Page 19 of Jealous Guy

I’d like to say it was nice to see Andy too, but I can’t make the leap.

Jordan stops walking and glares at me. “Seriously, O. Riley and West? You’re dropping me for those guys? How could you do that to me? It’s bad enough being kicked to the curb for one of them, but both of them. How fucking dare you, bruh? After everything we’ve been through together.”

I butt my shoulder into his, fighting a smile, and he butts his into mine.

It’s not an important interaction. It’s not particularly noteworthy, or even worth mentioning. It’s that for me, even the slightest, most innocent touch from Jordan is electric. It sinks into my bones and rushes down my arm, leaving my fingers tingling.

For Jordan, it’s nothing. Unmemorable and completely forgotten as soon as it’s happened. A nonevent. Something he won’t remember tomorrow, even if he hadn’t been drinking tonight. To me, it feels special. To me, it feels like possibility. Like the start of something breathless and shaky. Like the ground-quaking seconds before a first kiss. A first touch. A shared look. A shared connection that’s about to lead to something life-changing.

It isn’t, obviously. That’s my personal bullshit and all the booze talking. That’s all it is. I know that, but tonight I can’t seem to make myself care.

“D’you know that West is super good at math?” I’m baiting him because I’m weak, and stupid, and sometimes I like playing fast and loose with my heart. “Apparently, he’s some kind of genius or something.”

“He’s not a genius, Orion.” Jordan’s top lip pulls back with aversion. “He’s gifted, that’s all.”

I narrow one eye dubiously. “I’m pretty sure being gifted and being a genius is the same thing, bud.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Is too.”

He huffs a long sigh, and I notice his eyelids are a little more droopy than usual. I’m not the only one who’s a little blasted tonight. He’s messed up too. Sadly for me, I love drunk Jordan. He’s like sober Jordan on steroids. More exuberant and affectionate than usual, without any of the negative side effects like aggression or belligerence that lots of inebriated guys suffer from.

“What do you need a friend who’s a genius for anyway?” he demands.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought it might be nice. He could help me with my taxes and investments one day. You know, that kind of thing.”

Jordan abruptly stops walking. “I’m studying finance, asshole. If anyone’s going to help you with your taxes or investments one day, it’s going to be me.”

“Yeah, but no offense, you’re an average student at best. If I’m going to be investing my hard-earned cash, I’d rather—”

His mouth drops open to form a perfect circle. “You’re trying to hurt me, O. And you’re getting it right. You’re crushing my spirits, and you don’t even care.”

His expression is one of exaggerated despair. His eyes track slower than usual, and his lips remain ajar even after he’s finished speaking.

“I’m not crushing your spirits, dipshit,” I say as we start walking again. “If I were, you’d know all about it. Besides, are you really saying I can’t have other friends? Are you sure you want to be that guy?”

“Of course you can have other friends, Orion. I’m not saying you can’t. You just have to like me more than them. All I’m saying is that you can’t be too good friends with them.”

“Too good friends with them?” I reply. “Your grammar’s fucked, bud, and so is your thinking. This is abuse. It’s literally the first step in an abusive relationship.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t act like you don’t. I’m not being unreasonable. You have to like me more than anyone else, that’s all.”

I shake my head at him in disgust, even though my heart is having a party in my chest.

“You know, Orion.” He sighs long and dreamily, chuckling for no reason. “If you were a girl, I’d totally date you.”

Relax. This is nothing to get excited about. He says shit like this all the time. He thinks it’s funny. He doesn’t mean anything by it.

I glare at him and click my tongue. “No, you fucking would not.”

“I would,” he insists. “I one hundred percent would.”

Against my better judgment, I decide to play along. “Oh yeah. How come?”

“’Cause”—he holds his thumb and forefinger close together, head bobbing a little unsteadily—“you’re a little bit mean…and I’m into that.”

I huff in mock disgust. “A little bit mean? A little mean? I’m not a little mean, asshole. I’m a lot mean.”