“Thank you for the sandwich,” he says.

“You are so welcome,” Jake says, and David doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning.

*

It’s a little crude to say, but David does, in fact, kick Jake’s ass on the tennis court. Jake wasn’t lying about not being good at tennis. It’s not even a competition; he barely breaks a sweat, though Jake’s panting by the end of the set.

“Okay, I know I said I suck at tennis, but I didn’t know I sucked this bad,” Jake says, half-laughing. “Either that or you’re way better than you led me to believe.”

“I just have more practice,” David says. “It’s been a few years, though. I’m a little rusty.”

“This was rusty?” Jake asks. “Yeah, I’m never playing you again. My poor ego.”

“You’ve won other things,” David says quietly.

He regrets saying it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. It’s not like it isn’t true, but it sounds small, petty, out of place on a beautiful day after he’s just trounced Jake and Jake’s accepted the loss with breathless laughter.

“Wanna go to the zoo?” Jake asks after an awkward pause, and David’s grateful to him for changing the subject, despite his total disinterest in the topic.

“Not really,” David says. He doesn’t understand why people go to them in the first place. “Rematch?”

“No way,” Jake says. “Not a chance. You playing me is like the equivalent of Rocket Richard going one on one with a five year old, it’s just cruel.”

David can’t help but laugh.

“Let’s get ice cream,” Jake says. “Or no. Popsicles! No! Freezies!”

“They’re just one hundred percent sugar,” David says, but he doesn’t protest any further when Jake drags him to the nearest convenience store, because while he probably didn’t work off enough calories to deserve an ice cream bar — Jake really wasn’t much of an opponent — it’s hot, his shirt sticking to his spine, and ice cream sounds nice.

“I totally knew you’d be getting that,” Jake says while David opts for a vanilla ice cream bar dipped in chocolate.

“It’s good,” David says, while he tries to decide whether it’s a chirp or not. Probably. He knows people use vanilla as an insult.

“I know,” Jake says, but buys a gigantic freezie instead, a foot long and violently blue, that turns into liquid before he’s done. He tips it back and drinks it, what must be a pure blast of sugar, and laughs when he sees the face David’s making, sticks his tongue out. It’s blue, which is disgusting and ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. David shouldn’t want to kiss him.

“No zoo?” Jake asks.

David shakes his head.

“Come back to mine?” Jake asks.