“Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Well, yeah. You’re the creepy guy lurking in the corner. Or the Homo Jock King. Or both. That’s quite the title, by the way. Why do you call yourself that?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh. Why don’t you ask Sandy out?”

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Yes. Answer the question.”

“Fine,” he says. “As long as I get to ask you one first.”

What does Paul say? Oh sweat balls. What has Star Wars taught me? It’s a trap. “Fine,” I say, trying to look as bored as he sounds.

“Why are you leading that cop around by the dick? You a cock tease or something?”

My arms drop to my sides. “I don’t lead him around.”

He laughs. It’s a harsh sound. “Bullshit. I met you two this morning, and even I can see he’s boy-pussy whipped over you.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Friends fuck all the time.”

“I don’t.”

“So you must not be interested, then. If that’s the case, then maybe you want to get out of here. I can show you what fucking truly looks like.”

I make a face. “How romantic.”

“Life isn’t about romance, twinkie.”

“Your brother found it.”

He rolls his eyes. “A fluke. It happens, sure. Maybe they’ll last. Maybe they won’t. Maybe one of them will decide to go fuck someone on the side. We’re the products of our parents, after all. You can trust me on that.”

That hits me hard, but I try not to let him see it. Paul’s words about his father ring in my ears. My mother and his father. Different actions, same response. “Bitter, much?” I ask him. Or myself. I don’t know.

He cracks a fatalistic smile. “More of a realist.”

“Then maybe the realist can explain why he’s too afraid to tell Sandy how he really feels. Underneath all that cynicism, of course.”

“And maybe the nosy little twinkie can tell me why he’s too good for the cop.”

“I’m not too good for him,” I retort. “I’m not good for him.”

“Made that decision all on your own, did you?”

“I….” Well, yes. But when you put it like that, it makes me sound like a sanctimonious prick. Oh shit. God, I hate the Homo Jock King.

“Twinks,” he snorts. “You’re all the same. Good for a fuck because you know how to work a dick, but you think that gives you power and control. But the truth of the matter is, you’re just a scared little boy who doesn’t know shit. Just like all the rest.”

“And what does that make you, then?” I ask, trying to keep my anger in check.

“The one who fucks the little twinks,” he says. “Run along, little twink. Go back to the cop and pretend you don’t know he worships the ground you walk on.”

“I don’t think I like you much,” I say with a frown.

“Yeah? Welcome to the club.”

“But I think you’re just projecting.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”