10. Liam

My breath fogs in the air as I cup my gloved hands together, blowing into the space between them. Too bad the warmth it gives lasts all of two seconds.

I need to remember this moment, and the fear that I might very well freeze my family jewels to the bleachers, and that's not even remotely worth the five minutes of relief his hand gives me…

Right? I tilt my head, silently debating on whether I truly believe that or not. Shaking it off, I clear my throat. Of course it isn't worth this… Next time, I'll opt to watch it from our room, where I've got my beanbag chair, a mini fridge full of snacks, and my teeth won't chatter hard enough to crack my skull. For now, though, I'll keep huffing into my hands like I'm going to invent fire, and pretend I'm as excited to be here as the shirtless guys a few rows over who are either too dumb or too drunk to realize they're flirting with hypothermia.

Why did I agree to this, after I'd already given Cruz what he wanted in return?

Speaking of, I'm still a little shell-shocked I confessed to getting jumped. I've never told another soul about that, ever. Yet, I spilled my guts to Cruz.

Am I upset? No. Am I concerned? A little.

It wasn't a secret or anything—the entire student body at my high school, and undoubtedly most of the staff knew. The guys who did it threatened a repeat at least once a month, but I've never voluntarily told anyone about what happened. Not even the doctors who set my arm. Or my parents.

I gave the doctors some bullshit about breaking it in a pickup game. A bad step, my arm shot out to break my fall and…crack. I'm not sure they believed me, especially considering the other scrapes and bruises I was sporting, but they couldn't prove that it didn't happen that way. And since I was eighteen, they didn't have to call my parents to confirm my story. I would've told my parents the truth if they'd showed up to the hospital, if only so I could vent about it, despite knowing I'd never see any justice.

But they never came.

My dad was either working late or out of town, I don't remember which, and my mom was undoubtedly already passed out cold. So, I gave the staff my insurance card, got my cast, and signed myself out. By the time my dad saw the cast three weeks had passed, and I just stuck with my pickup game story. At one point in time, they'd have cared what happened, but by my senior year they had checked out of the whole parenting obligation. I figured I'd rather have them ignore my fake story than the real one. I guess I reasoned that would hurt less.

A loud bang sounds to my right, and when I turn to find the source I see a wave of green jerseys running between two rows of cheerleaders wearing so much yellow it's like they're trying to subliminally convince you it's a warm, sunny day. The sunny part may be accurate, but no amount of yellow could convince me the temperature is anything other than freezing.

At least the school limited that garish color to the text on the jerseys, otherwise the football team might look like Big Bird's family tree. The green and white actually looks nice together, especially considering the white is on the lower half, which really accentuates the…muscles.

Stop it, Liam. Ogling butts is part of what got you into this mess in the first place, spilling memories you swore to bury.

Why I volunteered the truth to Cruz, I'm still not sure. I suspect I might be confusing his selfless hand jobs with actual feelings. Not that he isn't capable of feelings, but when he's touching me it's hard to remember it's probably more like a clinical exercise for him. Unfortunately, I'm so starved for affection, that I fear my brain is going to turn our next high-five into a marriage proposal. Now, if the man shows me any kind of human decency, I have to worry about my mouth joining the party. And not in the fun way. In the spill your deepest darkest secrets kind.

At least I stopped talking before I got to the part about my parents not showing up at the hospital. Cruz may not have sexual urges, but he does appear to experience pretty intense feelings of friendship and loyalty. I suspect he might've gone all overbearing protector if he knew that part. And while it's nice to have someone show concern, the last thing I want is pity. And a guy like Cruz with such a happy family life would definitely pity me if he knew my parents forgot I exist.

Hell, he might feel that way now, knowing that I'd been attacked. Knowing Cruz, he's probably crafting me a ‘Sorry You Got Beat Up' playlist, but at least that little confession didn't result in him looking at me like he felt sorry for me. The opposite actually… I don't think I've seen anyone that angry since, well, since I got my ass kicked for being gay.

That was a bit of a shock. It's one thing for people to accept that you're gay, and another for them to go to bat for you. When Cruz said he wanted to kick their asses with such a determined look in his eye, I got this overwhelming feeling that he meant it. That might've made Cruz even more appealing than I found him before, although I'm still afraid to fully trust him for fear that he'll turn out like my supposed best friend, James, who didn't hesitate to throw a few punches when the rest of the crowd was beating on me.

Logically, I know Cruz isn't James. I need to judge Cruz on his own merits instead of the lingering trauma James left me with, but it"s a lot easier said than done. Still, I swear that little statement of support had almost as much impact as his hand when it comes to making me feel a tiny bit less alone.

The hand thing works since I'm touch starved—and horny, living with a specimen like Cruz—so actual human contact is appreciated. But those words were almost like a hug. Lame, I know. But they're the closest thing I've felt to a hug in ages, so I'm going with it.

I suppose that's why I'm sitting in the stands, bundled like an ice cave explorer, watching a football game. Why he thinks this is better than watching on TV I have no idea, but as far as I'm concerned the TV coverage is far superior. Especially when the camera zooms in on him from behind when he's crouched over on the line of scrimmage, ready to pounce. Damn. Just, damn.

I'm not proud of it, but the chance to secretly ogle my asexual roommate got me off my football boycott. Speaking of…

A quick search of the field from two-thirds of the way to the nose-bleeds, I don't see the ass I'm looking for. Or rather, I do since I can see Cruz's number on the jersey, I just can't see those glutes flex as he moves. That's disappointing.

Maybe they'll flash a closeup on the big screen by the scoreboard. They've gotta put at least one good shot up there over the next four hours, right? Maybe an instant replay or something if there's a score or a flag. I won't get the benefit of the commentator telling me exactly what's happening, but I've seen enough by now that I could probably suss out what's going on.

That almost makes me sound like a fan, which I'm most definitely not. I'd go with reluctant observer, and not solely because of the view. After telling Cruz about what happened in high school, I realized it isn"t fair to be angry at an entire sport just because of one bad experience. Plus, Cruz—and Jagger and Cameron—seem like good guys, and after suffering prejudice myself over what I like, I don't want to act like that toward anyone else. It'd make me the world's biggest hypocrite, and that's not a label I want.

So, to show my roommate the same support he's shown me, here I am. In person, yet not close enough to satisfy my weekly voyeuristic urges.

I should've brought binoculars.

Dammit, Liam.What you should do is be grateful the guy is willing to play with your dick on occasion instead of dreaming about seeing his ass. It's never gonna happen. As is, you're getting hooked on his hand. Don't let it get further than that. Don't—

"Liam?"

I snap out of my internal tongue-lashing to find Aiden standing in the aisle next to my seat.

"Oh, hey." I offer a contrite smile.

While he's a nice guy, I'm not really into Aiden, which I haven't admitted to him. I haven't intentionally avoided him, I just got caught up in the mind-blowing orgasms my ACE roommate gives me and stopped visiting his frat for our—whatever that was we flirted with several weeks back.

"You haven't been to any of our parties lately. And you didn't rush. Or did you, just not at our house?"

I say a little thank you that Aiden and I never traded numbers, so my absence is less ghosting and more of a ‘life got in the way' timing issue.

"I didn't rush. And I haven't been in much of a partying mood lately." I hold up my arm to show him my cast.

"Oh shit, what happened?" He helps himself to the empty spot next to me, which is more like half a spot since the student section fills up on a first come basis, and I'm getting the impression there isn't an official max capacity since I've yet to hear anyone say they can't make room for another body.

"Long story. Let's just say parent's weekend is a health hazard I plan to avoid from here forward."

"You know that answer only makes me more curious, right?" Aiden's trademark shy smile spreads across his face, and for some reason what I used to think was cute strikes me as meh, although I can't really say why. He's an attractive man, and his expression seems genuine enough. It just doesn't spark anything the way I think he intends for it to, so I don't feel compelled to answer.

"Tell me about your rush. How'd that go?" I change the subject.

"It'd have been better if you were there." Aiden bumps my arm with his. "But overall, it's going well. We've got about twenty new guys who all seem pretty cool. Well, almost all. One is a legacy who has a bit of an attitude—thinks he shouldn't have to do the grunt work all prospects have to do—but he'll come around, eventually."

"Grunt work?"

"You know." Aiden lifts a nonchalant shoulder. "Cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry, watching the door at parties instead of partying."

Hazing.

Admittedly, that doesn't sound awful, but I've been around long enough to know those are probably the more acceptable forms of torturing newbies. The less acceptable ones wouldn't get discussed in public.

I wriggle my jaw, which is trying to lock down tight. "How will you get him to come around?"

"Usually, whatever punishment he'd get would apply to his whole pledge class. People tend to behave when others are paying for their attitude." Aiden's tone suggests this is a normal, harmless way to enforce their will, and since I'm pretty sure the military does something similar, he probably believes that. But this isn't the military, it's just a stupid club people join so they feel like they belong. Why haze the people who are supposed to be your friends?

"You could still join, if you wanted. I could get you into this year's pledge class." Aiden bites the corner of his lip. "It'd be really cool to have you in the house."

"Thanks, but between classes and practice, once I can get back to it, I don't think I'll have the time."

"Practice for what?"

Oh right. The few times I've seen Aiden, we haven't exactly done much talking.

"Lacrosse. I play on the club team."

His brown eyes have a slight twinkle to them as he seems to take inventory of me. "Ah, now I get why you prefer that to football."

"You remember that?" I feel somewhat guilty that I'd forgotten I made that comment until just now.

"Only because we might be the only two people who aren't obsessed with it."

"Why are you here, then? If you don't like the game, I mean."

Aiden seems to blush before answering, although that could be just the cold. "Most of the fraternity comes to the games to support Bennet. Why are you here?"

"My roommate, Cruz. He plays tight end."

"There's a lot of hype about him. Bennet says he's pretty good, especially for a freshman."

"They do seem to say his name a lot." I chew on my lip to stop myself from saying anything further, like how every time they mention what great hands he has, for catching the ball, I think of something else they're good at.

"Well, his stats put him as one of the best rookies in college football."

"Seriously?" A puff of air escapes my lips. "Wait, how do you even know that?"

"How do you not? He's sort of the talk of the campus."

The answer to that is obvious to me. Despite wanting a fresh start here, I'm too distrustful to make friends with just anyone. I tend to sit back and observe before deciding whether someone seems worthy of the effort, and because of that I haven't really picked up on campus gossip. I only talked to Aiden in the beginning because I was feeling especially annoyed at life, which made me reckless. Plus, I was horny.

I got lucky that he's a decent guy. And gay. It's too bad he doesn't get me as excited as my unavailable roommate, who's apparently all the rage.

"I'm not what you'd call a big conversationalist." I try to make it sound like I'm quiet, not wary of pretty much everyone.

"So, you're the guy who sits in the back of the class and stares at his phone until the professor comes in?" He's smiling to show he's joking, but he's totally got me pegged.

"To be fair, pretty much everyone is looking at their phone until class starts."

"This is why you should rush. You'll meet tons of new people, so you won't have to be the quiet guy in the back of the room."

"Wouldn't the other guys be upset if I show up late?" I don't particularly care if they would be or not since I have no intention of joining, I just can't think of a better way to decline without saying no.

"Eh." Aiden shrugs his shoulders.

"In that case, no thanks. I wouldn't want any special treatment. And I really do want to see how things go with classes and lacrosse first."

"Stop over after the game, then. We're having a party."

"It must be a day ending in ‘Y,'" I say with a wry chuckle.

"Hey, just cause you've only been there for parties doesn't mean that's all we do." He leans close enough to give my arm another little nudge. "But yeah, we always have one after home games. You should bring your roommate. I don't think I've seen him there yet."

"I don't think he's much of a partier." Actually, I'm pretty sure he's less concerned with parties than the girls who might be there, and the idea that he'll get put on the spot. Not that he's admitted as much, it's just a feeling I get since he's more than happy to grab a bite to eat or just play pool in the common room after a game.

"Everyone needs to let loose sometimes."

"Yeah, that's not really something I can do at the moment." I hold up my arm to remind him of the cast, and the brand of letting loose I can't help with.

Aiden rolls his eyes. "I wasn't suggesting that. Just come grab a beer or something. Both of you."

"Yeah, okay. I'll mention it."

"Want to come sit with the guys?" Aiden tips his head toward another shirtless group several rows back.

"Thanks, but I've got a pretty good view from here." There's zero chance my reasoning makes any sense since his friends are only a few rows away, but Aiden doesn't call me out on it. Instead, he holds his fist out, and I tap my knuckles to his. Then I focus on the field, passing the time between plays by trying to spot Cruz via finding the right butt.