“The heart wants what it wants. And in my case, it desperately craves a toxic, masc-for-masc straight-bro who denies me in public, and now also in private,” Benny says. “At least you and Jack are on the same page.”

“Are we?”

Benny’s brows arch, and he barks like Scooby-Doo. “Ruh-roh. Trouble in paradise? Already?”

I shake my head. “I mean, he’s come a long way, and superfast from running away to kissing me in the quad. Granted, he always does a three-sixty to make sure nobody can see before he does, but I get that. It’s like he’s grappling with us and wanting us while trying to battle the internal shit gifted to him by his family and super-secretive best friend, which he never talks about. It’s a lot. And I get it.”

“A tale as old as time,” Benny quips.

“Beyond that, we still haven’t done anything more than handies.”

Benny’s face drops. “Blowies?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

“Shower? A suds-and-tug?”

“We’ve never been, like, fully”—I smoosh my hands together—“yet.”

He hums, clearly surprised. Then his face gets all serious, a look I’ve never seen on him before. “Sex isn’t everything.”

“You okay?”

Shrugging, he says, “Last week I was feeling, I don’t know, kinda sad about Rhett and how I’m cursed to live inside my own head. I came back here and saw you and Jack asleep in your bed.” Benny’s eyes got a little wet. “I wish you could’ve seen the peace on Jack’s face as he held you. It was gross.” He smiles. “I still retch.” His smile twitches and fades. “I wish I had that: a boy who looks at me the way Jack looks at you. I’d trade all the dick in the world for that.” He hops off the bed, walks to my desk, and picks up the frame Jack gave me for my birthday. “This binch writes you poetry and whispers rogue ‘I love yous’ as he makes you cum with those strong hands. You’re living a gay fairy tale. Who cares if he has demons? We all do. We’re gay.”

Benny’s right.

“I know I’m right when you go all quiet like that,” he reads me like a book.

Damn. Two months ago, I never thought I’d meet a guy like Jack, a veritable Prince Charming. Even though it’s not perfect, it’s the only thing I want.

Because I love him.

Which begs the question: Do I tell him?

“You love him, don’t you?” Benny asks, his voice a quiet echo.

“Stop reading me!” I toss my pillow at him.

He clutches it. “This smells like your man, you dirty slut.”

My face heats.