I’d heard of the phrase butterflies in your stomach, but I’d never thought much about it before. As I stood in the shower, I suddenly understood all too well what it meant. The warm water fell on me, filling the bathroom with steam. I sighed in contentment and inhaled the fresh scent of peppermint soap. The butterflies were even worse when I thought of London sauntering around the apartment in only his boxers. And how muscled his abdominal muscles were. And the way he smirked and narrowed his eyes when he was thinking something mischievous. I was inexperienced in relationships, but I knew enough. I was absolutely besotted.

And foolish. I’d applied to the University of Southern Mississippi. If I was accepted, I would have to move. If I wanted to pursue a relationship with anyone, that person would have to move too. But London might not mind.

I sighed. This hadn’t been in the plan. Damn London for making me…

Want to have sex. And taking care of me when I was sick, making me all flustered. It was a good thing I’d just had a blow job, or I probably would’ve been hard again. I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a towel.

Quietly, I opened the bathroom door and glanced into the living room. London sat on the sofa, his camera before him. “And this one is a real doozy, friends. Have you ever wanted to see a man wearing a giant, fucking horse head get it on with Catherine the Great? No. No, you haven’t. And if you have, you are really fucked up.”

I stifled a laugh. I’d heard of the legend that Catherine the Great had died when trying to have intercourse with a horse. It’d been one of countless attempts to smear her name. She’d been a woman in power during a time when women weren’t in power, and that came with a heavy price. Dr. Benson had written an amazing paper on it. At least, the parts I understood were amazing. Dr. Benson talked way over my head sometimes.

“And, of course,” London continued, “this isn’t just any horse head. It’s a horse head costume so poorly constructed that even your local Halloween store would be embarrassed to carry it. Its teeth kind of resemble a donkey’s, which isn’t surprising. They probably just used the costume from a local high school’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

I smiled before turning back to my bedroom to get dressed, although a small part of me considered walking back and forth right behind him just to see how long it took him to notice. It’d serve him right for always walking around in his boxers. He was such a jerk.

No, not a jerk. That wasn’t fair.

I pulled on my pajamas. Marshmallow sauntered in and patted my calf. I petted her soft, fluffy fur. “I think I have a crush on your master,” I whispered, lifting the cat into my arms. “How do you feel about that, hmm?”

Marshmallow purred and rubbed her head against my chin. I smiled and carried her out into the living room, where London was making some very dynamic motions with his hands. “And of course, we have to have some sort of awkward corset scene!” London declared. “Because you really needed to see Catherine the Great torture one of her ladies-in-waiting with a corset!”

“Sounds more like Bathory to me,” I said.

London paused and look over his shoulder at me. “Do you want to do the video, Chance?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t have the face for it.”

“I disagree,” London said, before turning back to his camera. “That’s my smart-ass roommate. Hey, Chance, if you want to say something clever, I can piece you in.”

“No, I just like messing with you,” I replied, releasing Marshmallow.

The cat sauntered over to London and curled up on his lap. “Hello, baby,” he said.

“So Catherine the Great, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah. Want to watch?”

“Not if it involves the woman who brought Russia into a golden age screwing a horse,” I said.

“It’s not an actual horse. Like, it’s literally in-story some guy wearing a fake horse head. Apparently, Catherine the Great is turned on by people wearing costumes? I wasn’t joking about the A Midsummer Night’s Dream joke. It’s pretty hideous.”

“Wow. Much Ado about Nothing and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You do know your Shakespeare.”

“What can I say? I’m just a very cultured man.”

I plopped onto the sofa beside him and ran my fingers through my damp hair, trying to fix it in the camera lens. Then I shifted so I wasn’t actually in the screen. London cast a quizzical glance towards me.

“I’m not allowed to sit on our sofa?” I asked.

“No, you are. You’ve just never sat there during one of my videos.”

“I wanted a change of pace,” I replied.

London still looked confused, but he let the matter drop. I leaned back against the sofa and he resumed shouting at his camera, occasionally glancing at his notes. I’d always retreated to my room when he did this, but it was fun to watch.

His face lit up between jokes, and his grin never faded. London really enjoyed this. He actually liked watching bad porn and making fun of it. Well, there were certainly worse hobbies to have.

After about twenty minutes of jokes and intermittent muttering, London reached over and patted my hair. “Good job tonight,” he said.

“You’re patting me for taking a spanking?” I asked. “What? Am I your dog now?”

“Ugh, no. I’m not a dog person. How have you not figured that out?” London asked, indicating towards Marshmallow.

“Right. I apologize.”

London smirked. “I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life. I got you to apologize. But no, not a dog. Maybe a cat, although I think you’d make a terrible pet. So disobedient.”

“You only say that because you’re jealous of my superior wit.”

“And your blue hair,” London said longingly. “I just don’t think mine would look as good as yours somehow. That, and I’m so pale, I’d probably look like a corpse with super dark hair like that.”

“You could be an extra for The Walking Dead.”

“And hide this beautiful face? Are you blind?”

No, definitely not.

I poked London’s stomach. “Do you own any shirts that aren’t painted on?” I asked.

“Nope! Does it bother you?”

Not in the slightest.

“I bet your viewers love that,” I said.

“I may or may not have been voted ‘the hottest’ in a couple of online contests,” London replied. “But you know…you aren’t bad-looking yourself. I wasn’t joking when I asked if you wanted to help. You could come in every now and then as a guest reviewer. We could play our jokes off one another. You have a sense of humor that works well with mine.”

“But that would mean I’d have to watch the bad porn with you,” I said, “and I’m just not sure that would be worth it.”

I reached past him and pulled my laptop off the side table.

“What’re you doing?” London asked.

“I’m working on my thesis. Something came to me, and I think I know exactly what the paper needs.”

“And this came to you in the shower, huh?”

No, it came to me when we had sex, and the world seemed to stop. We’d just looked at one another, and everything in the world had aligned.

“Yeah,” I lied. “I get all my best ideas in the shower. It’s because I’m an alien. I absorb the ideas from the water.”

“That explains so much about you,” London replied without missing a beat.

So quick-witted. And intelligent. And beautiful. Even as I signed into my computer, I thought of London’s fingers on my chest and his blue eyes boring into mine and God, what was I going to do about this? When I’d resolved to be outgoing, it’d never occurred to me that I might end up liking people.

* * *

During the following weeks, I took more than my share of cold showers. Two months with London as my roommate, and I couldn’t stop fantasizing about him. When he walked by, I thought of how warm I’d been when he spanked me and how he’d made my skin sting and my thighs shake. When he walked by in his boxers, I imagined running my hands over his well-muscled abdominals and raking my nails down his back. I was in deep.

Of course, fantasies were one thing. A mere crush would’ve been easily dismissed. But it wasn’t just fantasies. It was that I looked forward to going to the apartment at the end of each day and seeing him. I’d even considered inviting him to the university. Not that there would be much for him to do—I just wanted him around, and that was new and terrifying.

I’d played the conversation where I asked him to move to Mississippi with me in my head over and over. I hadn’t asked aloud because he’d brought over Mariel again. And then, Jessica. And Mark. He fucked a lot, and maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad if it were only me he was fucking.

This wasn’t what I wanted to think about as I knocked on Dr. Benson’s office door.

“Come in!” she called.

I opened the door and plopped into my usual seat. The massive stacks of papers had returned. “Plagiarism cases?” I asked.

“A few,” she replied. “Plus a journal article. It was supposed to be fun, but it’s turned into a nightmare.”

“Oh? More difficult than you’d anticipated?”

She shook her head. “It’s a rights issue. You’d think fair use for critique would be very cut-and-dry, but it isn’t, alas. How is your semester going?”

“I think I’ll make it through now that I’m over the midterms slump.”

“And because you’ve finally finished writing your thesis?” she asked slyly.

“Really?”

I’d known she’d like the most recent additions. As much as I worried about pleasing Dr. Benson, she’d been my professor long enough for me to have developed a sense of when I’d done something that would make her happy.

Dr. Benson smiled. “Mostly,” she replied, shuffling through the papers. “I do have a few grammatical mistakes—a comma here or there—that I need you to fix, but, overall, it’s fine.”

“It should be. I’ve been working on it for months,” I said. “I guess I just needed to think about it some more. I didn’t really understand the emotional connection involved. I was thinking too much in terms of the actual sex rather than the emotions that would accompany it, but now I get it.”

“I’m glad.”

I took the paper from her and fidgeted. “Now it’s just a matter of sorting out my personal life,” I said.

“Oh? Are you worried about Southern Miss? Have they gotten in touch with you yet?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But I…I don’t want you to laugh at me, but I’m trying to figure something out. I could use some adult advice. Well, I mean, I am an adult, but…”

“Advice from an adult who’s older than Merlin?” she asked wryly.

“If you’re that old, you look really good for your age.”

“Mm. There’s that millennial snark.”

“I’m dealing with a relationship sort of thing.”

“Exciting,” Dr. Benson said. “I wouldn’t know, of course. It’s just my four cats and me.”

I knew her well enough to realize she was only joking.

“I’m interested in a guy,” I said, “and I’ve never been interested in a guy before.”

“So you’ve learned you’re…gay?”

“No, I already knew that,” I replied. “No, it’s more that I like this guy, but I don’t know if he likes me. And I think I’m going to be moving to Hattiesburg. If I get into the program, that is.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Dr. Benson asked. “Your grades and GRE scores are good. I’m sure you wrote an excellent cover letter. Plus, the teaching experience doesn’t hurt.”

“Right. Well, I guess that’s all true. I just worry regardless, but I’m trying to decide how to approach this guy. If I wanted to start a relationship with him, I’d have to ask him to move with me. How do I go about doing that?”

“Well, I don’t see that it’s all that hard,” Dr. Benson said. “Just ask.”

“I know, but isn’t it kind of unfair to ask someone to move for me?”

Dr. Benson pursed her lips. “No, I don’t think so. Relationships in general are partnerships. There’s always some give and take involved, and it’s so easy to lose things. To lose touch with people. If you like him, go for it. Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll have the experience.”

“And you’re all about the experience.”

Dr. Benson shrugged. “What can I say? You can learn as much from a failed relationship as a successful one. I don’t see any reason why you wouldn’t try, at least. Besides, I’ve known you long enough to realize that—if you don’t go for it—you’ll agonize over it as much as you would’ve if you had gone for it.”

“So you think I should make the first move,” I said.

Dr. Benson raised a finely arched eyebrow. “I said you should go for it. I didn’t say anything about the first move. If your guy here isn’t getting a move on, though, why shouldn’t you?”

“Good point, Professor.”

“Always happy to dispense old people’s wisdom,” Dr. Benson said sagely.

I smirked and slipped out of the chair. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see you around.”

She nodded. “Good luck, Chance.”

As I left her office, I glanced down the empty hall. The first move. I, Chance Walker, was going to make the first move. The resolution made me shiver in excitement.

I pulled out my phone and flipped through my contacts. I landed on Taylor’s. Hey, Tay. I do think I’ll go to La Mancha with everyone.

My phone beeped. Great! :D

I put the phone back in my pants pocket. I was going to do it. I was going to ask London Bridges to move to Mississippi with me. But first, I had to admit that I liked him.