8. Bargaining

It was a whole week until Jimmy had enough time to even think about re-visiting the 'date' scenario with Pete, as classes had an irritating habit of getting in the way of his love life. While frustrating, he consoled himself with the affirmation that Pete had apparently felt enough of whatever it was he needed to feel to carry on with the experiment in the first place. So that was something.

All through the week he'd been nothing but friendly, not even pushing it far enough to flirt. Partly because there had to be something that set dates apart from everything else, but also because he kept bottling it at the last minute. Someone would walk by or Pete would say the wrong thing and the moment would pass. In truth, he was also concerned with overdoing it and putting him off, because this wasn't something he felt like he was going to get second chances at.

"So," he opened the subject in the last lessons of Friday day. "What're we doing this weekend?"

"We?" Pete echoed. "Are we doing something?"

"Well I thought," Jimmy indicated, voice low so they could talk without notice at the back of the classroom. "Last week wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Oh, no," Pete replied. "I just... you didn't say anything."

"I'm saying something now," he pointed out. "This is me saying it, Pete."

"Oh... yeah," he murmured lamely. "Yeah. Okay."

"So...?" Jimmy prompted.

"Uh?" Pete responded. They were going round in circles.

"Are we doing something?!" he hissed, and Dr. Slawter shushed them from the front of the room.

"Sure," Pete answered at last, barely above a whisper. "If you wanna."

"That's kinda a dumb question," Jimmy pointed out. He didn't harbour massive inconvenient crushes and then not want to spend any time with said clueless object of his affections.

"What?" Pete spat. "It's-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kowalski, is my lesson disruptive to you?" Dr. Slawter inquired from the front desk obnoxiously. Pete bit his lip, scowled at Jimmy and pulled himself upright, rather than hunched over trying to be obscured behind Troy.

"No, sir," Pete answered dutifully, eyeing Jimmy like it was his fault. If he'd just answered the question at the beginning instead of playing silly buggers then he wouldn't have still been going on now. "We'll talk about this later," he whispered to Jimmy, settling back into his work as Jimmy sighed.

Even when Saturday arrived they hadn't actually worked out a damn thing. Mostly because Pete had said he had homework and then spent the rest of the night sitting in Crabblesnitch's office doing whatever menial stuff Head Boys had been meant to do for generations and hadn't. Where Pete found out what all these duties were was a surprise even to the Headmaster apparently.

That was why Jimmy resorted to going Saturday morning to Pete's room and waking up the ever-miserable Constantinos with his knocking.

"Just typical," the grumpy bastard moaned as Jimmy opened the door, turning over in bed and putting a pillow over his head. Pete was already up, sitting almost entirely inside his window frame reading a book. Ostensibly Jimmy knew that he was sitting there because it was light and he was trying not to wake Constantinos because he wasn't an inconveniencing ass like most of the people in this school. In fact, in the Bullies' room you were lucky to wake up without someone screaming in your ear or covering you in itching powder. Come to think of it, that was probably why Trent liked 'sleepovers' so much, except then Jimmy was the one getting woken up with pranks.

So, practically speaking, Jimmy knew why Pete was sitting in his open window-frame like a cat getting early sunshine, but that didn't at all change exactly how striking it was. Head tilted forward into the pages, the back of his neck picked up a stripe of sunshine and shadow. His knees were aired in shorts, bare feet crossed over one another as he rested the book against his legs, expression raw for the moment Jimmy was watching before he looked up.

"Hey Jimmy," he chimed, and Jimmy had thought he was past the part where his heart crawled up into the middle of his throat and sat there pumping like a fucking maniac. Apparently not.

"Uh," he grunted in an alarmingly hoarse, strangled fashion. He coughed, shook his head and reminded himself not to be so stupid. "Hey," he struggled. "You ready?"

"Sure," Pete answered, flipping the book closed and swivelling off the ledge, leaving the tome on his desk as he slipped on a set of beat-up leather sandals. The weather was still trying to kill them all, Jimmy unable to bear anything more than board shorts and a vest. He'd have gone totally shirtless if he didn't think it might weird Pete out. Then again, before he'd have ripped it off without a second thought and no weird feelings would've been had by anyone. He'd see how the day played out on that front.

Constantinos was groaning dramatically into his pillow as Pete strolled past, who was smiling in Jimmy's direction like hell, maybe things were gonna work out all right.

"So, what're we gonna do?" Pete asked as they paced side-by-side down the hall, not so many people up at this time. He and Pete both rose earlier than the usual fare, which was probably one reason they'd ended up hanging out so much, giving Jimmy the ridiculous crush in the first place.

"Dunno," Jimmy replied easily.

"Well, I mean, is it gonna be... you know," Pete said awkwardly, looking around and waiting until they were out the doors to resume. "Just... friends... or."

"It's whatever you want," he stated without nerves. Call him Mr. Cool. "First of all, we gotta find something to do." They had a whole weekend to kill.

"They're having a big bike race in the Vale again," Pete suggested, and Jimmy was pulled all the way back to the first trophy he'd won. Hadn't Pete been there cheering him on? He couldn't remember, not with the shit that happened afterwards.

"Why not?" he declared boldly. "Bike race it is." They went for the garages, then to the Vale at a leisurely pace – Jimmy didn't want to burn up all his energy before they were at the starting line.

They were a little early in the end, but the beach was busy enough with people sunbathing and swimming. Why they held a bike race on a half-sand track was beyond Jimmy, it was a bastard to cycle on. Or maybe that was the idea.

They dumped the bikes and picked a stretch of sand. Jimmy could feel his shoulders sizzling, but he didn't have any suncream, and also didn't fancy trying to broach asking Pete to do his back for him just yet. He'd save that one for a better time.

"Aren't you gonna burn?" Pete asked entirely too adeptly. Just because he had concern and cared about people and stuff.

"Eh," Jimmy said with a shrug. "Can't be helped."

"You don't have any-"

"Nope," he interrupted. "It's fine. Burn now an' I'll get used to it later." He'd freckle up and maybe even a shade of colour in time, but the lobstering stage was inevitable. He was sweating something awful though. At this rate he'd be out for the count by the time the race even started.

"D'y want my shirt?" Pete offered like a lightning strike out of sheer blue skies, and Jimmy might've believed he already had heatstroke.

"What?" he retorted.

"You can use it for some shade," he elaborated.

"No, Pete, I can't-" he started.

"It's fine," he interrupted, and then before Jimmy could decide if this was reality or a heat-induced fantasy sequence, Pete had the back of his t-shirt in hand and slipped out of it like he was shedding. He then actually threw the shirt across at Jimmy, catching him half-across the face. "You can't win the big race if you fry now," he rationalised, and Jimmy was still in the process of staring open-mouthed and wondering what, why and since when did Pete just go ripping off his clothes and throwing them at people.

That said, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen Pete in much less, given the swimming incident, and they were on the beach where half the town were out in swimsuits. Maybe Pete did want to work on his tan... and maybe Jimmy should avoid staring at his torso and arms and stomach and thinking about that sorta stuff. Except they'd gone to the pool before things like dates and there being some kinda shot at things happening, so it was easier not to be a letch.

However, he did drape the shirt over his head and shoulders, grateful to get the sun off, and also for the fact that it smelled like him and he could get away with being creepy like that without anyone noticing.

"Thanks," Jimmy offered lamely while Pete tested the sand behind him, then lay back with hands tucked behind his head. Jimmy reminded himself that he needed to breathe in and out and swallow before he choked on his own spit. Preferably not at the same time. "Workin' on that tan, then?" he added after a little pause in which he re-taught himself to think normal thoughts.

"Eeh," Pete murmured. "Might as well. My mom loves to fuss if I'm too pale by the time I go home."

"Why?" he scoffed. He didn't recall his mom ever once paying attention to something like that.

"Because she thinks it means I'm spending too much time indoors," he answered amenably. "You know, the whole 'get outside and exercise' thing." Jimmy wouldn't know personally, as he was more often out than not, but he could imagine a quiet type like Pete needing to be kicked out into the real world sometimes.

"When's this damn race starting anyway?" Jimmy picked up, wondering if Pete would be annoyed if Jimmy used his t-shirt as a face mop. Pete sat up and held a hand over his eyes, shading them as he winced in the direction of the setup.

"Looks like they're getting ready," he commented. "Not too long now."

"I better prepare," Jimmy declared, getting up and pulling the shirt off, which he offered back to Pete a little damper than it'd started. He'd been the one to throw it at Jimmy in the first place, so it was his problem now.

"Prepare what?" Pete echoed, taking the shirt back and dumping it over his shoulders rather than putting it on. He wasn't the only one who could strip off. Jimmy had already gotten rid of his shoes, but he peeled off his tank and tossed it down. He didn't know what was running through Pete's head as he watched, but he hoped it was at least on the scale of what his little stunt had done to Jimmy.

Then he launched into a sprint for the shore and threw himself into the water with a clumsy dive, the cold ripping discomfort and sweat from his skin like a breath of fresh air. He resurfaced with a messy gasp and stomped back out, feeling far cooler and ready to kick some ass.

"That's what you meant," Pete remarked, and Jimmy stuck out a hand.

"Shirt me," he demanded. Pete wore a halfsized smile as he threw Jimmy's top back at him, which he shook off for sand and wrapped around his head. His hair was grown out enough that he wasn't going to burn his scalp, but he could still use the shade, especially if he was biking full-throttle in midday sun.

"Stylish," Pete baited, and Jimmy resisted the urge to kick sand all over him.

"You're lucky I like you," he commented obscurely, flipping sand only over Pete's foot, whose confused snigger was just as satisfying. Then it got a little stagnant, because Pete wasn't at the stage of saying it back and that made it slightly awkward. "Uh, you got any money?" Jimmy asked abruptly, changing topic before they dwelled too long and got all weird again. He was enjoying himself to ruin it too much remembering just how damn stupid into Pete he was.

"A bit," he answered reservedly. "Why?"

"Bet it on me," he declared, and Pete pulled a face. "What?!" he goaded. "Don't you believe in me?"

"I'm not really a gambler," he excused, and Jimmy shovelled more sand with his foot, burying one of Pete's.

"So?" he challenged. "You'll make it back." And then some, hopefully.

"What if you don't win?" he suggested.

"How dare you!" he cried in mock-anger. "I'm the King, Pete. King! Of course I'm gonna win." Not to mention anyone fast enough to beat him would get a fist into their bike-riding face.

"Hey, all right," Pete defended, raising up his hands. "Sure you are. You've got a crown and everythin-" his voice cracked and he outright giggled.

"Kings don't lose," Jimmy insisted.

"I'm sure they don't," Pete patronised, so Jimmy scooped up more sand and scattered it further over him. "Hey," he protested.

"That's for bein' a smartass," he said decisively. "Now. I don't wanna hear any more of this 'not gonna win' talk, okay?"

"All right, your highness," Pete agreed, clearly trying to hold it together.

"And you'll put all the cash you've got on me to win?" he added, and there Pete pulled away again.

"Jimmy," he bemoaned in just the right way.

"Do it," he ordered. "If for some reason I don't win, I'll pay you back." Pete wasn't really that tight-fisted, but it seemed enough to push him over the line.

"Fine," he sighed, getting up and trying to dust sand off himself somewhat unsuccessfully. There was a crowd gathering around the starting line, so Jimmy fetched his chosen bike and started to wheel it over. "But you better cycle good," he added as if Jimmy had been previously considering doing nothing of the sort. Jimmy smirked and gave him a salute.

"Aye-aye," he barked sarcastically, settling his place in the line-up and watching Pete work his way through the crowds.

They readied to go, one leg thrown over the crossbar and a foot on the pedal. Pete's face still stuck out amongst the others. Just before the starting whistle blew, he locked eyes with Pete and winked, but was too fast off the block to see what the impact was. It was probably better that way.