remembered. He’d been drinking those banana buzz ball things. It was fucking disgusting."
"Oh, man." Aaron wipes his eyes. "Sweet karma."
"What?"
"Remember how you didn't let it go when I got drunk and made out with Molly? Still gay, the whole time, and there I was making out with a girl. You never let me live it down."
I spread my hands in protest . "But Molly was hot!"
"Still a girl."
Dillon had said he’d made out with girls, too. "Not the same! This was like if you had made out with Jenny Gray. Or no, Shauna Oldman."
Aaron shudders. "Dear god."
"Exactly." I grin and fold my arms. "I would have thought Viera told you already. He and Dillon are super tight."
"Oh, he did," Aaron assures me, "but I couldn't really believe it."
See, that’s real friend shit. Heard a rumor and waited to hear from me directly. I wish he could have gone to school with me and Carter instead of fucking Viera. That would have been so much fun. Then again, LeAndre told me that Aaron’s parents were ready to cut him off completely, but his older brother stepped in and was like, “Let Aaron come to school with me or you’ll never see me again, either.” So it had to be Berkley.
For me it was either be a legacy at my parents’ college or play at JuCo until I could get my grades up, so…
Aaron suddenly holds up his phone with an apologetic look, saying “Hey, sorry, it’s awesome to catch up but I gotta get back before the elder Vieras send out a search party. They gave me a list.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, shit, I’ll let you get to it. But stay on the radar, okay?”
“You go it,” he says with a little salute.
“Um, also,” I say awkwardly, “I know my folks aren’t any, like, better about the whole, uh, inclusion, um, like, inclusivity thing, but…if you ever need another place to crash then I got your back.”
“Thanks, man,” Aaron says in surprise.
I add quickly, “Or anything. Seriously. Gimme a shout and I’m there, bruh.”
“Sure.”
Aaron and I part ways with another quick bro hug. You may not believe me, but I swear I don’t think about how I’m gonna bring up supporting my best gay friend to my judgy gay peer tutor until I’m driving back on Sunday.
“I am too fucking dumb for this,” I groan.
Dillon puts his pen down. “Have you ever been tested for ADHD?”
“Nah, my mom wouldn’t let me because she said that Ritalin makes you bipolar.”
Dillon is silent.
“Yeah, she has some theories,” I explain sheepishly. “My mom isn’t dumb! It’s just…whatever.”
Ugh, Dillon looks so goddam sympathetic. “I don’t really think you’re stupid, Jay. I think nobody taught you how to learn in a system that isn’t built for you. Wait, why are you standing up?”
I hadn’t realized I was out of my seat. I sit. “What?”
“No, I was just saying that you probably learn differently.”
“Like a disability?”
“No, just like,” here Dillon sighs, and I can’t tell if it’s at me or not, “I’m not qualified to, like, diagnose you or anything, but…maybe you get distracted in tests because you’re bored.”
“Tests are boring, though.”
“Have you noticed I’ve turned all of our studying into games?”
“What? No.”
“Oh cool,” he says happily.
“You look so fucking pleased with yourself.”
Dillon laughs, “I am!”
I narrow my eyes. “If this has all been a project for one of your fucking ed classes, so help me God…”
“It’s not,” he swears, still chuckling. “I don’t know if it’s effective yet.”
Maybe I should be mad that he thinks he has me all figured out, but it’s kind of nice when Dillon isn’t scolding me. “You know what’s a great fuckin motivator? Rewards. Where’s my gold star? Where’s my pizza party?”
“I don’t have pizza money laying around, man,” he replies with a grin.
I poke him. “Gimme a treat!”
“Can you think of a treat that isn’t food or money? Like an experience?”
I give him my best the-fuck-you-talking-about face, and Dillon laughs.
“So for me, sometimes I get 15 minutes of mindless scrolling for every hour of studying,” he explains. He probably has time limits set on all his social media apps. Fucking goody two-shoes.
I pshaw. “I do that all the time. I need the extra—what’s it called?—outside motivation.”
“An extrinsic reward? Then I offer you this firm handshake.”
I knock his dumb hand away. “Give me an experience reward, then.”
Dillon thinks for a little bit. “I guess you can come to my room and we’ll watch a classic Bond film?” Then he adds, “I need to finish one for my seminar. So I’ll be taking notes and I might pause a lot.”
It’s not a good reward, but it’s not nothing and it keeps me out of Carter’s frat house. “Daniel Craig or no deal.”
“What? Ugh, fine.”
“What fucking seminar makes you watch James fucking Bond?”
“Intro to Gender in Film. I’m writing a paper contrasting American John Wayne, Dirty Harry masculinity to the British James Bond type.” Dillon cocks his head. “Actually, I could probably use you for a study in toxic—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I cut him off to stop any more insults, or worse, character traits that I need to fix. Working on the other stuff is hard enough, thank you very goddam much. “Fine, tell me when to show up. I want snacks, too.”
Now Dillon looks unimpressed. “Your treat is my company, no studying involved. Bring your own dang snacks. See you Thursday.”
It’s not like I’m excited for Thursday. Or for hanging out with Dillon in particular. Trying to raise my grades has been the only thing I can think about, or allow myself to think about, and that has meant no more hanging out with Carter at his frat. No more foam parties. No drunken fucks in someone else’s room. No beer pong. No getting high off someone else’s pen. I go to the gym, I see my friends in the cafeteria sometimes, and then I fucking study. This tiny town doesn’t have anything to do that isn’t drinking or stealing street signs, and even going to the one coffee shop means I’m only there to pull out a textbook. Okay, sometimes I want to be seen holding, like, Ibram X. Kendi, but to my credit I have been reading all that stuff. Hard to pretend if a girl takes the bait and asks me about it.
So for real, I’m not like, jumping for joy that Dillon is going to do Film Studies homework while I sit next to him. It’s not much different from watching shows and shit with the guys. But you gotta be nice to the guy who’s saving your ass academically, right? When I get myself some gummy clusters and a Mountain Dew, I also grab Sour Patch Kids and a Coke for Dillon because I’ve seen him with that combination a couple times. It’s polite and shit.
For a hot second I’m worried that I’ll run into Brantley. Probably should have thought about that before I showed up at their door. Technically it’s not that weird since everyone’s friends change some after the first week of school, but I super didn’t want to give him the chance to remember the failed threesome.
Dillon, even though he’s in his own room, is wearing real clothes when he opens the door. Nothing different from the usual jeans and shirt with real buttons, but still. Does he own sweats?
“‘Sup,” I greet him, tossing the candy at his chest. “Got you a present.”
For a hot second Dillon looks like he’s mad at the Sour Patch Kids, but then he smiles. Okay, good. Maybe he was trying not to be happy about it, but ha! Gotcha bitch! Another point for Jay Givens.
You can immediately tell who’s side is whose. Brantley has clothes and empty wrappers and shit all over the place. Dillon is a fucking stereotype, all tidy and with, like, lamps and everything. Art on the wall.
"Why is your bed so high?" I ask as he welcomes me in.
"So I can put my stuff underneath it." Dillon hops on his bed and points to the other messy one. "You can sit on Brantley's bed or his chair—the girls next door borrowed mine yesterday—but he’s pretty gross so I’d take the chair if I were you."
I eye the rickety-looking seat. “Why does it have that brown stuff on it?”
Dillon looks at it for a second and shrugs. “I guess you can sit on my bed.”
“He’s fucking disgusting.”
He nods. “Sophomore year I’m getting a new roommate.”
“Good,” I grumble as I climb up the bed frame.
“I’ll pick a hot one so that if you accidentally make out with him you won’t regret it,” Dillon says.
“Fuck off!” I yell, but that’s fucking funny.
We settle in with our backs against the wall to watch Casino Royale, Dillon occasionally taking notes. He asks me questions sometimes, like if I think that an American hero would be shown clambering all over the place like a gecko. Maybe, but eventually he’d just shoot the guy. Or if it’s cool to make up a cocktail and name it after the lady you’re flirting with. Fuck yeah, that’s slick as hell.
"That's who I'd be, if I were a character,” I declare. “James Motherfucking Bond."
Dillon laughs, "You'd have to have a fucked-up youth."
"I still have time. Plus, look at the kind of pussy he pulls." I say that, and immediately think, Whoops. Was that insensitive?
"You don't have that kind of game," Dillon scoffs.
"I got game coming outta my ass."
Dillon makes a disbelieving noise. "Your game is old, son. You have, like, two moves."
I send a pillow sailing toward his head. "Fuck you! You wouldn't recognize my game, anyway."
Sitting upright, Dillon argues, "I've seen you in action. You tease some poor girl, then you get all grope-y. She either allows it, or backs off and you do that douchey, 'C'mon, baby' thing."
That is uncomfortably close to the truth, even if I wouldn't call it "groping" or "'douchey." I give Dillon the finger. "It works, asswipe."
"Sure, on idiots."
"That's sexist," I say proudly. Now who's the douche?
"No, I could do that, too," Dillon replies, leaning over to shove my head. "If I had a thing for dumb guys."
That makes me laugh. "Bullshit."
"If it's real game, it'll work on anyone."
I snort. “It does. You just haven’t tried it.”
He scoots close to me. “Oh, so I should get up all in your space, like you do with girls, and then kiss you?"
The whole right side of my face feels hot. Is this how close I get to girls? Nah, I’m smoother than this.
I stay still. "Do it and see what happens." Please don't do it.
"Maybe I will," Dillon says all low and silky as he leans in.
"Go ahead." I'll sock him in the jaw. Anyway, he forgot to put a hand on the thigh, which is my go-to move.
"You're shaking," he almost whispers, all soft and gentle.
No I'm not. "Shut the fuck up."
"Don't be mad, baby." Dillon drapes one arm around me. "Don't be mad. It's cute. Guys like that, guys like that."
I'm seriously going to punch him now. "I don't talk like that."
"Except you totally do!"
"In this whole entire fucking world," I retort, finally looking at him, "there is no one more full of sh—"
The rest is put on hold, because my brain has to process that a dude is kissing me. Like mouth-on-mouth, kissing me. And I'm sober.
"There!" Dillon says cheerfully as he pulls back. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"
I shake my head because I literally have no words. It was, like, just—what?—I'm not sure…Did he seriously just kiss me? But then his mouth is on mine again.
Dillon smiles. "You looked like you could use one more. Let me know when the world starts ending, straight boy."
"You gotta try harder than that," I say, because I know how to be smooth.
So of course he comes back in for another one. And another, and then I feel his hand slide from my shoulder to the back of my neck, and then Dillon's tongue is all up in my mouth. Like on my teeth, on my tongue, slipping between my lips, and even though it's super weird to just kind of sit here while he kisses me, it's like…he's…not…a bad kisser. It's about technique, is all. Mix up the tongue with some nibbling, don't get sloppy outside the lips, get a hand in her hair, and tease just enough so that the girl starts getting a little hot and bothered. Or not the girl, if you're Dillon and you're gay. And it’s his hand in my hair while his other arm wraps around my back. I feel kind of small, like he’s protecting me, which is why this is a classic hold that girls really relax into. And I get it. He's doing all the right things, so it's good kissing, but his whiskers are rough on my lips.
I push him away. "Okay, that's enough." It takes all my self-control to keep my breathing even and my legs from sprinting out of the room. It's not a big deal. I'm not a homophobe anymore. Dillon is a friend. He's a friend who just put his face all over my face. Fuck. Holy fuck. Just watch the movie. Nothing is weird. Am I going to have whisker burn on my face? Holy shit.
Pay attention to the movie. For fuck's sake. I wonder what Dillon is thinking. No, I don't wonder. We should have watched Step Brothers. Why did Dillon do that? I don't care; it doesn't matter. It'd be like if he kissed a girl. Like, that's what it was. That's all it was. What if he tries it again? He won't. Should I leave? I need a good excuse though. Is there homework I haven't done yet? Probably, but I can't think enough to remember what it is. I am so weirded out right now. Sure, I kissed him back, but I was proving a point. And now I have some, you know, data points on what it’s like to be on the receiving end of my very good flirtation techniques. It’s fine. It was a joke.
"Idiot," Dillon says calmly.
I flip him off without taking my eyes off the screen. “That just proves how good my game is, asshole.”
Dillon laughs and sits back, and we pretend like nothing happened until the movie is over. Then we still pretend nothing happened when he helps me with Statistics. Except for how Dillon keeps giving me the side eye, and chuckling when I sock him in the shoulder. It could have ended there, but instead it all goes to shit a couple weeks later.
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