Hiring Rory wasn’t really a question. I couldn’t argue with the expense or his credentials. Coach Perez informed me that the athletic department would take care of my new instructor’s fees and that he’d personally contact my counselor to assure her I was receiving the extra help I needed. Of course, the proof would be in my grade. I failed my last quiz so spectacularly that my teacher pulled me aside afterward to ask if everything was okay in my personal life. Talk about alarming. I had to ace next week’s test and at this point, my only hope was the sexy man staring out the coffee shop window, nursing a cup of ice water.

“Hi, there. I’m sorry. I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” I said, setting my backpack on the empty chair across from him.

Rory started before glancing up at me with a slow, lopsided grin that made my heart skip a beat. I couldn’t help noticing how his royal blue T-shirt matched his eyes and hugged his muscular arms, showcasing the colorful ink on his left bicep. Damn, he was hot.

“Nah, I’m early. There wasn’t much traffic today, so I made good time. You ready to get to work?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m gonna order an iced coffee. Do you want anything?” I asked, gesturing toward the counter at the front of the store. Thankfully, on a Tuesday afternoon, it wasn’t overly crowded.

“I’m cool with water.”

I frowned and shook my head. “My treat. What do you like? Latte, coffee, tea, hot chocolate?”

He held up his hand to protest. “That’s okay. I—”

“I insist.”

Rory shot a sideways glance at the posse of giggling teenage girls entering through the side door. “Why?”

“ ’Cause I don’t like drinking alone. Hurry up. If they get to the front before me, this will take forever. I need caffeine. Stat.”

“Latte. No foam,” he replied with a grin. “Thanks.”

I took my place in line behind a pretty young girl with long black hair. She turned to give me a flirtatious once-over that was more predatory than charming. However, I should have thanked her for reminding me I had a role to play. I doubted I’d run into anyone I knew at a Starbucks twenty minutes from campus, but I couldn’t let my guard down—regardless of where I was or who was likely to notice me. And I was already doing a bad job. Ignoring a cute girl while casting nervous glances at Rory was all kinds of gay. Wasn’t it?

I pulled my cell from my pocket and scrolled through old texts just as a new message from my father popped up. It was short but direct.

I have a meeting with the dean at the law school. Hopefully your application will be all that’s required for admittance in the fall. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Fuck.

“Next in line,” the barista called.

I placed my order, then moved to the side counter to wait for our drinks and respond to the text before I had to deal with a completely different kind of distraction.

Thanks, I typed.

Shoot. Was that enough? I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I didn’t want to seem too eager either. Neutrality was key when dealing with my father. Or anyone, really.

I snuck a peek at Rory and froze. His eyes were locked on me like he was sizing me up and trying to figure me out. There was nothing overly personal or unprofessional in the look—just curiosity. He smiled when he caught my gaze and suddenly, nothing seemed more important than being in the moment.

I stuffed my phone into my pocket, picked up our drinks, and made my way back to the table.

“Here you go,” I said, handing the latte to Rory.

“Thanks. Let’s get this party started. Did you bring your last test?”

I retrieved it from my backpack, wincing as I slid the paper to him. “It was ugly.”

He widened his eyes and let out a low whistle. “Damn. Did you at least get points for writing your name at the top?”

“Ha. Ha.” I dropped my bag on the floor and sat down before adding, “I wish. I could use the extra credit.”

“Hmm. Let’s see your book.”

I dug my textbook out and set it on the table, then settled back in my chair to study him while he assessed the enormity of the challenge he’d taken on. His brow creased as he alternately flipped through the pages and glanced at the questions on my last quiz. I shifted in my seat, hoping to clandestinely ease the pressure of my dick against my zipper. Call me crazy, but the promise of being treated to nerd-speak from a badass former wrestler was the stuff of dreams. I sipped my iced coffee as I admired the intricate inked script along his wrist. I leaned forward slightly to get a better glimpse, but it appeared to be written in another language.

“Do you speak Spanish?” I asked.

Rory did a double take, then inclined his head. “A little. Do you?”

“No.”

“All righty then,” he replied with a half laugh before glancing down at the book again.

“Do you still wrestle? I mean, competitively?”

Rory pushed the book to the middle of the table and grabbed his latte. He fixed me with a roguish stare and took a sip. Then he set the cup aside and leaned forward. “I thought we already did the ‘get to know you’ thing the other day. Do you really care if I wrestle anymore, or are you stalling ’cause you think I’m gonna berate you for getting a crappy score on your test?”

I puffed up my cheeks like a blowfish and nodded. “Yes.”

Rory chuckled. “Okay, let’s chat. I’m not here to make you feel bad about what you don’t understand. I’m here to help. In normal, everyday shit, I’m not known for my patience, but when I’m teaching, it’s different. I’m fucking Gandhi here, you know? I want you to learn. So don’t think I’m judging you. I’m not. I’m on your team. I’m not gonna spank you for getting a bad grade.”

I licked my bottom lip and before I could stop myself, said, “That’s strangely disappointing.”

Rory opened his mouth and closed it theatrically. “You’re flirtin’ with me.”

“No! No, of course not. I—”

I shook my head effusively and sucked on my straw until I gave myself an iced-coffee brain freeze. I hoped when the feeling passed, I’d come up with the perfect one-liner to turn my awkward faux pas into a joke. I pushed my cup aside and gulped. Nope. I had nothing.

“You’re not what you seem, are you?”

“Sure, I am. I’m a typical dumb jock. I can tell you anything you want to know about football, but don’t ask me about Pythagoras’s Theorem,” I said, elevating my dork status to tragic levels in a single blow.

Rory’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he hooted with laughter. “Pythagoras’s Theorem? So what you’re really saying is that you’re a kinky-ass geometry geek who happens to know how to throw a football. Good to know.”

I crossed my arms and waited out a new round of merriment. “Are you finished?”

His shit-eating grin lit his eyes and made him look impossibly handsome. Dammit. If I couldn’t get through fifteen minutes without making a fool of myself, I was screwed. And not in a way I might like.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. No more laughing.” He snorted. “Tell me what you know about Pythagoras’s Theorem.”

“I don’t know anything. I remembered the name. That’s all,” I admitted.

“Hmm. You lie to me, you’ll end up across my knee in no time,” he teased. At least I thought he was teasing. His broad smile and twinkling gaze invited me to stop taking everything so seriously, but I was too embarrassed to find anything funny.

“Right,” I replied primly. “Should we get started?”

“Hold up. We’ve got to clear the air here. It’s like I told you the other day, you won’t retain anything until you relax. So let’s see…you wanted to know about Spanish and wrestling, am I correct?”

“It’s not important.”

“Maybe not, but I think it’s a good idea to use ten minutes to get more acquainted and—”

“We did that last week,” I argued.

“Well, it didn’t stick, so let’s try it again. What’d you do over the weekend?” Rory asked conversationally.

“You don’t want to hear about my game or the stupid college parties I went to, so let’s talk statistics.” I tapped the cover of the textbook meaningfully.

“We’ll get there. Did you win?”

“Yeah, it was a blowout.”

“Sorry, the acoustics in here are whack. Did you say you got a blowjob?”

I snickered, then sat back and twisted the straw in my to-go cup. “Unfortunately, no.”

Rory tsked. “Too bad, my friend.”

“Did you?”

“Yep. I want to brag and tell you it was amazing, but it wasn’t all that special. I was horny. He was willing.…You know the story.”

“Yeah, I think it’s called a short story with a happy ending,” I joked.

“Ha! Exactly. That’s what happens when you go lookin’ for love in da club. Everyone’s out for a quick fix. Sounds perfect until it’s over ten minutes later. Then you gotta deal with the uncomfortable ‘Did we really just do that?’ aftermath. Not so fun. Enjoy college life while you can. This adult business sucks,” he huffed humorlessly. “And yeah, I took Spanish in school and my brother speaks it. I know enough to hold a short conversation. That’s about it. Why’d you ask?”

I frowned. “I don’t know.”

Rory gave me a patient look. “Talk to me, Christian. We covered Basic BS 101. You told me you won your game and went to a coupla boring parties. I told you I went to WeHo with some friends. Now I’m backtracking to your question about whether or not I speak Spanish ’cause I’m polite like that. Plus it was a weird one. Why’d you want to know?”

“Your tattoo,” I replied, gesturing at his wrist.

Rory turned his palms over for me to inspect. “They’re lines from a Pablo Neruda poem. This one says, ‘En mí todo ese fuego se repite’ and this says, ‘En mí nada se apaga ni se olvida.’ The translation is, ‘In me all this fire is repeated’ and ‘In me nothing is extinguished or forgotten.’ The poem is called ‘If You Forget Me,’ and it’s poignant as fuck. If you don’t know it, look it up.”

“I will. That’s cool.” And “poignant as fuck,” as he so eloquently put it. “But what does it mean to you?” I asked.

“That goes a little beyond water-cooler talk, QB. We’ll save it for when and if we get to know each other well enough to tell secrets,” he said, winking to take the sting from his words.

I nodded in understanding but instead of pulling away, I absently reached out to touch the script. Then I looked into his eyes, and I could have sworn I saw the tiniest crack in his armor before an invisible shield fell into place. In that fraction of a second, a silent communication passed between us. He’d been through hard times and he’d emerged…possibly stronger than ever. I was curious for sure, but there was no way to politely ask his story, so I inclined my head and switched gears.

“Did you study poetry in college?”

“No.” Rory sat back and eyed me for a long moment before continuing. “Are you ready to tackle stats now?”

I slumped in my chair with a theatrical sigh and gave myself a mental high five when he chuckled at my antics. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I’ll go easy on you. I’ve got a feeling this is gonna hurt me more than it’ll hurt you,” he snarked.

I chuckled at the playful innuendo as I leaned forward, intent on giving him one hundred percent of my attention for as long as I could possibly stand it.

Forty minutes later, I had to admit Rory was a good teacher. He’d obviously considered my mental block for all things math. Instead of trying to force concepts and equations down my throat, he came up with relatable everyday scenarios and applied them to his lesson. Although after going through two very involved problems, my brain needed a break.

“I think that’s enough stats for the day,” he said, closing the textbook. “Your eyes are starting to cross.”

“Hmph. True. But I marginally understood what we covered, so that’s not too shabby. If you add anything else, I’ll just get confused.”

Rory scoffed. “The reason you get confused is that you mistakenly think one equation will solve everything. You’re looking for shortcuts and there aren’t any.”

“Why not? There should be CliffsNotes for every facet of life,” I said, only half-kidding.

“The more you practice, the easier it gets. But you can’t skip any steps. Look at it as though you’re a private investigator gathering information to crack a cold case file,” Rory suggested. “Each clue gets you closer to solving a murder.”

“Bad analogy. Murder mysteries make me nervous.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully. “So math, murder, and pretty girls who stare too long make you jumpy. Anything else?”

I glanced around the sparsely populated coffee shop and furrowed my brow. “Who’s staring at me?”

“The high-school girls and the woman who was standing in front of you in line. They’ve all left now. They gave up when they realized you only had eyes for me,” he teased.

“Hmph. Yeah, right. I doubt they thought we were a couple,” I commented, shaking the leftover ice in my cup.

“Why not? Statistically speaking, there’s a chance that’s exactly what they thought.” Rory waggled his thick brows comically.

“Very clever. But I bet the average gay couple doesn’t hang out at a Starbucks poring over a textbook.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you looking at me funny?”

“I’m trying to figure you out. Would you care if they thought we were boyfriends or a Grindr hookup?”

“Of course not,” I lied, stuffing my book into my backpack. “But I don’t think we look like boyfriends or a Grindr hookup.”

“You’re awfully concerned with the way things look, aren’t you?”

I sputtered indignantly. “No, I’m not.”

“Relax. I’m just giving you a hard time,” he said with a laugh. “But I will say this…if we were a Grindr hookup, we’d probably give ourselves away with the ‘We just did it’ look.”

“Did what?”

“It.” He made a lewd “finger in hole” gesture and then laughed at my perturbed expression.

“Right,” I huffed indignantly and glanced away, hoping to hide the certain blush on my cheeks. My dick twitched at the very idea of doing “it.” I had to get us back on track quickly, or I’d be doomed. I patted the textbook in my backpack and said, “Where? In the bathroom?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah.”

I was more fascinated than flustered now, which made no sense. His cocky delivery alone should have set me off and tripped every one of my personal alarm bells. Joking about gay sex with my new tutor was unwise. Sure, it was my favorite topic, but that info was top secret. If I were smart, I’d change the subject. Fast.

“What makes you think I’d have sex with you in a public restroom?” Nope. Not so smart after all.

“ ’Cause that’s how hookup apps work. They’re basically dating apps in reverse. Only simpler. Sex first, then coffee. Dating sites are hell, if you ask me. First you match up and agree to meet. Then you cross your fingers and hope to fuck his online photo isn’t a decade old and that when he said he liked cats, he wasn’t a creepy cat guy.”

I snorted a laugh. “What’s a creepy cat guy?”

“Oh, man.” Rory shook his head in mock consternation. “You know the type. He owns ten or more cats and insists on showing you the YouTube videos he’s made for each one on his phone. And when he tells you their names, you notice that each one has a special voice. Carol, Mike, Marsha, Greg…”

I threw my head back and guffawed. “Wait a sec. They’re named after The Brady Bunch?”

“Yeah, well done,” he commented with a laugh. “A lot of people our age don’t know classic sitcoms.”

“My parents were strict about TV viewing, but the Bradys made the cut.”

“Hmm. Well, back to the crazy cat guy.”

“I thought he was a creepy cat guy,” I intercepted.

Rory shot a mock scowl at me but inclined his head. “Yeah, whatever. This guy names his cats on a theme. TV shows, rock bands, favorite songs…”

“Seems kind of harmless. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing…but it’s hard to have a conversation with that guy,” Rory explained.

“Why? Cats are cool. And coffee dates aren’t a big deal. I don’t see the problem.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose,” he huffed. “I didn’t say cats aren’t cool. I happen to have a very cool cat. But she has a normal cat name, and I don’t make weird noises when I say her name.”

I leaned on my elbows, aware that my smile had taken over my face. I should have checked the time and thought about getting back to campus for my second practice, but I didn’t want to go anywhere. This was surprisingly…fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked to anyone about something other than football or my “future.” Okay, Max was easy company too, but this was different somehow. Rory was…unexpectedly charming. For a tutor. And now that he’d hinted at all these interesting things that had nothing to do with statistics, I wanted to know more. Much more.

“What’s your cat’s name?”

“Buttons,” he replied, looking out the window.

I snickered. “Why Buttons?”

“ ’Cause she’s cute as a button, and what the fuck are you laughin’ at?” he asked in a mock-serious tone.

I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes and shook my head. “You. I can’t keep anything straight. You’re built like some of the burliest linebackers on my team, but you’re smarter than all of them put together. Brawn, brains…and a cat named Buttons. I can honestly say I don’t know anyone like you.”

“You forgot gay. Let’s not forget that’s how this conversation started,” he singsonged.

“It is?” I asked, sobering immediately.

“Yeah, I told you if we were a hookup, we’d have already had sex. Things went a little sideways after that.”

Rory popped the lid off his to-go cup and raised it in a mock toast. I studied his Adam’s apple and let my gaze wander from his large hands to his powerful-looking arms. And just like that, my dick had a pulse of its own. I licked my lips, willing myself to pull it together ’cause he was talking now and I couldn’t hear a fucking thing.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m sorry.” He cocked his head and gave me a pirate’s smile. “I think you know I’m just playing with you, but I have a rep for saying things I shouldn’t. So if I offended you, I apologize.”

“I’m not that easily offended. And I thought your creepy-cat date story was very entertaining.”

“It was hypothetical. I don’t date.”

“Why not? You didn’t seem to like that last blowjob you got in da club,” I teased. “Maybe you should give a little pre-sex conversation a try.”

Rory scoffed. “You’re hilarious. The BJ wasn’t so bad. It was just boring.”

“How is a blowjob boring?” I asked incredulously.

“When it’s…” Rory circled his hand expressively. “…routine. Like when your partner is just going through the motions. Open mouth, close eyes, moan, fondle balls, twirl tongue around the head, give partner a sexy ‘This is about to happen’ look and then deep throat cock until he gags.”

I swallowed hard and tried to think of a response that wouldn’t advertise the fact that I was now sporting major wood. I’d been half-hard since I’d put my textbook away, and the unexpected fellatio play-by-play didn’t help.

“Sounds like maybe you’re looking for love in the wrong places,” I said with a nervous-sounding half laugh.

“Thankfully, I’m not looking for love anywhere. I’m so bad at relationships, it’s almost funny,” he said.

“Me too. Good thing I don’t mind my own company.”

Rory squinted and gave me a shrewd once-over before gathering our trash. “Quarterbacks get all the action, Christian. Something tells me that if you’re spending time alone, it’s ’cause you want to.”

“Maybe. I’m too busy either way,” I replied vaguely as I picked my backpack up off the floor and hiked it over my shoulder.

“Same.”

I followed him to the front of the store and held the door open for him with my elbow as I pulled out my phone to check the time. This was a good place to make my exit. But once again, I found myself asking one more question to keep him talking. “Have you been single for a while?”

“Yeah. My ex dumped me a year and a half ago. Honestly, I can’t blame him. I was such an asshole. I didn’t mean to be, but I wasn’t ready to be totally out. He’s better off now anyway.” Rory paused and gave me a funny look. “This is kinda weird, but I bet you know Mitch’s boyfriend.”

“Huh? Who’s Mitch?”

“My ex. He’s been with his new guy for a year, I think. Evan…I forget his last name. Something Italian. He graduated from Chilton last spring and he was a football player, so you must know him. It was a big deal when he came out. It was all over social media.”

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gulped as I turned to face him. No fucking way could the world possibly be that small.

“Evan di Angelo? You know Evan?” I asked in a small voice.

“Yeah. He works out at the Y. We’ve actually become friends. He didn’t like my status as the ex at first, but we’re cool now and—hey, you okay? You look a little pale.”

I swallowed around the desert in my mouth and nodded. “I’m fine. And yeah, I know Evan. We’re friends. He’s a good guy.”

My tight-lipped smile wasn’t convincing, but Rory had no reason not to believe me. He scratched his head as he backed up.

“Right. When’s your next quiz? We’ve got to get you an A.”

“Um, Friday. I think,” I said distractedly.

“You think?” he prodded.

“I’m pretty sure. I’ll let you know.”

“Text me. We can come here again or figure something else out.” He fished his keys from his pocket and squinted at me. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Positive. I’ll touch base with you tomorrow. And thanks. This was helpful.” This time I thought my smile was sincere.

Rory nodded, then set his sunglasses on his nose and headed toward an ancient black pickup truck. I watched him for a few seconds. Or more accurately, I stared at his ass. And because timing was everything, he turned before he opened his door and gave me a knowing smile. I gave him a harried one in return and raced to my car.

I revved the engine and glanced in my rearview mirror as he pulled his truck into the exit lane. He rolled his window down and rested his arm on the ledge, tapping his fingers along to whatever he was listening to on the radio. I licked my lips and took a deep breath.

I didn’t get it. I was around guys like Rory all the damn time. Athletes with big muscles and healthy egos to match. Something set him apart. He wasn’t like anyone else I knew. And he was on to me. I could tell. He hadn’t blurted “You’re gay,” but he’d let the conversation drift to places he knew would make the average straight guy cringe. Maybe he wanted to make me uncomfortable, but somehow I doubted it.

And he knew Evan? Fuck me. Statistics was turning out to be my worst nightmare in more ways than one.

My schedule was pretty regimented; I did well with guidelines and rules. I’d been that way since I was a kid. My parents were strict and while they certainly had a lot to do with my sense of personal discipline, the rest was me. I liked being in control. And let’s face it, on a football field, the quarterback controlled everything in the offense. He called the plays and drove the action. If a QB did his job well, a run resulted in points and just like with any other game, the more points you scored, the more likely you were to win.

I liked being part of a team. I always had. Working with a group of friends toward a common goal was a powerful feeling. When I stepped onto the field with my teammates, I was instantly part of something bigger than myself. I didn’t get off on being in charge, but I was good at it, if I did say so myself. Even though I was the one calling the shots, I knew nothing happened if we weren’t all on the same page.

My dad claimed I was a lot like him. Not in an athletic sense. He was a self-proclaimed geek who got off on tidy spreadsheets and balanced budgets. He had a take-charge attitude when it came to finance. Oh yeah…and butting into my life.

Maybe that wasn’t entirely fair, but at the moment, it felt like it. I secured my towel around my waist as I glanced at the incoming message on my phone and grimaced.

Call your father, Christian. Love, Mom

I wanted to be amused by my relatively young mother’s formal style of texting, but her message bugged the hell out of me. This was how my parents communicated. My father made a broad declaration, and Mom made sure my sister and I got the message. No doubt to avoid aggravation later. Don’t get me wrong—my dad wasn’t a bad guy. He was compulsive about details, order, and attention. I knew his heart was in the right place. He wanted me to succeed, which I totally appreciated. But I resented his heavy-handed style of inserting himself into every facet of my life. I was an adult, for fuck’s sake.

It was one thing for him to be somewhat aware of my class and practice schedule, but he didn’t need to know every minor detail in between. Or maybe I was aggravated that they’d disturbed my Rory-infused daydreams.

I’d thought about him nonstop since Monday afternoon. I was nervous about meeting him again and at the same time, I couldn’t fucking wait. I studied nonstop and occasionally texted to ask him questions when I got lost on a problem. Maybe he was on to me. Maybe he knew I’d never cracked a math book this many times within a forty-eight-hour period in my life and that the only reason I did so now was to have an excuse to talk to him.

Wow. I was a head case.

I typed a quick message to my mom, letting her know I’d call Dad on my way home; then I shoved my cell into my bag. I used a little more force than necessary, which caused an avalanche of events. First, my phone fell on the locker room floor. Then I stepped back to pick it up and bumped into someone behind me. And then…I accidentally stripped his towel off when I tried to steady myself.

Let’s be real. Nudity in the locker room was a nonevent. We’d seen it all and then some. Conversations about ball placement and tackling techniques while washing your junk in the shower didn’t faze anyone on the team. But there was always one idiot who couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make a stupid joke.

“Jesus, Christian,” Jonesie scowled, readjusting his towel.

“Sorry, man,” I said absently.

“If you wanted another peek at the goods, you coulda just said so.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be right over here.” He batted his eyelashes and gestured toward his locker, which unfortunately was located directly across the aisle from mine.

I gave him a sharp look as I swiped some deodorant on. “Good to know, but…no thanks.”

“Hey, never say never, man,” he singsonged.

Here’s the thing about guys like Jonesie. He was a stereotypical jock who gave the rest of us a bad name. He was loud, boisterous, and overbearing. He tended to think his role as a starting lineman entitled him to a variety of perks, like star treatment at school events and private parties—including free alcohol and the adoration of all the “hot babes.” His words, not mine. He wasn’t a bad guy; he was just a little dumb.

What he lacked in brains, he made up for in brawn. He was two inches taller than me and at least eighty pounds heavier. And most of it was muscle. His love of football and his considerable ego were assets on the field, but in everyday life, he could be irritating as hell. As team captain, I’d become a master at the art of deflecting stupid and keeping order in the locker room. I knew that sometimes the best method of dealing with a bonehead like Jonesie was to ignore him.

So I wasn’t quite sure what I was thinking when I responded with, “Sorry. You’re not my type.”

Jonesie gasped in mock dismay. “I’m crushed. It’s cool, though. You don’t do anything for me either. Your tits are too small.” He paused to slap high fives with Moreno, a fellow lineman and if possible, a bigger bonehead than him. “You know, since Evan graduated we lost our token gay dude. One of us has to go ’mo, fast. We gotta have a rainbow mascot. It’s good for business. We were all over the news last season.”

“That was ’cause we won the championship,” Moreno reminded him.

“Yeah, but the homo factor got us a spot on the five o’clock news.” He pushed his hand through his short brown hair and looked around the locker room. “Who’s it gonna be? Jackson, Andrade, Kawinski…?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jonesie,” I growled impatiently and for emphasis, I chucked my deodorant at his chest. I might look scrawny next to the guy, but I had a rocket for an arm.

“Fuck, that hurt!” He grimaced as he hopped backward, covering his right pec. “You know I’m kidding, man.”

“Well, don’t. Evan wasn’t a token gay anything to this team. He was a beast of an athlete who helped lead us to that championship.”

Jonesie held up his arms in surrender. “Geez, okay. It was a joke. I love Evan, dude. I got nothing but love for all the gays since he came out. I mean, he didn’t look or act queer at all. He was just one of us.”

I nodded curtly, then yanked my towel off and stepped into a pair of black boxer briefs. Then I reached for my jeans, hoping he’d clue in that the conversation was over.

No such luck.

“You know, I can’t even picture him with another guy but whatever…at least we know he’s the man in his relationship. I can’t see Evan letting anyone stick their dick in his ass,” he continued conversationally.

Nervous laughter twittered around us. I think everyone knew I was pissed that he hadn’t dropped the discussion, but they were hopeful I’d find a middle ground and ideally not lose my cool. I zipped my jeans, then wiggled my fingers, silently requesting him to pick up my deodorant and hand it over. He obeyed without thinking and let out a squeak when I twisted his wrist and fixed him with a menacing stare.

“Are we done here?” I growled in a low voice.

Jonesie held my gaze and nodded. “Yeah.”

Someone turned a Kendrick Lamar song on just then and belted out the lyrics at top volume. Within a minute, everyone was either singing along or talking over the din. And though it might not feel sincere, the atmosphere at least gave the illusion we’d returned to “normal.”

I finished dressing, hiked my strap over my shoulder, and stopped to give Jonesie a friendly pop on his arm. The guy was like an overgrown puppy. He hated being called out, but he disliked being out of sorts with anyone even more. Particularly me. If I walked away without a word, he’d beat himself up and be miserable the rest of the day. Ultimately, that wouldn’t be good for any of us. When he grunted in acknowledgment, I made my way to the exit, pulling my cell from my pocket.

My run-in with Jonesie had fired me up. This was probably the perfect time to chat with my occasionally caustic father. I hesitated for a beat before throwing my bag onto the back seat of my Prius. Then I scrolled for his number and pushed Call.

“Hello, son. I see you got my message.”

“Hi. Um, yeah. I just got out of practice.”

I braced myself for the inevitable question about where I’d been beforehand and why I hadn’t returned his call sooner. But he had other things on his mind—specifically, how to take over my future.

“That’s nice,” he said dismissively before continuing in an excitable tone. “I spoke to the dean of the law school today.”

Great.

“O-kay.”

It wasn’t okay, but he wasn’t interested in how I felt. And he didn’t require much input from me, so I put the car in drive and headed home, grunting occasionally to let him know I was listening.

Ten minutes later, I parked in the lot next to my building and made my way to my place. The grounds of our complex had a Spanish-style-meets-contemporary design that Max and I both liked when we first decided to live together. Tall palm trees dotted the landscape and red bougainvillea added splashes of color along the stucco façade. I took the stairs to our third-floor apartment, so I wouldn’t accidentally cut off my dad’s call in the elevator.

“…if you complete your application by early November, I can personally hand-deliver it to the admin at the law school. She’ll want to see your transcript too.”

“Dad, you’re supposed to take the LSAT first. I won’t have time to do that until after my season ends,” I reminded him, sliding my key into the lock.

“I know it’s a lot, but if you started studying now, you could take the exam in late November. The timing would be ideal. By the beginning of the year, you’d have your near-term future set. You wouldn’t have to move or make any big changes. Of course, if you wanted to save money and live at home, you’re welcome to but—”

“Okay, thanks for the info. I’ll look into it,” I lied, pushing the door open.

I was immediately greeted by a low groan and desperate-sounding erotic dialogue.

“Please, baby, more. You feel so good.”

“Oh, God! Oh, fuck. Oh, yes—”

Holy crap! I scrambled to step outside and shut the door on the live-action porno happening in my living room. Hopefully before my father noticed.

“Where are you? It sounds like someone is hurt,” Dad commented.

“Uh, my neighbor is blasting his television again,” I replied, wincing at the muffled groans still audible through the front door.

“Hmph. Your apartment seems noisier than it used to be. You and Max should consider moving or—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Um, I should go. I have a lot of studying to do.”

“Good. That’s the spirit! I copied you on the email to the dean. Take a look at it and we can talk later.”

He disconnected the call before I could reply. I cast my gaze from my cell to my doorknob, wondering how much time I should give them to finish up. Dammit, I hated when Max and Sky pulled this shit. I counted to ten, then inched forward and listened at the door for a few seconds before slowly opening it.

Apparently I was in time for the post-sex cuddle fest. Max’s arms and legs were wrapped around Sky and his hips moved in a languid rolling motion that probably meant he’d had an out-of-body orgasmic experience and wasn’t in a hurry to come back to reality. I hated that my dick instantly wanted in on the action. But who could blame me? Max and Sky were a gorgeous couple.

They were tall, handsome, and both were built like gods. Baseball gods specifically. They’d met last year when Sky transferred to Chilton. He was the much-anticipated new shortstop our school’s team needed, and Max couldn’t stop talking about him. Sky was fast, funny, and he loved sci-fi movies. Max hadn’t mentioned Sky was also extraordinarily hot. He was blond, blue-eyed, and had golden skin that complemented Max’s dark good looks. I knew I was considered handsome, but I had nothing on those two. And the day Max brought his new “friend” over, I knew our time was up.

It had hurt like hell for a while, but not now. In fact, I was strangely immune to my current situation. I stood in the foyer watching my ex-boyfriend fuck my replacement on the IKEA sofa we’d bought together with a sense of hard-won detachment. I wasn’t jealous anymore. I could admit they looked hot together. And I just hoped they’d remembered to put a towel on the cushion before they got busy.

“Hello,” I called out with an absent wave. “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to get something to eat and download some porn in my room.”

I set my bag on one of the barstools and skirted the small island before making a beeline for the fridge. I grumbled under my breath about inconsiderate roomies, controlling parents, and jackass teammates while I foraged for food. The container of leftover chow mein looked like my best bet. I grabbed a fork, two bananas, and a water bottle, then turned and immediately bumped into Max.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said with a mischievous grin.

I grunted, giving him a thorough once-over. His bare chest glistened with sweat, and his black shorts hung low on his hips, showing off his prominent V-line. I glanced into the adjoining room at his boyfriend, who was sprawled naked on the sofa, scrolling through messages on his cell with his spent cock on full display. Sky’s hair was artfully mussed, and he had a rough-looking bite mark on his shoulder.

“Fuck you, Max,” I grunted without heat. “You’re not sorry. Why fucking pretend?”

He furrowed his brow and cocked his head in confusion. “Are you really pissed or mildly irritated?”

“I don’t know what I am, but you’re hopeless. I’ve never met anyone who thinks with his dick quite like you.” I sighed heavily and shook my head. Then I lowered my voice and continued. “Didn’t you just tell me you thought this was over?”

“Shh!” he admonished, casting a quick look toward his boyfriend before refocusing on me. “I don’t know what we’re doing. I told him we should take a break after practice today.”

“That’s your idea of breaking up?” I set the food on the counter and then opened the container of chow mein and took a healthy bite.

“Well, I tried,” he whispered. “He didn’t like it, but he agreed. Next thing I know, we’re naked. Dude, we’ve done it three times in two and a half hours. Shower, bed, sofa. Maybe he’s trying to kill me with sex.”

I made a grossed-out face and rolled my eyes. “You’re un-fucking-real.”

“Nah. I’m just horny.” Max shrugged, then reached over and pulled a noodle from my container. He flinched when I poked his hand with the fork. “Ow!”

“Back off, Max. I’m going to study.”

He grabbed my elbow before I got anywhere. “Don’t be mad, Chrissy.”

“I’m not mad. I just had a crap day,” I huffed but softened my tone before adding, “Look, maybe I should get my own place.”

“No!” Max winced, then took a deep breath just as Sky called his name from the living room. “Look, we got carried away. It won’t happen again. Don’t talk about us not being together. It’s too…sad.”

“Max, we’re friends, but he’s your boyfriend and this feels weird. Like he wanted me to walk in on you guys. Think about it. You told him you wanted to take a break, and I bet you told him that you and I were going to LA without him.” I gave him a chance to deny it before letting out a heavy sigh. “He’s jealous, Max. And I don’t want any part of your drama. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too.”

“What if it’s chocolate?” he joked, capturing my chin and then pinching my cheek playfully. “Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him.”

I swatted his hand away and opened my mouth to blast him, but my barbed reply wouldn’t come. Max couldn’t help being Max. And truthfully, some part of me admired his single-minded quest for pleasure and his ability to live in the moment.

“Fine. Keep it down. I’m going to study.”

I bumped my fist against his, then gathered my belongings and called out a short greeting to Sky.

“Hi, Chrissy. Hey, don’t worry. We put a towel down. I insisted.”

“Gee, thanks, Sky. How about putting your tightie whities back on too?” I singsonged as I made my way to my bedroom.

I put the bananas, water bottle, and chow mein on my desk under the window. Then I turned on the lamp, drew the blinds, and hurried back to close my door to muffle the sound of their conversation.

This was crazy, I mused as I unearthed my statistics textbook from my backpack. I was trapped in my room with cold Chinese food, a math book, and probably a dozen emails from my dad reminding me to think seriously about my future in the profession he’d chosen for me. I flipped through my stats homework with glazed eyes and absently reached for my phone, intending to listen to some music to drown out my roommates and the errant thoughts in my head.

But at the last second, I pushed Rory’s number instead.

“Yo.”

The monosyllabic grunted greeting made my mouth go dry. Fuck. What was wrong with me? I licked my lips nervously, hoping I could talk without squeaking.

“Hey, Rory. It’s Christian.”

“Christian,” he repeated in a raspy tone that sounded like sex personified. “I know. Your name popped up on my caller ID. What’s up?”

“Um. I’m…I have a new assignment,” I blurted. “It’s supposed to be a simple, four-part question but it’s confusing.”

“How so?”

“Well, there’re a lot of numbers.”

Rory’s melodic laughter floated across the line, warming me from the inside out. I felt my shoulders relax and was instantly glad I’d called.

“Numbers aren’t your thing, eh?”

“No, not at all. I don’t trust problems that disguise themselves as simple stories but turn into complicated messes. The gist of this one is, two friends go to the market with x amount of money and specific items they must purchase for a recipe. There’s a formula for earning more cash and ways to buy alternate brands. And supposedly, somewhere in there is an actual question.”

“Makes you wish for the days you could count your fingers to come up with the answers, I bet. Read it to me. Let’s see if I can help you break it down on the phone.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bug you.”

“You’re not. I’m standing in front of the sushi section at Whole Foods, wondering if I should choose the spicy tuna or eel. What d’ya think?”

“Spicy tuna,” I replied automatically. I flopped onto my desk chair, kicked my shoes off, and then swiveled to prop my feet on my bed.

“All right. Done. So what’s your problem? Tell me all about it.”

I chuckled at his tone. I just wanted to hear him talk. He sounded like a sexy therapist…if that was possible. The deep timbre of his voice soothed me and kept me grounded in a way I couldn’t explain.

“My math problem or my real-life problems? Never mind. Real life takes too much time.”

“I’m heading for the ice cream section now. I’ve got time.”

“Hmm. Well, one of my teammates pissed me off, my dad is continuing his quest to take over my life and…I just walked in on my roommates having sex on the sofa. Shall we move on to the math problems now?”

“Max and Sky? They’re a couple? They’re gay?”

“Yeah. And they’re all over the map. One day, they’re in love and the next, it’s tension city. But they usually make it to their bedroom before they go at it.” I almost added that I suspected Sky timed their fuck session with my arrival home, but it sounded paranoid and would likely invite more questions than I wanted to answer.

“Rude. That’s what I like about living alone. Buttons would never pull that shit on me,” he huffed. “What should I get? Chocolate Chunk or Cookies and Cream?”

I snickered merrily. “Chocolate Chunk, of course.”

“Of course. Now, what problem are you stuck on? Read it to me and…”

I opened the book and recited the equation with a ridiculous smile on my face. And just like that, I felt like myself again.