Page 65 of His Choice

I shook my head. “Not really. I mean, if Cliff has a hairy ass, I’ll be okay with it. It isn’t my preference. But I guess if I like someone enough, what might otherwise be something I’d say isn’t my thing becomes okay—maybe even attractive.”

“I guess that’s true. But seeing as Daryl is also Satan’s spawn, it’s moot. Besides, as I said, his ass has no shape. It was like looking at two barely sloping, grassy hills and a river up the middle, all soot-covered and ugly after a devastating forest fire.”

I laughed, then coughed several times after choking from intaking air down the wrong passageway. “You’re brutal,” I managed. “I’d hate to see how you describe me behind my back.”

Aaron jerked his head. “I don’t. I just say bad stuff to your face.”

“Hmm.”

“You can always trust me to be honest with you, Mikey,” he said. “But with anyone else, I either sing your praises or say nothing at all. I would never speak to someone disrespectfully about you.”

I believed him. Aaron had always proven to be a loyal friend.

“Now I feel like a louse. I might have complained sometimes to people about your bad habits,” I confessed. “But if it’s any consolation, I always caveat my comments with a statement that I love you all the same.”

“How gracious of you,” he replied. “It doesn’t matter. Anyone who’s met us knows I’m the one who is forced to put up with shit.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You? What do I do that requires tolerance?”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Let’s see… You’re antisocial, argumentative, pessimistic, insecure…”

“Okay, stop,” I commanded. It didn’t take but a moment to realize he wasn’t wrong. “You win.”

“But I love you all the same,” he said, repeating my earlier sentiment. In that context, I wondered if it was sarcasm.

I picked at my T-shirt. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I’ll try to be…better.”

He grabbed my fidgeting hand. “Nothing to be sorry about. The truth is, I don’t tolerate you. I like you just fine the way you are.”

We were silent for a few moments, and I was surprised he still held my hand.

“You’re very cool, you know. Most straight guys would never cuddle with their buddy, or touch me the way you’re doing.”

“I know. Give me points for being your therapy blanket,” he said. “I’ll bet you don’t tell everyone about that.”

“No,” I admitted. It was mostly that I didn’t want people to make inaccurate assumptions about Aaron’s sexual orientation when he was just trying to be nice to me.

“Yeah, ’cause then you’d be admitting I’m a great guy.”

I chuckled. “You are. I admit that all the time.”

He stayed quiet for so long, I wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally, he shifted. “Are you going to be very sad if Cliff chooses Brighton instead of you?”

I thought about that. Part of me thought I would be. But I believed Cliff when he had said he and I could be friends regardless, and that gave me comfort. Plus, if I really was Cliff’s runner-up choice, it was a much better showing than I had ever expected.

“I guess I feel a little better about myself that I wasn’t ignored like I thought I’d be when I started this thing,” I admitted.

“I knew you wouldn’t be. You’re so much cuter than you give yourself credit for. I’ll still be surprised if Cliff doesn’t choose you. But I’m glad you’ll be able to accept it if he doesn’t.” He sniggered. “I’d need to hide in embarrassment if you threw a hissy fit during the finale.”

I scowled. “When have I ever thrown a hissy fit?”

Aaron rolled onto his back. “That time you assembled an IKEA cabinet, and it fell apart an hour later.”

“That was justified! I had spent hours on it…”

“This would be worse,” he cut in. “I don’t want to watch you crawl into a ball, wail, and pound your fists on the floor if Brighton is named the winner.”

“I’m going to pound my fists into your face, if you don’t shut up,” I warned, though he knew my threats were nonsense.