My Dream Boy

01: Best Friends

But couldn't he be a little more benevolent to my poor gay heart? I mean, those sports shorts of his were showing all kinds of knees and ankles! And the white tank top he used to wear was discarded and left in a corner as soon as he'd entered my room. Yes. You've read that right. Right now, he had. No. Shirt. On. He was half naked on the floor of my bedroom, all sweaty and flustered, leaving very little to the imagination. I was dipped in hell fire. I was going to die before summer was over, I swear to god.

So, you see my point here. It was very hot, and very hard, to pay attention to what he was saying. Couldn't he at least cover something up? Wear a damn jacket, man, a turtle neck or a scarf? For the sake of my happy pants here!

Lucky for me, Matt didn't seem to notice anything, he just laid on the floor, tossing and catching a football, while he complained about what's-her-face and I ravished his body with my eyes.

Matt asked something again and I agreed profusely, not even listening to the question. "What?" he turned his face to me, confused. "You think I should give her another chance, then?"

"Oh. I mean, noooooo." I back-paddled.

He arched an eyebrow and peered suspiciously at me. "You're not listening to a word I'm saying, aren't you?" he deadpanned.

I sunk down on the bed. Damn. He knew me so well.

"Of course I'm listening, Matt!" I lied shamelessly. "I think you are very much right in everything you've said! Indeed you are, sir, totally, for sure."

He stared at me in silence for a moment and then resumed talking and tossing the football into the air. Where the hell did that ball come from anyway? I didn't see him arriving with it, and I sure as hell never had a football in my house. Or had I? Maybe it was an old piece of memorabilia left from the ghastly age when I tried to pretend to my parents that I was straight... I shivered at the memory. I did not miss those days.

Matt was talking about relationship stuff and I sighed quietly to myself, watching his arms bent up and down, up and down, the muscles moving under the sweaty skin, his strong, firm hands grabbing the ball... I should probably start listening to what he was blabbering on there, so I could support him better... yeah, I could support him any time he wants, that's for sure... a vivid image of me supporting Matt in my bed flashed in my head.

Soon it was going to be literally too hard to hide my excitement. I glanced down at the pillow on my lap, wondering if things were beginning to look too obvious, when a football smacked me right in the face. I yelped, startled, glancing at an annoyed looking Matt fuming on the floor.

"Hey, quit spacing out on me while I'm talking here!" he grunted, upset.

"Ouch! That hurt! You're mean." I pouted, rubbing at the side of my face.

"Oh, come on, Tay! You're not going to cry, are you?" he said, half amused, half worried, watching me tear up on the bed.

"I'm not crying, dumbass! The ball hit my nose." I snapped, irritated.

"Sure, sure." he said with an incredulous smirk as he leaned back on his elbows. "What were you spacing out about anyway? You were making a weird face for over a minute there."

"I- I- I was just thinking about... hm... Harry Styles..." I lied, feeling my face heat up with all shades of red.

"Oh, geez, thanks so much for spacing out on a boy band dude when I'm pouring my guts out here!" he said with an indignant glare.

"Aw! Are you jealous? If you want, I can space out thinking about you next time!" I teased, winking at him.

"How about you don't space at all and actually listen to what I'm saying?" he grumbled and looked quickly away so I wouldn't notice the light blush on his cheeks.