North pats the spot next to him on the bed. “Join me. Broaden your horizons. Educational viewing.”
“No, thank you.”
“Don’t be a prude, Gav. Live a little.” He’s grinning, enjoying my discomfort. “We can critique the cinematography. Analyze the narrative structure. Discuss the thematic importance of the pepperoni.”
I stare at him. He’s dead serious. Why did I agree to room with him again? If this is hour one, and we haven’t even finished unpacking, what is the rest of the year going to look like? The sheer, relentless force of him. It’s like standing next to a speaker at a concert. The bass vibrating right through my bones.
“She’s about to show him how she pays.”
“Yeah, no shit. You think I never watch porn? I just don’t do it with my best friend in the room.”
“But now we’re roommates, bro. We share everything. Space, food... we’re going to end up seeing each other’s dicks sooner or later. Might as well break the ice.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Seeing each other’s dicks is on theoptionalpart of the roommate agreement, North. A footnote. Right under ‘In Case of Emergency.’”
“Have you seen the size of our bathroom? There is no optional. I’m going to see your dick. You’re going to see mine. We’re going to see each other’s dicks while we brush our teeth. We’re gonna hear each other fuck. Let’s just get it all out on the table now.”
I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. My parents were so happy when I told them I was rooming with North. “Oh, he’s such a nice boy, Gavin. So polite.” They have no idea. They see the football star, the charming smile, the respectful “yes, sir, no, ma’am.” They don’t see this. This unfiltered, hyper-physical, relentlessly confident creature who thinks life is one big locker room.
“Dude,” North says, pausing the video on a particularly expressive frame. “Your face. You look like you’re about to give birth to a porcupine. If you’re reallythatbothered, I’ll put it away. No big deal.”
A wave of relief washes over me, followed immediately by a pang of guilt. He’s right. I’m being weird. Overly prudish, as always. But I’m just not wired like him. Sex isn’t a sport for me. It’s private. Intimate. Or at least, the idea of it is. I don’t have the same experience, so for me it’s still this abstract, slightly terrifying concept. And he’s trying to drag it out into the harsh light of our dorm room and make it into a team activity.
But he has a point. About the shared space, at least. We’re going to have to navigate this stuff eventually.
“Fine,” I say, holding up my hands. “I get it. We’re men. We have needs. I’ll try to be less... uptight.”
North beams. “Attaboy! That’s the spirit. Now, come watch this lady earn her sausage.” He hits play again.
I climb onto his bed, but I stay on the very edge, my back rigid. It smells like him. Like fresh laundry and that spicy deodorant he wears. It’s a familiar smell, which somehow makes the whole situation even weirder.
On the screen, the plot has progressed. The pizza box is on the floor. The woman is now demonstrating her payment method, her moans so comically over-the-top they sound like a whale in distress. I can’t help it. I let out a snort.
“See?” North nudges me with his elbow. “I told you. It’s funny. The acting is garbage. But the spirit is admirable. Titties and pizza. The American dream.”
His arm was warm where it pressed against mine. The nudge was nothing. A bump. The kind of casual contact he throws around a hundred times a day without thinking. But my skin tingles where we touched. I shift, trying to discreetly create a gap between us.
“This is so bad,” I say. “Who’s ordering a pizza in the middle of the day, anyway?”
“Someone hungry for more than carbs.” North waggles his eyebrows. “And look at that. She even tips for the extra cheese.”
I’m watching, but I’m not really watching. My brain keeps drifting to North beside me. The rise and fall of his chest. The little huff of laughter he makes at every awful line. The way he adjusts himself, unconsciously, when the camera zooms in. The bulge in his sweatpants is becoming increasingly noticeable.
And in my own jeans, a twitch of interest. Heat crawls up my neck. I clamp my thighs together. I’m not even sure what I’m reacting to. Not the woman on screen. Bad porn has never done it for me. So what is it? The sounds? The weirdness of the situation? Is this what happens when you spend too much time in North’s vicinity? You start absorbing his energy, his… base-level horniness?
The couple on screen has moved to the kitchen counter. The pizza guy is showing off some impressive core strength. The woman’s breasts slap against the marble countertop with a wet, flapping sound. It’s so far from sexy it’s almost clinical. And yet, I’m getting hard.
It’s an uncomfortable pressure. I know I’m supposed to like it, supposed to want this, but it feels more like an inconvenient physical reaction. My body doing something without my brain’s consent. Especially with North right there. The thought of him noticing sends a spike of ice through me.
I angle my body away, pretending to get more comfortable, and subtly adjust myself. The fabric of my jeans drags. I wince.
North glances over. A slow grin spreads across his face. “You getting into it, Gav? The little soldier’s reporting for duty?”
My face flames. “No. My leg was asleep.”
“Right. Your leg.” He nudges me again, harder this time, and I can feel the warmth radiating from him, and that makes even more blood rush south, which is a catastrophic feedback loop I can’t seem to stop. “Your third leg, you mean? It’s okay, buddy. Welcome to the club.”
“Dude, don’t,” I mumble. “This is so weird.” But there’s no denying the tent in my jeans. It’s a flagpole. A goddamn lighthouse.
