“Nope.”
“At least we tested it before the full marketing campaign.”
“Happy to be part of your investment experiment,” I say.
Jason inches a little closer. We’re not touching, but the air between us feels warmer.
My arms brush against Jason accidentally, and I brace myself for him to flinch, like he did before.
Instead, he sighs into me. “You’re cold.”
“It’s not that bad,” I lie.
He snorts. “I’m cold too.”
We lie still together.
He squirms on the sand. “If you want...”
“What?”
“I mean, we could lie closer together.”
I’m silent.
“We don’t have to,” he rushes to say. “Just if you think it would help. I mean, it probably would help. Body heat is a thing. Like for babies in incubators, or, uh, soldiers. I’m pretty sure they do that if it’s cold. Not that you’re a baby in an incubator or a soldier, of course.”
The night is dark, but I bet his cheeks would be bright red if I could see them, and I smile.
“I didn’t think you’d mistaken me for either of those things.”
It’s absurd to talk about lying closer to me, when he’s practically in my arms already. The only way for him to be closer would be... I inhale. Well, the only way for him to be closer would be if he were actually lying in my arms.
Which...
“We can lie closer,” I say.
“For warmth.”
“Yes, Larvik.”
He doesn’t move.
Well, I’m not going to.
“What would your roommate think?” his voice wobbles.
“Jeremy?”
Jason stiffens, and a thought occurs to me. A thought that I dismiss as soon as I have it. Because Jason certainly can’t be jealous, can he?
But the air between us feels different, and I remember all those comments on message boards about Jason and that terrible article.
“Jeremy isn’t that kind of a roommate. We’re friends, that’s all. He wouldn’t care.”
“Oh,” Jason breathes.
Then in the next moment, Jason burrows into my chest. Butterflies burst through my body immediately, fluttering like they think they’re in a musical number in a Disney movie, and I silently beg my heart to steady itself, lest Jason think he’s causing it to race or something.
