“I can’t help it. There’s no reason.”
“Are you always this nervous?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Be honest with me, Tom. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
Pause. Stare. Magenta. Pause. Stare. Magenta. I’m lost in my own little world. I find the strength to speak again. “You’re too hot for me.”
He laughs. It’s not an arrogant laugh. It’s more like he’s laughing because he’s embarrassed.
“I’m just Ace Barting, pal. There’s nothing special about me.”
There is, though. His shoulders are special. His smile. The way he now turns and faces me. His stomach is pretty special to me with all those abs and ridges. His nicely designed legs. The way he talks in his masculine tone. Everything about him is special.
He’s not a fag.
He’s not a fag.
He’s not a fag.
I like him; I have always liked him.
