Heteroflexible

When I’m on the curb at fifteen past five, I realize it’ll be a while before my pa arrives to scoop me up. I take his instruction and start heading down the street toward Biggie’s, letting the evening sunlight wash over my head. Halfway down the first block, I pop off my suspenders, letting them hang down my sides, and roll up my sleeves past my elbows. The bowtie is pretty much permanently fixed to my neck until I can find a mirror, which I plan to do once I get to Biggie’s.

Then I realize I never turned my phone back on. I stop on the corner of Main Street and 2nd to pull it out of my pocket, then click it on. At once, I’m flooded with twenty texts from Jimmy, who is wondering what I’m up to, wondering why I’m not answering him, remembering my job and asking how my first day is going, asking when my lunch break is, asking why I’m not answering again, then finally sending a bunch of pics of himself around the Strong ranch: three selfies with some cows, another of him lazing by the pool pretending to be dead, and finally one with his brother where they appear to be chilling on his back patio with a plate of nachos.

I stare at one of his selfies, watching him look back into my eyes through the screen of my phone. I stare into those eyes for far too long, the evening sun beating down on my neck.

And I wonder what the hell is going on in that boy’s mind.

Did he seriously kiss me? Did that actually happen?

Did he enjoy it? Did his dick jump at all, or was it all just some selfless, friendly act like he claims?

Why do I find that so difficult to believe?

And seriously, how the fuck can Jimmy act like nothing at all is different between us?

The whole world is different now. Maybe it means less to him, to put his lips on me and kiss me.

He doesn’t realize at all the storm gates of repressed emotion, longing, and painful desperation he’s opened with that seemingly innocent kiss—and the night that followed of long, warm cuddling in his arms. He fell asleep with his face against mine, snoring into my ear, his arm resting over my stomach and his other tucked beneath my pillow, hugging me against his body, trapping me.

I couldn’t go to sleep for the longest time. I just stayed there with this semi-boner in my underwear—a boner that both wanted to be pleasured as much as it wanted to pee, because for the love of God I had to pee so damned bad, but I wasn’t about to destroy the Heaven we made on that bed just to relieve myself.

I could have just closed my eyes and pretended that Jimmy Strong was my boyfriend. I would have believed it. Not a muscle in my body would have told me otherwise—not with that boy’s arms around me.

He more or less said he’d be mine.

For the night, at least.

Then came the morning. I don’t even know how or when I fell asleep, but I must have, because I woke to the sight of Jimmy in his underwear doing some sexy elbow-popping dance moves in the body-length mirror that hung on the back of the closet door. He was turned away, so he didn’t see me, but I sure saw him.

And I watched him.

When Jimmy Strong dances, phew, you can’t do a damned thing but watch his beautiful body move.

The evening sun still burns my back as I shut my eyes, overwhelmed with so many confusing emotions I have yet to take a proper moment to sort. Who could I even talk to about this? Who could I trust? Who, except for Jimmy himself, and will I even be able to get the truth out of him?

Is there some part of my best friend that truly has feelings for me? And not just in the frustratingly straight-boy platonic sort of way?

I decide to march the rest of the way to Biggie’s before taking the effort to respond to any of his texts. I need to get out of this heat, first and foremost. Being Sunday evening, Biggie’s Bites is slammed with customers when I arrive, so I just take a seat in the small waiting area by the door out of the way of the madness, pull out my phone, and think up something to text Jimmy.

I draw a total blank.

Do I go on as blithely as he is, pretending we’re all cool and nothing’s changed?

Suddenly my phone buzzes in my hand.

Of course, it’s a text from Jimmy.

JIMMY

Are U off work yet? I’m at your house.

I sigh. That boy, I swear. After glancing behind me when a table of teenagers bursts into laughter, I type out a response: