Page 60 of Jealous Guy

Andy and West are in the kitchen. West is taste-testing as Andy slices and dices vegetables for the salad he’s making. Jordan is standing with them, not moving or speaking. He’s looking at me in such a pinched, uptight way that I’m a little concerned he might be choking.

Tyler follows my gaze to Jordan and the hand on my knee taps again. Urgently this time.

“Immediately no,” he says under his breath. “Immediately no.”

“I know, I know.” I chuckle. “I’m not… I don’t… I’m working on it, I guess.”

Tyler shrugs ruefully, lowering his voice and cocking his head to where Andy and West stand. As we watch, Andy slices a piece of pepper, taking care to remove all the seeds before pushing it across the board with his knife and offering it to West.

“Oh, honey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Most of us fall for our straight friends at some point.”

“And the rest of us?” I ask hopefully.

“Well.” He pauses, eyes not leaving Andy for a beat before answering. “The rest of us fall for our gay friends, who are in love with their straight friends.”

We talk for a while longer before Tyler hugs me and sets about working his magic. He moves from person to person unobtrusively, and minutes later, several pairs of eyes are smiling at me. Over the course of the evening, each person makes their way over to me and embraces me. The interactions mean more to me than I can say. The shoulder squeeze from Andy. The bear hug from West. The slow, warm smile from Sarah.

By the time dinner is over, I feel floaty and light. I look around the table and let the events of the day sink in. This is it. It’s happened. The thing I’ve lived in fear of for most of my life has happened. It’s out there, and it’s okay. I’m okay.

I only wish I could enjoy the evening for what it is: a perfect night with wonderful friends. A life-changing night where people close to me have found out something important about me and accepted me. Not only accepted me, but supported me. Celebrated me.

Instead, I can’t stop obsessing about the fact that I’m sharing a room with Jordan later.

I’m being the biggest idiot on the planet about this, and I know it. It’s a non-issue. We’ve shared a bed a ton of times over the years. I’ve been on vacations with his family where we shared a bedroom for weeks at a time. We borrowed my uncle’s RV the summer we graduated from high school and spent most of July meandering down the coast, stopping to camp wherever we liked. We are currently roommates who share a bathroom—and have been for the past year and a half—for Christ’s sake.

I don’t know why I’ve made this into such a big deal in my head.

I know I’m setting myself up for disappointment. Yes, Jordan has been a little unpredictable lately, sure, but I know him better than anyone: he’s straight. That’s the constant. This whole sex and blowjob thing is the anomaly.

I’ve been getting my heart stomped on for years because of how much I want him, but this is in a different league. Once you’ve been with someone, it’s completely different from wanting them theoretically. Any pain I felt before from wanting Jordan and not having him pales in comparison to what will happen to me if I’m stupid enough to think I have a real chance of being with him.

Tyler is right. This is the epitome of an immediately no situation. Nothing but heartbreak, and possibly madness, lies down this path.

I’d do well to remember that.

Yes. I need to get with the program. I need to get back on track and start working on my plan to get over Jordan. For real this time.

The room is dark and quiet. The sheets are cool, a slight breeze from the lake disturbing the curtains and causing a ribbon of moonlight to flicker across the bed. I turned the overhead light off when I came upstairs and killed the bedside light when I got into bed, despite Jordan still being in the bathroom.

The shower is running. It has been for four and a half minutes.

The hiss of the water stops abruptly, and I start severely second-guessing my decision to turn the lights off. I mainly did it so Jordan couldn’t see my face when he walked in, but now it feels inconsiderate to make him stumble to bed in the dark in a room he isn’t familiar with. Ordinarily, I’d have left a light on, but it’s been a long day, and I’m not sure I’m up to the task of keeping my expression neutral when he gets into bed with me tonight. I’m really not. I’ve spent years not looking. Years averting my eyes. I’m usually good at it, but I’ve tasted him now. I’ve touched him. I’ve felt him. On top of me. Inside me.

That makes things different.

Harder to hide. Harder to deny.

The comforter is bunched at my feet, and the top sheet is pulled up to my chin. I’m wearing sleep shorts and an old tank. The temperature dropped sharply when the sun dipped below the horizon, but knowing Jordan is a few yards away, naked, has caused my temperature to spike.

I throw the sheet off myself altogether and then pull it back up to my waist hurriedly a couple of seconds later.

I hear the heavy thud of heels on the bathroom tile, and after a few minutes, the faucet runs again, but not for long. Jordan is brushing his teeth.

He’ll be out any minute.

He’ll be under the covers with me any second.

I roll onto my side, facing away from his side of the bed, and screw my eyes shut tightly.