We’ve been best friends since we were kids. Same neighborhood, same video games, same late-night drives. Now we’re both twenty-two. Sharing an apartment because rent is stupid. Jax sleeps on the couch most nights even though he has a bed—says the couch is more comfortable. Bullshit. I know he likes being close when I come home from work.
Tonight the AC is broken. Apartment is hot and sticky. We’re both shirtless on the couch, playing some dumb game, controllers sticky with sweat. I’m in loose gray shorts. He’s in black basketball ones that hang low on his hips. Every time he moves I see that V of muscle disappearing under the waistband.
He kills me in the game again. Laughs that deep laugh that always hits me low in the gut. “You suck tonight.”
“f**k you,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
He
