Solving For X (BoyxBoy) [✓]

7. The Distance Between Two Hearts (In kilometers)

I shook my head. “No, it’s Price Bigg for ‘don’t be expecting something fancy’.”

J chuckled. I could feel him smiling. “I’m not asking for a lot.” He paused for a beat. “I’d settle for a lap dance.”

My eyes brows lifted. “Then I’d better start taking lessons.”

We both laughed this time. I didn’t even notice that my boner was gone.

J grabbed my fingers, and started playing with them. It was something he did, usually randomly when we were having one of our talks. It had become so second nature, that I don’t know why I noticed it this time, particularly.

“What are we going to do about Tina?” he asked.

“We’re not doing anything, until we gather enough evidence to indict her.”

Jeremy snorted. “This is America, Peanut Butter. We shoot first and ask questions later.” He paused. He was thinking. I’ve known Jeremy long enough to know that when he was silently thinking, he was going to get us both into a lot trouble. “What if we follow her after school on Monday?”

“That’s going to have horrible results,” I said, trying to reason with the tiny, microscopic part of Jeremy’s brain that configures rational thought. No dice.

“But I owe it to him to do it,” he mumbled. His hair was tickling my face. “As a bro, I must. Rule 87 in The Bro Handbook.” He cleared his throat and I knew what was coming next. “Rule 87, paragraph 4, line 6 reads that In the event that a bro catches his bro’s girl cheating, he must collect the relevant evidence and present to his bro.”

I don't think he realized that contradicted what he was saying.

“The fact that you can recite that spiel from memory is frightening, considering the fact that you can’t remember who wrote the Declaration of Independence.”

“My brain only retains the important stuff,” he chuckled, huffing and lifted his head up. I frowned. “You want me to ask Max to get a Pizza or whatever?”

I didn’t look at him, but I answered. “Isn’t it a bit late?”

“It’s never too late,” he responded, and I could hear the laughter in his voice, even though he was practically yawning when he said it. That kind of scared me.

“Sure,” I said. “Peperoni?”

He got up and stretched, running a hand to mess up his already messy hair. “You know it, PB.” He smiled. “Be right back.”

 He left and I let out a breath that I didn’t even realize that I was holding. My chest burned and my heart was beating way out of time. My hands were shaking. My face was probably red by how much it burned.

How oblivious his Jeremy?

All of these signs that when he’s next to me and he still hasn’t figured anything out? That’s just crazy. That’s just moronic. Maybe I have a new equation for him. I should write one up when I get home.

One that explains Jeremy’s obviousness and, maybe one that explains my stupidity. Because if there is anyone stupider than Jeremy in this instance, it’s me.

He’s straight. I’m gay. He’s straight. I’m gay. He’s straight. I’m gay.

What the fuck is so difficult to understand about that? Why doesn’t my brain get that? Or other parts of my anatomy, for that matter.

Why do I see his smile whenever I close my fucking eyes? And…and, tell me why the hell do I have to hear his stupid, cute laughing whenever I’m in my room alone? And can GOD HIMSELF get off his throne and explain to me why my knees become cooked noodles whenever he touches me?