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Down boy, Jack mentally scolded his dick, which had perked up at the sound. His dick ignored him and continued to twitch merrily in his jeans as Harry took another forkful and let out an honest-to-God groan that was frankly far too filthy to be wasted on pasta.
“So, you start your prac next week, yeah?” Jack asked, in a desperate effort to remind himself that Harry was his as-far-as-he-knew-straight roommate, and a preschool teacher, and that Jack’s brain space should not be allocating shared billing to Harry’s lush mouth, filthy moaning, and porn.
Harry grinned brightly. “Yeah. This will be my last one before I graduate.” His enthusiasm was palpable, and only served to make him more attractive.
“How long does it last?” Jack asked.
“Two weeks.” Harry scrunched his nose up. “I’m a bit nervous because I haven’t worked at this school before, but I’m also looking forward to it. Pracs are generally fun, as long as you put in the work and have a lesson plan. The kids treat you like some minor deity or superhero, this mysterious figure who swoops in with fun activities for a fortnight, making you immediately cooler than their regular teacher.”
Jack nodded along. “I can see that. Harry Townsend, dispenser of knowledge, paper plate masks and safety scissors.”
“Except to that one kid who cuts hair,” Harry added, eyes sparkling. “You know the one.”
Jack did his best to look offended, but judging by Harry’s broad grin he wasn’t doing a very convincing job of it, so he stuck out his tongue instead, and if that made Harry laugh, well—he had a nice laugh. Jack was allowed to enjoy Harry’s laugh just as a friend, wasn’t he?
Time flew as they spent the rest of the meal talking and joking, with Harry sharing some of the more bizarre things both he and Ambrose had done in the name of Bad Boyfriending. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard, and he almost managed to forget it wasn’t a date, right until Harry said, almost apologetically, “We’d better get back. I’ve got an assignment I need to work on before tonight’s date with Tracy.”
Right.
Harry only dated for money, and he hadn’t shown any interest in dating Jack.
“More paper plate craft?” Jack asked, in an effort to distract himself from the inexplicable wave of disappointment that had washed over him.
“Excuse me, it’s paper bag monster puppets. There may even be pipe cleaners involved.” Harry grinned. “Wanna help?”
Normal people, Jack reflected, don’t get this excited at an invitation to do preschool crafts. It didn’t stop him from nodding eagerly.
“So,” Harry said later that afternoon, stretching his arms over his head then twisting his shoulders from side to side, “wanna help me choose something to wear for this date?” He unfolded his long limbs and climbed to his feet from where he’d been sitting on the living room floor cross-legged. “It’s good practice for the classroom,” he’d argued when Jack had pointed out that they had a perfectly good table, “and it keeps me limber.”
And hadn’t that been a mental image for Jack to grapple with?
Jack accepted the helping hand Harry offered, doing his best to ignore the way he liked the warm press of skin against his palm far too much, and eased himself to his feet. “You mean you don’t just grab the most hideous thing in your wardrobe?”
Harry gasped. “Rude! I’ll have you know every date has an individually curated look!”
“What does that even mean?”
Harry wrinkled his nose. “What’s clean, mainly. But in this case, I need your opinion. I want only slightly-left-of-normal for this date, and I’m not even sure I know where normal is anymore. Beryl and her bizarre offerings have skewed my sense of fashion.”
“You did seem far too excited by a suit that would send lesser men screaming,” Jack agreed.
Harry flipped a middle finger in Jack’s direction, and Jack flipped one right back. Then Harry led Jack into his room, opening the battered wardrobe that stood in the corner. Looking at its contents, Jack had a moment of Jekyll and Hyde-type dissonance, because while one side of the wardrobe was filled with what Jack presumed were Harry’s prac placement clothes—sensible, tidy polos and shirts and dark, pressed slacks—the other side was a riot of colour and bad fashion decisions. Shirts with flamingos wearing sunglasses fought for space with hot pink skinny jeans and T-shirts with vaguely offensive slogans. Jack wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a pair of leather booty shorts in there.
“Hey,” Harry said, interrupting his examination of the wardrobe’s contents, “hand me that green shirt, will you?”
Jack grabbed the shirt in question and turned to hand it to Harry and his breath caught, because Harry was standing there shirtless. Jack was treated to the sight of a lean torso with just enough muscle definition to make it sexy, dusky nipples and a smattering of dark chest hair, and when he glanced down, the beginnings of a happy trail that Jack kind of wanted to run his fingertips over to see where it led. How was it that Harry was still single again?
He took a deep, steadying breath, fought the urge to lean in and touch, and desperately thought of his mother saying, “Now, Jack. What would Jesus do?” the way she always had when he’d been younger and faced with some temptation or other.
He suspected that, in this case, Jesus wouldn’t judge him too hard, by virtue of Jack being only human and Harry being far hotter than Jack was prepared for.
“Jack?” Harry’s hand was still extended, waiting, and Jack realised he’d been clutching the shirt to his chest and staring. He shoved the shirt at Harry without a word.
Harry pulled it over his head. It was at least a size too small and stopped two inches short of his jeans, leaving a bare strip of belly skin. Somehow, that was more alluring than his full torso being on show. It was ridiculous, but Jack couldn’t drag his gaze away.
“It’s uh. A bit small.”
Harry glanced down at himself, and his cheeks pinked, as if he’d just become aware of the way he was on display. He tugged at the hem of the shirt, but it remained stubbornly in crop-top territory, and he wrinkled his nose. “If I was Tris, maybe I’d get away with it. But this place has a jacket policy, so maybe not.”
