Definitely Not Gay (Harringrove)

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Billy

Usually by now, I would be in some abandoned parking lot, fucking a chick. But instead, I'm at school, half naked in a bathroom stall, waiting for Steve to toss my jeans over the wall.

"How do I know you'll give me my pants?" Steve asks.

"You think I want to lug around your nasty jeans, Harrington?"

"I don't trust you."

I kick the wall separating us. "Damn you, Harrington. You're gonna assault me in the shower room, steal my pants, and accuse me of not being trustworthy?"

"Assault? When did I assault you?"

"You're fucking kidding me, right? Don't you remember the shower room? Touching my—"

"I didn't touch shit!"

"Yes, you so did!"

"I was wearing pants. Your pants. And you called me a fag!"

"Words and actions are very different!"

"You woke up in my bed!"

"Yeah! In your bed! In your house! You obviously drove me there. My car was still at Mattson's this morning. Don't pin that one on me."

"Just shut up!" Steve takes several deep breaths. I swear, this kid's got asthma. "Let's toss our jeans to each other at the same time and part ways and never speak again."

"I like that plan." I grab Steve's jeans and get ready.

"3... 2... 1... throw!"

Like a decent human being, I toss his jeans so that they dangle over the stall, half on his side, half on mine. That way, he can grab them from the wall, instead of having to touch the gross floor.

Steve, being a big fat dick, flings my jeans over the wall. They hit the other wall and *Plop* into the toilet.

"...Harrington..." I growl, dangerously.

"Oh, my god! Billy, I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't mean to! I should have thrown them closer to the door so—"

"Fuck you!" I snatch his jeans from the wall where they dangle.

"Wait, Billy, you can't—"

"Shut up." I put on his jeans, grab my soggy ones from the toilet, and jog out of the bathroom, out of the school, and into the parking lot.

I jump into my car and turn the key in the ignition. The engine sputters. "Oh, perfect." I keep trying, turning the key, kicking, and pushing my car. No use.

Steve walks out of the building, still not wearing any pants. He flips me off and climbs in his car.

"Hey, Harrington, wait!" I run to his car and bang my hand on his hood.

He rolls down his window microscopically. "What?"

"My car isn't working."

"Okay? What do you want me to do about it?"

"Can you give me a lift?"

He drops his head on the steering wheel. "Why me?"

"Cause you're the only one still here, dumbass."

"You are officially my least favorite person."

"Likewise. Unlock the door."

"Fine." Harrington reluctantly gives in, unlocking his car. I hop into the passenger seat.

"Can I have my pants back?" he asks.

"No."

"You fucking turd." He climbs onto the console, torso in the backseat, and rummages through a pile of random shit.

His ass is in my face. Holy fuck. I turn towards the window. I can not adequately express how grateful I am that he didn't choose today to go commando.

"What are you doi—"

"Aha!" He proudly holds up a pair of shorts.

He repositions himself back into the driver's seat. With the limited space, he struggles to pull his shorts on. I'm suddenly aware of how bizarre is that I'm watching a man dress himself, so I smack the radio button.

"GAHH!!!" he screams, startled by the sudden noise. He slaps the off button like he's a middle school girl trying to smack a spider with her shoe.

After an uncomfortable bit of silence, he finishes putting on his shorts.

"Fuck are those?"

"My 8th grade gym shorts?"

I gulp. "Harrington, you can see everything. Those don't count as clothes at all."

"Maybe if you stop staring at my junk, you won't have to see anything unpleasant."

"Can you just take me home now?"

"I have errands."

I hit my head against the headrest repeatedly. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"Damn, Hargrove. Be patient. I'm on a time budget. If you want to find another ride—"

"It's fine. Just pray your stupid errands are short for both our sakes."