I didn’t hear from Peter for over a month after that. Though I’d hoped to take him up on his offer to come see a game sometime soon, the team had a long stretch of away games broken only by a few home games that conflicted with my thesis seminars, which I couldn’t miss. I tried not to think about him or at least tried to pretend I was only worried for his Spanish grade as opposed to sad for the missed opportunity to see him. It was pathetic how much I was into him after just barely meeting him, pathetic how I watched every Saturday game with rapt attention, cherishing every glimpse of Peter’s athletic form and impressive grace.

I kept watching his games and the team was winning. Peter was one of their top scorers and I always got a thrill from watching him. I came to recognize the three-pointers at the top of the key and either corner of the court as his particular specialty. I found myself tingly with anticipation when he got the ball in any of those spots.

Sean and Liam were baffled by my sudden interest in sports. They watched me with amusement as we sat eating burgers and drinking beer at a bar just off campus one Monday night. I was watching the game with rapt attention. Peter was dribbling down the court, his hair now longer and swishy, bouncing up and down as he ran. I hoped he’d never cut it, I loved to watch it move.

I could feel myself blushing as I looked up and caught them staring. “What?” I said. “I have school spirit.”

Sean laughed. “Since when?”

“Since he started tutoring the sexy star, I’d say,” Liam mused. I threw a fry at him. He just peeled it off his shirt and ate it appreciatively.

“He’s a good player,” I said defensively, taking another swig of beer.

“He looks great in those shorts,” Liam sighed.

Sean groaned. “Seriously? You’re watching sports for the fashion?”

“I’m not!”

“Gosh man, he just loves…ball…s!” Liam said, cracking himself up.

I rolled my eyes and kept eating. I asked Sean how his applications for law school were going and eventually succeeded in steering the conversation away from my embarrassing crush. I didn’t need the guys knowing how much I pined for what I couldn’t have. We finished eating just as halftime started and I made my excuses and headed home to watch the rest of the game in peace. Peter had his best game yet, at least since I’d been watching, scoring more than twenty points and ensuring that the team would make the playoffs.

I lost myself in interview prep and class work over the coming weeks, seeing Liam and Sean occasionally and badgering them with requests to do mock interviews with me. They thought I was overthinking things but I’d heard that the interviews could get really rough. I was grateful for them taking me through the questions again and again, and I made sure to bring a six pack over more often than not when I asked for their help. I knew I was annoying them but I wanted to be prepared. Every time I checked my bank statements the importance of securing my post-graduation paycheck loomed larger and larger. Student loans were no joke.

* * *

All too soon, the job interviews were upon me. I found myself tucked into and zipped up in a fancy suit, carefully showered and shaved and not-quite-ready to face the onslaught of impending adulthood. Classes were cancelled Monday for some school-wide holiday but, while my fellow students partied away the day drinking, I’d spent the morning with PWC and the afternoon with Goldman Sachs. No pressure.

Though I’d known what to expect in the interviews, the hours of questioning were even rougher than I’d thought possible. The interviewers threw out questions of all stripes, from personal vetting—do you do drugs, what are your hobbies, what’s your darkest secret?—to professional dressing down—how would you advise a client facing bankruptcy but hoping to keep their franchise alive, what are the most important rules of marketing in modern industry? Then came the brain teasers designed exclusively to make us squirm. I had to answer, with a straight face, how many mice I thought made up the volume of an Escalade, what features I’d include on a flying skateboard to appeal to the millennial and baby boomer markets, and how I’d run a publicity campaign for an eight-year-old rap star. The questions were so much more random than I’d ever expected, and I found myself spewing words nearly faster than I could think.

Perhaps the hardest question came from Goldman just as the day was winding down, as the young woman in towering heels who’d been grilling me threw her final curveball. “So, Jack, we’ve learned a lot about you today and had a glimpse at how you think. I just have one more question for you: what’s important to you? At the end of the day, what do you want in life?”

I think I sweated more trying to answer that question than all the other questions combined. I let a long pause play out as my brain raced to find a socially acceptable sounding answer. “That’s a good question,” I finally responded, taking another deep breath. “I want what we all want at the end of the day, to do fulfilling work, to feel that I’m contributing, and—” I paused, thinking of a pair of bright green eyes, of dark, curly hair on tanned skin “and someone to share it with, of course.” I hoped my voice didn’t shake too badly as I concluded.

The interviewer smiled then, a genuine smile, and I figured I’d at least done alright on one question. I took another deep breath and was relieved when she finally dismissed me for the day.

As I left the career center I was already pulling at my tie, loosening it around my neck and assessing just how sweaty I was under my jacket.

“Jack?” I looked up, and there was Peter, walking alone in the semi-darkness.

“Oh, hey,” I said, surprised to see him. He whistled as I approached and I could feel myself blushing.

“Well, don’t you look dapper,” he said and I tried to read his expression, to parse the meaning behind the words. But I couldn’t read his eyes in the fading light.

“Interviews,” I said blandly, waving my hand dismissively. “Just glad to be done.”

“Yeah man, congrats,” he said. “You just got out?”

When I nodded, he asked, “Who were you interviewing with?”

“PWC in the morning, Goldman in the afternoon.”

Again, he let out that low whistle and I could feel my blush returning, hear my blood beating in my ears.

“Don’t get too excited,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure the gig schedule I came up with for their kid rap star would be impossible on an eight-year-old’s bedtime.”

Peter’s eyebrows crinkled and he looked at me like I was insane. Even his confused face was adorable and my fingers itched to touch him.

Instead I just shook my head and laughed, shoving my hands into my pockets to resist the urge. “Never mind. Weird thought exercise they make you do. What about you? Know what you wanna do after this year?”

Peter smiled, but it looked forced. “You know the drill, man. I wanna play ball.”

I stopped short. This should’ve been obvious to me, he was a starting forward on one of the top-ranked teams in the country. Of course, he wanted to go pro.

“Wow man, I didn’t even—” I stopped, not wanting to insult him. “I mean, fuck yeah. That’s awesome.”

Peter’s grin was real now. “Yeah well, it’s awesome if I make it. Even if I ride the bench it’s decent money.

“Decent?” I laughed. “It’s phenomenal, dude.” I thought of seeing Peter in the career counseling office, where he must’ve been discussing his other options should playing professionally not work out. I couldn’t even imagine the pressure he must feel.

“Yeah well, not like I’ve got Goldman or PWC knocking on my door.”

I let out a noise that was half sigh, half snort. “Lucky you. I’ve heard it’s torture.”

“But you’re still applying for them?” he asked, looking at me directly.

“It’s decent money,” I said, quoting him.

He stepped forward then, his woodsy smell washing over me, and looked more closely at my face, his eyes reading mine. “I think you could do anything you want, Jack,” he said. “You shouldn’t settle.”

I just stood there for a second, breathing him in, feeling energy course between us that I worried was only one sided. His breath was steady as he breathed in and out. I had to crane my neck to look up at him, glancing up from the sight of his broad chest.

When I couldn’t take the proximity a second longer I said, “I guess I should get going, man,” and offered my palm, seizing on the excuse to pull him toward me in a half hug. I held him for a second too long, tucking my chin around his shoulder and breathing him in.

When I pulled away, his eyes were closed. They opened slowly and were bright green against the night. “Later, Jack,” he breathed.

“Later, man,” I said, and turned to walk away.

It was only seconds later that I remembered, and I spun on my heel, turning back to face him. “Oh, hey, Pete!”

He turned, half a smile on his face, and I asked “How’d that test end up going?

I could swear I saw him blush. “Well, the one you helped me with…not bad actually.”

I looked carefully at his face. “Oh yeah? Got your grade back?”

He looked sheepish. “86,” he admitted.

I laughed out loud. “That’s fantastic! You freaking crushed it!”

The flush was still high and rosie on Peter’s cheeks and I wanted to kiss it away, to shake him and tell him not to be embarrassed, not to be bashful, not to ever doubt his beauty or his power for a second. “It’s no big deal,” he said, and I swatted the thought away.

“It is a big deal, dude,” I said. “Seriously, congrats.”

“Thanks, dude,” he said. “Really, those videos you showed me really helped. But, uh, there were a couple more tests since then, I was going to ask for your help, but we were traveling for games and I kind of ran out of time. I don’t think I did so hot on those…”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “How’s class been going lately?”

Peter grimaced. “Not too good. The grammar’s getting so complicated! I don’t get all this crap about the different past tenses, when to use imperfect verse, that other one…”

“Yeah, that stuff can get tricky. Want to meet up and go over it?”

Peter looked torn. “That’d be great, thanks. I mean, we just had a test, and this week’s pretty crammed but if we could meet before the next one, I think that could really help.”

I shrugged, not sure it was the best strategy to put it off, but I wasn’t exactly his mom. “Whatever you want.”

Peter nodded. “Cool. I’ll text you, Jack. Thanks.”

“Sounds good.” I said, then, awkwardly, “so I’ll, uh, see you around?”

He smiled again, striking me dumb. “See you around.”