4. Jagger

Jagger

S unlight is streaming through the rickety blinds on the window by the time I finally open my eyes, though I can't say I'm surprised I slept in. For as long as I can remember, I've slept better next to Cameron than I have on my own. I think that's because he's fiercely protective of me, even in his sleep, and my subconscious knows it.

I don't allow myself to indulge in these sleepovers too often, though. I'm in my twenties now, which means one of these days I'll have to give them up completely and fight my demons on my own, so I try to limit them to the days when I'm in dire need. The anniversary of my dad's disappearance is one of those times.

Though Cam is already up—probably making us protein shakes—his sandalwood scent still lingers on the pillow, and I bury my face in it, inhaling the leather and wood undertones that remind me of home.

Okay, technically they remind me of his home since his dad is the one who got him hooked on the soap, but I basically grew up there, so I count it as mine too.

Like Cameron, his dad is a stable, reliable presence in my life, so I'm pretty sure that's why their smell triggers such intense feelings of safety and security. Oddly enough, the smell alone doesn't do anything for me in my room. I tested that theory by lighting a sandalwood candle the first night we spent in this house, just to see if that might help me sleep through the night, making it possible to spend a solid eight hours in my bed when this anniversary hit.

It didn't work.

Of course, that might've been because I kept dreaming about leaving the candle lit and burning the house down, and jolting awake to make sure I wasn't in the middle of a five-alarm fire.

After that, I figured sleeping with Cam was the safest solution, so I didn't even try to fight the desire to come in here after I'd sampled enough gay porn to know that the participants are either brilliant actors, or this prostate thing is worth investigating further.

I still have no idea how to accomplish that.

Speaking of… My best friend is bi and he's never hooked up with a man. I'm still a little salty about the fact I wasn't made aware of his interest in dicks until yesterday, but since I know he genuinely believes that it was more of an, it didn't come up thing—no pun intended—than an, I have a secret thing, I'll overlook it.

Just like I hope he'll overlook the fact I almost touched his junk.

Seriously, what was I thinking?

I've seen and felt his cock before, dozens of times, since we share locker rooms, dorm rooms, and wrestle like no one's business. I've never deliberately touched it though, and I'm still not even sure why that crossed my mind.

I flop onto my back and close my eyes, which only makes it easier to picture his face.

Brown eyes open wide... Blonde brows hidden beneath his hair and his mouth slightly parted... He was stunned, that's for sure, which is understandable since there's an internet full of dicks I could've checked out, yet I asked to see his. I even considered taking him up on the challenge to make it hard.

Stretching my arms over my head, I realize it may have been premature to say no pun intended since I am indeed up . Right when I'd been thinking about dicks and prostates. Or maybe I just have to pee.

After a pit stop in the bathroom, I grab a pair of joggers and head downstairs to where my roommates are all sitting on the couch, faces red and cheeks puffed like squirrels as they try to blow up at least a half dozen inflatable toys.

Actual toys, not dolls, for the record.

Picking up a rainbow-colored beach ball, I spin it on my finger like a giant basketball. "What's all this?"

"Baseball." Bennet stands up and swings an oversized, inflatable bat, knocking Cruz on the side of the head in the process.

"Ow." Cruz rubs at his ear. "Dude, really? That hurt."

"I hit you with air. How could that hurt?"

"Hell if I know, but it did."

"So, baseball?" I ask.

"They were selling all these goofy little toys at Ikea, and I figure we have a big enough yard, we should play baseball," Bennet says.

"Don't we need a few more people for that? Between the five of us we'd have the bases and pitcher covered but no batter." I toss the ball up in the air and punch it toward the couch, hitting Liam in the chest.

"There's a half-dozen guys living in the frat house over the summer," Bennet answers. "They'll come."

"Football vs frat house." Cameron grins. "I like it."

"Hey now." Liam elbows him. "Not all of us in this house are football players."

"But you live here so you're part of the football crew. Even if you incorrectly believe lacrosse is better," Cam nudges him back.

"Don't knock it ‘til you've seen it." Cruz rests a hand on Liam's leg, rubbing his thumb over the curve of his knee. "The hits are hard, the passes are fast, and the action is non-stop."

"Spoken like a whipped man," Bennet snorts.

"You know it." Cruz beams.

Despite our awkward run-in yesterday, I think it's cool my teammate is so enamored with his boyfriend. Cruz sort of reminds me of Cameron's dad, who's hopelessly devoted to his wife. Those two have been married forever and they still have this sappy love for each other. Cam and I would grumble about it as kids, but now I understand that it's the way marriage should be. Without them, I'd have no idea what a good relationship is supposed to look like, so even though my own genes don't bode well for that kind of happiness in my life, at least I have some idea of how things should work if I ever find someone to try forever with.

Way, way, waaay in the future.

While my roommates finish blowing up the toys—Bennet bought several inflatable bats and balls, figuring we'd bust holes in them pretty quickly—I grab the shake Cam left me and do some stretches to wake up my muscles. Yes, I'm competitive, but I'm also studying to be an athletic trainer, so I know how important it is to be limber before you do anything physical. That includes a goofy game of baseball between a bunch of bored college kids.

By the time Bennet's frat brothers arrive, we've got a makeshift infield set up in the backyard. Bases are just towels laid out on the grass, and the pitcher's mound is a white stripe made with leftover paint we found in the garage, probably from when the rental company touched up the house between renters.

Since each team has five people, the infielders have to play the outfield too. Thankfully, inflatable balls don't fly that far, so it would be a Christmas miracle for any of us to actually hit the ball outside the baseline anyway.

As the hosts, the football crew takes the field first, with Bennet pitching, Cruz catching, and Cam, me, and Liam playing first, second, and third, respectively.

First up for their team is a guy named Alex–I think. He strikes twice before connecting with the ball and sending it straight toward my face. I catch it easily, and he moseys back into the rotation as Aiden takes position, making a show of lining up his bat with the base.

He connects on the first try, barely, fouling to the outside of third base. His second attempt is virtually the same, but on the third he connects enough that the ball flies between second and third, which sends both Liam and I sprinting for it.

However, our efforts prove to be futile since we both stop, unsure of who's going to make the catch. The ball drops between us, giving Aiden enough time to make it to first base. He fist bumps Cam since he's the first guy to make it to a plate, and says something that has my best friend laughing so hard he clutches his side.

What the hell could be so funny about making it to base?

The next guy hits the ball on the first try, sending it soaring over my head so I have to chase it down. It hits the ground before I can catch it, but it's in my hand by the time Aiden's rounding second, so there's plenty of time to get him out at third. Or there would've been if inflatable balls weren't the total opposite of aerodynamic. The damn thing barely makes it back to second even though I put some muscle behind my throw, but I'm able to sprint behind it and tap out the guy who batted.

It's not long before we get three outs and the frat house has scored two runs. And at this point, it's evident this will not be a game of skill so much as chance, since a timely gust of wind can make all the difference.

Cam's up first for our team, and he gets a solid hit, sending the ball between second and third and making it easily to first base. Aiden's base. They must resume whatever they'd been talking about earlier if Cam's easy laughter is any indication.

Honestly, I should be happy for him since I suggested they get to know each other last night. But I don't like not being a part of whatever's making my best friend chuckle, especially since that sound is one of my favorite things about him.

Cruz is up next, and while he doesn't make it on base himself, he gives Cam enough time with a high fly ball to make it to second. Then it's my turn.

As I step to the plate, I notice Aiden and Cam looking at each other instead of watching the pitch, and even though I only imagine sending the ball in Aiden's direction, somehow the unpredictable ball flies exactly where I wanted it to, smacking Aiden on the side of the head since he wasn't paying attention.

I shoot off like a light, hoping he's stunned enough that I'll have a few extra seconds to make it to base. He spins around once before locating the ball, but since his head stopped most of its momentum it's close enough to first that he gets it and taps the base before I can cross it. At least my sacrifice allowed Cam to score.

However, as he crosses the plate, the ball arrives at nearly the same time. The frat house calls him out and the football house calls him safe, and with no one to break the five on five tie, we Rochambeau for the right to make the call. Fortunately, the football house wins with scissors to cut paper, making the score two to one as we head into the second inning.

Bennet takes the mound and winds up his pitch—spinning his arm in a crooked pinwheel motion since the beach ball is too big for a traditional wind up—pausing before the throw to study the batter. "Looking a little limp over there, Jeff."

Both teams erupt into laughter as Jeff holds up the droopy bat for all of us to see, which unfortunately resembles a flaccid cock.

"I hear oysters are good for that," one of the fratties says, but while the rest of the group hassles Jeff about his limp bat, my intrigued eyes find Cam's as a sly grin spreads across my face.

Don't even think about it. He shakes his head once.

I bet they've got a lot of protein. I raise my brows.

Not the point. A crease forms between his.

Who wouldn't love getting sexual stamina and protein in one shake? I wriggle mine.

Oysters taste like shit. Cam rolls his eyes.

Pretty sure they taste like whatever you flavor them with. I shrug nonchalantly.

I am NOT taste-testing that. He purses his lips and shakes his head.

We'll see. I grin broadly.

Jeff grabs a new bat and we resume the game, only for him to hit a single. The next guy up bunts it, forcing Bennet to rush forward to get the ball while runners head toward first and second. As Bennet gets the ball and throws it to me a gust of wind snags it, pushing it over my head and toward the far end of the yard. Suddenly the frat guys are up four to one.

We play three innings before the inflatables start to have trouble holding air and we call it with the frat guys in the lead. It stings, but since they brought beer, they're forgiven.

"I can't believe summer classes start next week," Bennet grumbles as he falls into one of the lawn chairs.

There are only a handful, so some of the guys lounge in the grass while Liam sits on Cruz's lap. Aiden grabs the one I was planning to take next to Cam, so I use Cam's legs as my chair.

"Sure… Make yourself comfortable," he grunts under my weight.

Looking at him over my shoulder, I flash a playful wink. "You got the chair, I got the beer." I hand him the can I grabbed for myself and gesture for Bennet to toss me another. It erupts a bit from being jostled, and I hurry to lick up the stray drops before they get all over my hand.

Cam jolts underneath me when a cold drop hits his bare leg. "It goes in your mouth, Kitcat."

I hold up my middle finger without turning around, and drown out Aiden's question about what Kitcat means since I know Cam will never tell him. The meaning behind our nicknames is sacred. Well, the one I've given him anyway. The one he gave me is just…a private memory.

"Who here is taking Calc B this summer?" one of the frat guys asks.

"I took it last semester," Cruz says. "I've got engineering this summer."

"Computer, electrical, mechanical…?" Aiden asks.

"Mechanical. You got engineering this summer, too?"

"Computer. What about you Liam?" Aiden asks. "What are you taking?"

"No classes for me, just work at the clinic," Liam answers.

"Sure you don't want to jump on Anatomy with us?" Cam points at the two of us. "It might be nice to get it out of the way."

"I think that'll be too much with my job," Liam says.

Can't say I blame the guy. He might've started working at the clinic to pay for his tuition, but with the three of us studying medicine, Cam and I can relate to the ruthless class schedule. Getting the break for the summer would be heaven, even if it was to work. However, we chose to get a head start on Anatomy to knock the hardest class out of the way while we're on off-season.

"I still can't believe you two are taking it," Bennet says. "Anatomy on top of two-a-days? No thank you."

"You've taken Anatomy before?" Cam asks him.

"Nah, man. I'm finance. But I heard that class sucks."

"It's just one class," I point out. "We'd rather get it over with during two-a-days than juggle it on top of practice and three other classes."

"What class do you have this summer?" That guy, Jeff, asks Bennet.

"Statistics."

"I heard that's surprisingly tough," Cruz says.

"We're football players, statistics should be like a second language," Bennet replies.

"So you're saying it'll be an easy A?" I ask.

"Exactly." He leans forward to tap his beer can against mine.

"I'm just glad we get to ease into a full schedule." Cruz lifts his can and all us players mimic him in simultaneous cheers. All the players except Cam, whose head is bent so close to Aiden's he doesn't register me trying to actually tap my can to his since we're close enough to do it.

Glancing over my shoulder, I catch his smile. Genuine. Flirty. And all teeth.

I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.