“Oh.” James gave Erik an appraising look.
“He could be the Olympic champ of getting laid,” Will said. “But where is he on Saturday night? Pushing up daisies.”
“Can you blame him?” David asked.
“I’m standing right here, guys,” Erik said.
“We know,” Will said.
James shushed him. “Don’t speak, Fish. Just stand there and look cute and let us talk about you, okay?” His tone and cadence were an uncanny mimicry of Will. He even captured the little French-Canadian inflection on “okay,” drawing the word tight up against the roof of his mouth. Erik was puzzled by the tactic. Trying to emulate Will was one thing—imitation, sincere flattery and so forth—but James seemed to be taking it to extreme levels. Making himself into a Kaeger Klone. It made Erik feel strangely defensive.
Maintaining a healthy social life did require some effort on Erik’s part. Given his way, he would only be with Daisy. He was happiest with her. But he pragmatically sensed this wasn’t a healthy way to go through college, and so when the boys went out, he went along. His circle of friends within the conservatory was diverse and casual. Then he had a smaller exclusive circle with David, with whom he spent most his time, and Will, with whom he shared most his thoughts.
Against the fixed constant of Daisy, Erik found it odd he had ended up with two wild cards like Will and David as mates. Odd because a third of the time he couldn’t even stand David. Erik’s friendship with Will, on the other hand, had only strengthened over the past two years.
He often wondered if he and Will would have been as close, had they not been involved with Daisy and Lucky. Erik didn’t think the bond was born solely out of the convenience of two roommates banging two roommates, but he wasn’t positive Will’s company was something he would have sought out on his own. Despite the strong affinity, they were nothing alike.
“You can’t pick human connection apart, honey,” Daisy said. “Sometimes the affinity just exists without a reason. Or in spite of the reasons not to exist.”
Erik shrugged, not entirely convinced.
“Anyway, I think you’re a lot alike,” Daisy said. “You and Will seek out the same things in life, you just use different tactics. Will tries everything until he arrives at what he wants. Process of elimination. You get what you want all worked out in your head first, then you make a plan to go get it. But at the end of the day, what you’re both after is essentially the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“Creativity,” Daisy said thoughtfully. “Mastery of a skill. Athleticism. And connection. Mostly connection.”
“We just want to be loved?”
“By women, no doubt. But maybe you’re looking for a male kindred spirit.”
“Maybe.” He and Will hadn’t sliced palms and mingled blood, but it had been a mindless decision to room up sophomore year, and to continue the living arrangements this year. They lived well together—neither was a slob, in fact, both gravitated toward order, liking things to be in their place. They never lacked for conversation. And as Daisy had said, each had skills the other was curious to master. Some of them quite useful.
“What’s with you and the pineapple juice?” Erik asked Will once, noting never than less than a gallon of it was in their fridge.
“Il donne le coup un bon go?t,” Will said, twisting the cap off a new bottle.
“English, please.”
Will did a high pour into two glasses, handed one over. “It makes your jiz taste good.”