Auguries of Summer

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

When I woke the next morning, my whole body ached as though I’d gone to bed twenty-seven years old, only to wake up an eighty-year-old man.

I squinted at the light pouring through my curtain-less bedroom window. There was music playing somewhere in the apartment. It was a band Jack loved: VNV Nation. This group played industrial but melodious music Jack enjoyed forcing on me during our many evenings of drinking and talking—or as Jack liked to call those nights, “Aristotle’s hours”.

I climbed off the mattress and dug around for a fresh pair of boxer shorts in the open suitcase which still served as my closet. I slipped my favorite shorts on and walked out of the room, heading for the living room, where I knew I’d find Jack up and dressed, not a hair out of place, drinking his morning organic green tea and probably organizing his books.

I stepped through the living room threshold and smiled to myself.

Ah, I’d been right.

Cup of tea in hand, Jack stood over an open box of books. He was clean shaven, clad in his black Levi’s jeans and a fitted blue T-shirt which showed off his thin, but well-defined arms. The way the sunlight hit the nape of his hair caused me to lose my cool for a second. I had a thing for necks. Kissing them. Holding them.

And Jack had a great neck.

At the sight of me, he made a little moue. “Ugh, when are you gonna burn those?”

He meant my gray boxer shorts. I liked my gray boxer shorts. Granted, they were so worn thin, you could see right through them, but they were loose and gave me plenty of room to move in. “Why are you unpacking your books?” I asked, ignoring his snarky comment about my flimsy undergarments. “I haven’t even put up your bookcases yet.”

Jack sipped his tea and sighed. “Because I’m gonna go all Cincinnatus C. here, just looking at this mess.”

“Who?”

“You know, Nabokov? Invitation to a beheading?” Jack picked up one of his books and flipped it over. “It’s an absurd novel à la Kafka. I think you’d like it, Seb. Anyway, I don’t have the mental capacity to find a place to start here. So please, could you put up the bookcases, hammer stuff and s**t—whatever it takes—and then set up the television and do all the wiring, because I need our internet hooked up, pronto, and while you do all that, I’ll make piles of my books by genre and author.”

“You’ll stay out of my way?”

“f**k yes. I’ll stay in this very room until next Friday if that’s what it takes for you to get it all done.”

“All right.” I walked away, but then came back and poked my head in the doorway. “Only if you keep the beer, coffee, and food coming. And none of that vegan s**t either.”

“I’ll fry you up a whole cow, teats and all. And when this place is organized, I’m gonna turn it into the most incredible apartment in the gay village.” He snapped his fingers like a diva. “I’m talking vintage seventies meets antique Louis XIV the sun king gone all mad in Versailles, with a splash of gay Miami art deco, and of course, a touch of Greco Roman obscene.”

I had no idea what that could look like. To me, decoration meant hanging up a poster in my bedroom and a shower curtain in the bathroom. But I was sure it would look fantastic because Jack was amazing at this stuff. “We have ourselves a deal then.”

“Great.” Jack turned around and started organizing his books again. “Oh, I made some coffee for you.”

I stared at the back of his neck for a few more seconds.

So this was the new us. Officially f**k-friends.

I couldn’t think of anything better than having Jack’s supple body available to me whenever I wanted it without the pressure of being in a romantic relationship.

I stepped away from the doorway. “Thanks,” I called out. “That’s sweet.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered as I was walking to the kitchen. “What are friends for?”

I could have sworn I heard a note of sarcasm in his voice.