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Authors: Unknown Author
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of orange juice and slugged it right from the opening. Randall stared at his back, waiting for him to continue but unwilling to urge him on. “For her, you’re the phantom boyfriend she doesn’t have the courage to go out and get, and for you . .. well, my guess is you don’t really feel alive until that Tim guy or whoever has you flat on your back, but then, in the morning, when you start to feel a little dirty, you’ve got Kathryn and the pedestal she’s put you on.”
Jesse turned back, grinning slightly as if this were little more than locker-room banter. Randall surveyed him, trying to hide his anger and confusion. Why had Jesse picked tonight of all nights to share his pop-psychology insights? “Who says I ever feel dirty?” Randall asked icily.
Jesse arched his eyebrows and returned the orange juice to the fridge. Randall began removing his socks before he noticed that Jesse had wandered almost to the invisible line dividing their sides of the room, leaning one hip against the edge of the desk. Randall looked up, startled, as Jesse crossed his arms over his bare chest, waiting.
“What?”
“Go ahead.”
Randall furrowed his brow.
“You’re not going to, are you?” Jesse finally asked.
Now Randall knew what Jesse was waiting for. The next step of his bedtime routine was to slide beneath the comforter and remove his jeans down to his ankles before dropping them in a ball at the foot of the bed.
“Two months of living together and you still can’t take your pants off in front of me.”
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Who was on the phone?”
Jesse was silent.
“Your father?” Randall asked.
Randall found a petty triumph in the color that rose to Jesse’s cheek and the sudden tension in his jaw. “What drug was it this time?” Randall asked.
“Pride,” Jesse answered, turning down the comforter. Randall was about to slide under his own when Jesse spoke again. “You know I got home in time for the repeat of the local news. That’s some fucked-up shit. The car accident?”
Randall tensed, groping for any memory of what he might have said to Jesse. He had sworn to keep his pursuit of Eric secret. That was vital. But their room had become a private comfort zone, with Jesse giving details of his sexual conquests that Randall guessed he didn’t share with anyone else, and which Randall loved hearing because they afforded him a private, intimate glimpse of the guy everyone else on the floor regarded as either an asshole or an enigma, a man he refused to desire. Sometimes he even considered Jesse to be a version of himself, but without the apologies and the secrets.
“Eberman? Isn’t that the guy you have a hard-on for?”
Jesse slid under his comforter and reached for the switch on the gooseneck lamp affixed to his headboard. “Maybe now’s your chance,” Jesse said, before he killed the lamp and rolled over onto one side.
Any hope that he might get the last word was dashed. Randall stood frozen for several seconds. He hadn’t told Jesse anything concrete, but he had confessed his attraction for Eric during those first weeks of school as they traded their evaluations of hot students and sexy professors. But there was a good chance that somewhere amid all the freshman psych that formed Jesse’s worldview, there might be some pretty good intuition.
He heard Jesse’s sheets rustle, and through the shadows on his side of the room, Randall could see Jesse had turned his head to find Randall still staring at him. “Good night, Randall.”
Kathryn emerged from her room to see Randall coming out of his. She saw his eyes widen and then he gave a slight laugh at her outfit. She’d pulled on unlaced duck boots with a pair of sweat pants, and thrown her heaviest Columbia-brand snow jacket on over
Jesse turned back, grinning slightly as if this were little more than locker-room banter. Randall surveyed him, trying to hide his anger and confusion. Why had Jesse picked tonight of all nights to share his pop-psychology insights? “Who says I ever feel dirty?” Randall asked icily.
Jesse arched his eyebrows and returned the orange juice to the fridge. Randall began removing his socks before he noticed that Jesse had wandered almost to the invisible line dividing their sides of the room, leaning one hip against the edge of the desk. Randall looked up, startled, as Jesse crossed his arms over his bare chest, waiting.
“What?”
“Go ahead.”
Randall furrowed his brow.
“You’re not going to, are you?” Jesse finally asked.
Now Randall knew what Jesse was waiting for. The next step of his bedtime routine was to slide beneath the comforter and remove his jeans down to his ankles before dropping them in a ball at the foot of the bed.
“Two months of living together and you still can’t take your pants off in front of me.”
“You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Who was on the phone?”
Jesse was silent.
“Your father?” Randall asked.
Randall found a petty triumph in the color that rose to Jesse’s cheek and the sudden tension in his jaw. “What drug was it this time?” Randall asked.
“Pride,” Jesse answered, turning down the comforter. Randall was about to slide under his own when Jesse spoke again. “You know I got home in time for the repeat of the local news. That’s some fucked-up shit. The car accident?”
Randall tensed, groping for any memory of what he might have said to Jesse. He had sworn to keep his pursuit of Eric secret. That was vital. But their room had become a private comfort zone, with Jesse giving details of his sexual conquests that Randall guessed he didn’t share with anyone else, and which Randall loved hearing because they afforded him a private, intimate glimpse of the guy everyone else on the floor regarded as either an asshole or an enigma, a man he refused to desire. Sometimes he even considered Jesse to be a version of himself, but without the apologies and the secrets.
“Eberman? Isn’t that the guy you have a hard-on for?”
Jesse slid under his comforter and reached for the switch on the gooseneck lamp affixed to his headboard. “Maybe now’s your chance,” Jesse said, before he killed the lamp and rolled over onto one side.
Any hope that he might get the last word was dashed. Randall stood frozen for several seconds. He hadn’t told Jesse anything concrete, but he had confessed his attraction for Eric during those first weeks of school as they traded their evaluations of hot students and sexy professors. But there was a good chance that somewhere amid all the freshman psych that formed Jesse’s worldview, there might be some pretty good intuition.
He heard Jesse’s sheets rustle, and through the shadows on his side of the room, Randall could see Jesse had turned his head to find Randall still staring at him. “Good night, Randall.”
Kathryn emerged from her room to see Randall coming out of his. She saw his eyes widen and then he gave a slight laugh at her outfit. She’d pulled on unlaced duck boots with a pair of sweat pants, and thrown her heaviest Columbia-brand snow jacket on over
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