1. Cruz

"Push from your chest, not your hips," my teammate, Jagger, says as he straddles his best friend Cameron on the incline press next to me, using his body weight to keep his friend's hips from moving.

"I'm pretty sure sitting on your clients' laps isn't an approved method of teaching good form," Cameron grunts over the clang of weights around us.

"That's why I'm studying athletic training, dumbass." Jagger puts his fingers under Cameron's triceps to give him an extra little nudge with the weight. "Besides, you're my best friend, not my client, so rules don't apply."

"Best friend isn't code for help yourself to a seat on my dick." Cameron grits through another rep.

"Please," Jagger snorts. "We both know you'd be the bottom."

Something between a chuckle and cry passes through my lips as I finish my last rep and drop my dumbbells to the ground with a clang. Fortunately, they interpret it as laughter.

"And you wonder why people think we're boyfriends." Cameron racks the bar while rolling his eyes at Jagger, who makes no move to get off him.

"Big party tonight, Cruz. Want to come with? Blow off a little steam." Jagger waggles his brows.

It's the weekend before classes start, and while the football team has been here for months already, the rest of the students are only just now getting to campus. After weeks upon weeks of two-a-day training, everyone's anxious to get a taste of the party scene that inevitably comes with more bodies. Well, mostly everyone.

I shake my arms out, getting ready for my next set. "If I get done moving, yeah."

"You were serious about switching to the honors dorm?" Cam accepts the water bottle Jagger hands him and takes a quick gulp. "Why?"

The three of us, along with the rest of our underclass teammates, have been staying in what's dubbed the athletic dorm over the summer. The university encourages all athletes to live there during their first year, although it's not required, and based on how rowdy things got over the summer, even with only a fraction of the student body in town, I'm making the right decision.

"I'm here to play ball and study," I reply.

"You can't do both in our dorm?" Jagger and Cam switch places, minus the sitting on each other thing since Jagger has great form on the incline press.

"Not as well," I answer. "How many nights were we up until midnight, or one, even though we had practice at seven?"

Admittedly, most of that time was spent playing video games, not drinking or doing other stupid shit, because two-a-days are brutal, and no one wants to be hungover for those. Still, despite the grueling practices this is the closest most of us have been to real freedom, so no one was as disciplined as they probably should've been. Including me. But I'm under no illusions that I'm a shoo-in for the NFL—most college players aren't—which means my grades have to be on point, and not just for my scholarship.

If I'm not one of the lucky ones who make the NFL, my future will look a lot like my dad's. That's not a bad thing per se—he's got a small auto repair shop that keeps us stable though not quite comfortable—and growing up around cars means I'm already pretty knowledgeable about them. I'd like to do more than repair them though, maybe design and engineer them, hence my need for good grades. And the relocation to the honors dorm.

You need a three-point-eight GPA to live there, and I'm banking that people who pulled that are a little more prone to good study habits than the guys here to play ball. Nothing against my teammates. So far, they all seem like great guys—especially these two. They work hard and don't take themselves too seriously. But I'd feel much better about my ability to keep my grades up if I'm surrounded by people who are here for a degree as opposed to a sport.

"We didn't have any classes over the summer," Cam says as Jagger pumps out his reps. "It'll be different when school is in session."

"Maybe, maybe not." I shrug and pick up the dumbbells, pressing them above my head to work my shoulders. "I'd rather not risk it though. I'm expecting my classes to be pretty tough, and I don't want any distractions."

"We're gonna have tough classes too," Cam insists. "I heard biology's a bitch, and we both need that."

"What's your major again?"

"I'm athletic training." Jagger racks the bar with a grunt and jerks his head toward Cameron. "And he's physical therapy."

"Those are tough," I concede as I drop the weights to the floor. "You two must have better study habits than me."

"Doubtful. But we're pretty good at keeping each other in line." Jagger holds his fist to Cam, who presses their knuckles together. "Enough school talk. We have two days before classes start, and we've earned a break. Ideally one that includes a little female action. My fist isn't cutting it anymore."

"Could've fooled me, Kitcat," Cam taunts his friend with the nickname they won't tell me the origin of. "You sounded pretty satisfied this morning when your damn moaning woke me up."

"Satisfied isn't the word I'd use. Temporarily relieved maybe, but I need to get laid. I hope being on the football team will facilitate that."

Cam huffs out a frustrated breath and rolls his eyes. "As if you need to boast about that to find a girl. You literally just have to stand there, and they'll flock to you. You don't even have to open your mouth, and they'll drop their pants."

"You're exaggerating," Jagger says as his cheeks turn just a little pink.

"I'm totally not." Cam turns to me and insists, "I've seen it happen."

"I can see it." I agree. "He has that look about him."

Jagger"s brows pull together as his gaze darts between the two of us. "What look?"

"The one girls like. Dark hair, green eyes, and a solid build. That's what they went for where I'm from." I'm not interested in men, but I'm capable of recognizing attractiveness, and Jagger falls squarely into that category. I'd call him pretty—in a rugged sort of way—if I didn't think he'd balk at that. But how else do you describe smooth skin, angular cheekbones, and long eyelashes?

"Well, Cam looks like a California surfer, and girls like that too." Jagger downplays his appeal by turning the focus to Cam, who also fits the attractive label, though with features that would probably be considered classically good looking instead of…well, pretty. "And you're a freaking beast, man." He looks at me. "Tall and built, but not hulking big. Don't you guys act like I'm the only one they'll flock to."

"Fine. They'll flock to you first." Cam crosses his arms over his chest. "Bet."

"I'm not making bets on who scores first," Jagger scoffs.

"Because you know I'll win."

"Because I'm a gentleman." Jagger waggles his eyebrows mischievously before they both burst into laughter, clearly sharing some sort of inside joke, which makes my chest feel sort of hollow.

It wasn't that long ago that Xavier and I were just like them. We had the same interests, the same sense of humor, and we could communicate with just a look. Not just a word or two either. I"m talking entire conversations. It drove people crazy, but it was my favorite part of having a best friend.

When he broke the news he didn't plan to go to college with me anymore and stormed out…

Things were never the same after that night. I almost threw away my scholarship, but ultimately my dad convinced me to come here. He told me I couldn't put my life on hold for Xavier, and since that was the same argument I made about Piper and Xavier's decision not to come to Colorado, I knew he was right.

So, here I am. At my dream school, playing for my dream team. I still wish Xavier were here with me, but I'm getting by without him. That doesn't mean I don't still think about him daily, especially when I see how close Jagger and Cameron are.

"So, whad'ya say, Cruz? Coming tonight?" Jagger switches places with Cam on the bench.

I probably should. I don't know anyone here besides my teammates, and even though those are the guys I'm likely to see the most, it wouldn't hurt to meet some people outside of football. And while I'm not looking to replace Xavier—I couldn't even if I wanted to—it'd be nice to have someone, or a group of someones, to call friends.

"We'll help you dump your shit at your new room first. You've got all weekend to unpack," Cam adds with a little oomph as Jagger climbs on top of him to spot his next round.

"Yeah." I force a smile to my face. "Why not."

***

The sparsely furnished room is empty when I get there, which is nice in the sense that I get to pick my bed and desk. Though, being first means the door could swing open at any time, and I'll be on edge until it happens.

I'm not an anxious person, but I don't know anyone who would be totally calm as they wait to find out who they'll be living with for the next nine months. Aside from knowing the guy's name–William–I have zero information on him. And even though we filled out a survey to help the university pair us with someone they think is compatible, I feel like that doesn't inherently mean we'll hit it off the second he walks through the door. In that sense, it's probably for the best I'm going out tonight. It'll give me something to do besides waiting in what resembles an exam room for the person who"s going to deliver my fate.

"Which desk do you want?" Cameron asks as he carries a box of notebooks and other school supplies through the door.

"The one by the window." I point to my choice. "And this bed." I drop one duffel bag of clothes on the mattress as Jagger deposits the other, and I reach into a third duffel to get my sheets.

"Unpack later." Jagger's already going for the door.

"It's just my sheets. I don't wanna have to make the bed when I get home."

"If you do things right, you'll pass out without even knowing your bed isn't made." He holds the door open so we can leave. "We need to get dinner before the party."

"Fine." I huff as I toss my sheets back onto the mattress. Cameron trails behind me with Jagger bringing up the rear as we file to the door. I glance over my shoulder, quirking a brow. "But I get to pick the restaurant, and I swear if you try to convince me to eat Sushi again, I might—shit!" I reach out to steady the guy I plowed into. "Sorry, man. I wasn't paying attention."

A pair of hazel eyes regard me coolly. "It's fine." He sidesteps me and keeps walking—and yeah, I'm the guy at fault here, but damn—I'm not sure I deserved the death glare. I feel sorry for whoever has to room with that ray of sunshine.

I shake my head, shrugging off the encounter, and the three of us make our way to the student union where there are half a dozen fast food options so no one has to eat something they don't want. And after putting away a shit-ton of calories, off we go to–as Jagger put it–the party of the year.

It's in this massive three story house with a large porch that's already full of people, music blasting from the open doors and windows as people jostle to get inside.

"Who's place is this?" I ask as I follow Jagger through a sea of bodies that seem to part just for him, though if he's aware of people stepping back to stare as he passes, he doesn't let on. Wrinkling my nose as the scent of cheap beer and sweat hits my nose, I follow him through the front door.

"I think it's Bennet's. Or at least it's his fraternity." He leads us straight to the keg as if he somehow knew where it would be, taking three cups from the girl distributing them. The moment she sees who she's handing them to, she freezes in place, her gaze sliding down his body one inch at a time. By the time her eyes travel back to his face she nearly drops the stack of cups she's holding, though with his attention on the keg Jagger doesn't even notice.

Cameron huffs out a breath that I'm pretty sure is supposed to mean ‘told you,' although I never doubted his claim that women would fall at Jagger's feet. A few guys too, if I'm reading the room right. His looks are so enthralling. I think people stare just to see if he's real.

Full cups in hand, we wander a bit, taking in the scene. Furniture is pushed against the wall to create a dance floor, and a group of ten or so move to the beat in one corner of the living room. Beer pong has a crowd gathering in the dining room, and smaller groups are scattered about flirting, laughing, and drinking the night away.

"The nice thing about hanging out with Jagger is I never have to be the wingman," Cameron says as we weave through the house, catching the eye of pretty much every female on the premises. "Of course, that means I get the girl he doesn't want, but since I'm not looking for anything serious it works."

"You do this a lot then? Hook up with the friend of whoever he reels in?"

"Makes life easy."

"What happens if you want more?"

Cameron shoots me a curious look. "Who has time for more with football?"

"Yeah. Makes sense." I sip my tasteless beer and follow along, although truthfully, I don't fully understand the casual sex thing. Hooking up for the sake of hooking up seems like a chore instead of something pleasurable, but after what happened with Xavier and Piper, I'm happy to support my new friends in their endeavors. They're too young to hitch themselves to another person, particularly if it might be the wrong one.

After meandering around the house to take in the scene, we finally reach the beer pong table. A few of our other teammates are gathered there, and the three of us take turns playing as teams rotate based on who lost the round and who needs more beer.

My first game is sub-par, and the second is just as bad. By the third, I'm clearly the guy you don't want to partner with.

"Seriously, Cruz." Jagger rolls his eyes when my ball goes way off target. "The object is to get the ball in the cup, not bounce it off my chest."

"Maybe I'm going for the ricochet."

"That's not a thing," Cameron snorts.

"How are you so bad at this?" My teammate Kyle asks. "You're a football player. You should have better aim."

"I'm a tight end, not a quarterback," I reason as the ball lands in the cup in front of me. Again.

I'm booed off the table after that, which is fine since I've had more than my fair share of drinks, and since I can't play anymore Jagger and Cameron make room for new players. We're mingling off to the side, cheering and jeering the guys who replaced us, when a trio of girls who have been following us all night finally work up the nerve to approach Jagger.

"Told you." Cameron slaps the back of his wrist against my chest. "He'll go for the blonde. It's his type. You want the brunette or the redhead?"

"Oh, I uh…"

"I sort of dig brunettes if that's cool with you," he says as he winks at said brunette, saving me from having to respond. "Come on." Cameron tugs me closer to where the girls are gathered around Jagger, and while I'm aware introductions are made, I don't register any of their names. I tell myself it's the beer making my head foggy, but that's only partially true. I'm more interested in the plausible excuse I can make to leave than remembering new names.

Feeling tired, feeling drunk, having to pee–that last one makes the most sense–and I'm just about to use it when our new friends suggest we move outside. Perfect.

I'm the first to the door–fresh air sounds like a great idea–and stretching my legs on a walk might clear my head a bit. But a few minutes into the walk, I realize two things: Jagger and Cameron aren't with us anymore, and if I focus my eyes on the trees, I can see them moving. Or more accurately, I see bodies moving against those trees.

The backyard is like lookout point or something, the muffled sounds of heavy breathing and…other noises floating in the air. Just before the girl next to me stops I catch sight of two men writhing together, the blond one backed up against a tree as his partner's arm moves rhythmically back and forth.

The girl beside me places a small hand on my chest, though it barely registers. I can't tear my eyes away from the male couple, a deep-rooted curiosity taking control.

I've never seen two guys make out. The only gay guy I know is my cousin, and I don't want to see him doing that with anyone. I would've expected the sight to be weird, mostly because it's unfamiliar, but strangely it doesn't seem weird at all. Well, no more so than a hetero couple doing it anyway.

Actually, something about the blond seems familiar.

I don't notice until it's too late that my back is pressed up against a thick tree trunk, and the girl's fingers are skirting down my stomach as she lowers to her knees. As a blast of cool air hits my oblivious cock–when did she unfasten my shorts–I snap back to the present.

"I'm uh… I've maybe had a little too much." I help the girl stand as I zip up, giving her what I hope is an apologetic smile. "We've been training so hard over the summer, and this is the first night out in… Well, I sort of forgot to pace myself."

Her expression morphs from startled to confused to understanding as I babble, and she gives me a small smile. "That's cool. It's not my favorite thing to do anyway."

"Why would you, then?" I can't stop myself from frowning.

She lifts her shoulders bashfully. "I figured you'd like it."

"Oh." I'm momentarily speechless. "Could we just hang out instead?"

"Yeah." She nods and follows me back to the patio where we find a few lawn chairs. Dani—I finally catch her name—is also a freshman and plans to study engineering, same as me. And by the time the rest of our friends find us, all four of them wearing matching smirks, I assume they found what they were looking for. That makes me feel slightly guilty, although I'm hoping since Dani and I have a lot in common she's okay that all we did was talk.

All in all, it's a good night. But it's not until I'm standing outside the athletic dorm that I remember I switched rooms, and I have to drag my ass across campus to my new home.

Thank God my new roommate was a no-show today. I'm fucking exhausted, and I've socialized enough for one night.