4. Liam

Ikeep a wary eye on Cruz from where I'm reclined on my bed as he grabs a towel and heads to the adjoining bathroom, replaying the exchange we just shared.

It was…good. Much better than what I was bracing for when I left the room this morning to cool off.

Didn't see that coming.

I woke up with a chip on my shoulder, which is pretty standard by now, although this morning I had my new roommate to thank for that. The nerve of that guy, being a total douche in the hall and then collapsing in my bed like he owned the place.

Chuckling to myself as the shower turns on, I recall the fury that overcame me in that moment. It kept me up most of the night, running through all the reasons I'd need to plead for a new roommate.

His total lack of spatial awareness. His inability to handle his liquor. His apparent disdain toward gay people.

The first thought that ran through my mind when I woke up was to be petty. I was going to bang around, turn the lights on, accidently toss shit at his bed. I wanted to give the asshole a taste of his own medicine.

Then I caught a glimpse of the big oaf sleeping, and—there's no other description for it—my skin warmed. Almost like a full-body blush, though most of the heat was concentrated in my chest.

His face looked so… peaceful. It"s a sensation I'm no longer capable of, and it stopped me cold. Half of me was envious while the other wanted to ruin it for him out of spite. I was prepared to do just that when I got an eyeful of his bare chest peeking out from under the blanket.

It's a goddamn work of art.

All I could do was watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his smooth skin as he slumbered without a care in the world. I stared for far longer than I should"ve, and to my dismay, the fight melted right out of me.

Despite my tragic history with jocks, I keep finding myself gravitating toward them. That's why I had to get out of the room. I had to put some distance between us and remember I was—rightfully—pissed. I managed to regain some of that anger when I wasn't looking at him, but once I was back in the room, and he made a genuine effort not to take the bait I was throwing at him, I realized he might not be as bad as I first thought.

And hot. So, so hot, with that light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and body I want to climb like a tree.

I bet that body looks pretty good right now, all wet and soapy and… Focus Liam.

He may be gorgeous, but he's still my roommate, so I need to get a grip. Still, I can't help thinking it's a damn tragedy he's ACE, not just for me, but for anyone with eyes.

I'm stunned he confessed that after our rocky start. It's been a long time since someone confided in me, and the fact that he chose me after I threatened bodily harm if he kept me up… I don't want to get ahead of myself—let my guard down only to be disappointed—but so far it seems like he might be a decent guy.

I'm not a hundred percent convinced, though. I'm not the best judge of character. I've thought the best about others in the past only to learn that underneath their friendly exterior is a black soul. I won't let myself be tricked again, but I'm willing to keep an open mind.

So, unless he proves me wrong, I won't take his confession lightly.

I've been on the other end of that scenario, the one where people don't respect your privacy and hold your sexuality against you, and I won't do that to someone else. Not unless provoked anyway, so I'll keep his secret and be mindful of his comfort zone.

That said, I'm still a gay man, and he's still gorgeous, so to say I'm unaffected by his all-American looks and golden retriever personality would be a flat out lie. However, I'm pretty good at keeping hot guys in the friend zone, and even if I'd be keeping him there out of respect for his sexuality instead of self-preservation, I can do it.

The water shuts off, and I find myself imagining Cruz standing in the shower, water droplets succumbing to gravity and trickling down that smooth, lickable chest…

Again with the fantasies? This doesn't bode well for the next nine months.

My sex drive is fairly average for my age–I think–but I rarely get to satisfy it, and with temptation only a few feet away I doubt that'll change. I'll have to give myself some relief or go crazy.

I think it's safe to say nightly showers will be my routine for the foreseeable future, and I have a pretty good idea who'll be starring in that activity with me.

Is it wrong that I can see myself picturing my platonic, asexual roommate when I jerk off? Probably. Will that stop me from doing it? Well, I guess they call it jerking off for a reason.

I'll keep that little nugget between me and my hand though.

"So, now that we're friends." Cruz's voice halts my internal rambling, and I try not to choke on my own breath as he steps back into our room wearing only a towel that does very little to hide the delicious little ‘V' I suspected he'd have at the base of his torso. "Got any thoughts about what to do with this room?"

I swallow back the saliva pooling in my mouth as he pulls on a pair of boxers–before letting the towel drop to the floor thank God. "What do you mean?"

His head swivels around, taking in the space. "It's kind of depressing, don't you think?"

"It's a dorm."

"We might need to work on your vocabulary, Sunshine." He tugs on a pair of sweats that do nothing to hide how round his ass is. "This place isn't just a plain dorm room, it resembles a prison cell. Where's the personalization?"

I force myself to look at his face. "Just because we've called a truce doesn't mean you get to give me a nickname."

"An ironic nickname." He smiles proudly, like we're already on our way to being best buddies, and I can't decide if that makes me want to roll my eyes or smile back.

He's just so…eager.

Rolling my eyes wins out, though I take my own tour of the bare white walls, plain tile floor, and worn wood furniture. "What did you have in mind?"

His shoulders rise and fall in an indecisive shrug as he pulls a shirt over his head, covering those sculpted pecs. "A rug might be nice. This floor is fucking cold, and it's not even winter. And maybe some posters or something."

"What about a TV? Or video games?"

"Not in my budget." Cruz gives me a timid smile. "Besides, I don't even know how we'll get a rug back here, much less a TV. Unless the store will deliver."

"I've got a car."

"Really? I didn't think freshmen were allowed cars on campus."

"They're not, but I had to get here somehow."

"Wait, you've got a car you're not allowed to have? Where will you park it?"

"That's Monday's problem since the offices are closed until then." Normally, I'd stew about that all weekend, and it's possible my anger over that whole scenario will find me again before Monday rolls around. But right now, the idea of buying stuff to personalize the place, which most people probably already did with their parents before their arrival, sounds amazing. And I'd rather not let my anger toward my parents spoil it. Funny how the idea of decorating the room sounds better once you have someone to do it with. "You ready?" I grab the key fob off the desk.

"Hell yeah!" Cruz grabs his wallet and follows me to my car, a four-door Jeep Wrangler.

"Nice," he says as he climbs in the passenger seat. "Factory lift, Fox shocks—not as nice as the Rancho but not bad—two hundred eighty five horsepower… This is a great ride."

"You're a Jeep guy?"

"Not specifically. I like cars in general. My pop owns a repair shop. I sort of grew up around them."

"So, any ideas where to go? I don't know the town very well yet." I back out of the parking space.

"Target I guess? They have pretty much everything."

I'm not overly familiar with it—I think we only ever got school supplies there—but I'm game. Cruz gives directions while I drive, and once we arrive, he grabs a cart and heads straight to the home goods section.

We pick out a striped rug in blues and grays and creams, then a couple bean bag chairs so we have something besides our beds and desk chairs to sit on. He finds the ‘Believe' poster from Ted Lasso, and I go with ‘Spiderman Into the Spiderverse,' one of the best animated films I've ever seen. I might be sort of an expert on them since I spent an excessive amount of time watching movies and TV shows over the past few years. That is, when I wasn't playing lacrosse.

"I'm all set. You?" Cruz asks me.

"But we haven't hit the electronics section."

"You were serious about the TV thing? It's really not in my budget." This time there's no timid smile, just a blank expression, like he's either ignoring or owning the fact that we clearly come from two vastly different backgrounds.

Good. I don't want to make a big deal of that either.

"I've got the TV and the video game system. I got some graduation money specifically for getting my dorm room set up." I lead us toward electronics, wondering if the blatant lie about my finances sounded plausible. Things with Cruz may be looking up after yesterday, but that doesn't mean I'm ready to tell him about my fucked-up home life, even if he did share something personal with me.

We pick a twenty-seven-inch TV, the biggest we think will fit atop one of the dressers, and an Xbox with two controllers. I thought about splurging for headsets, mainly to spend my dad's money, but also so Cruz can play with his teammates in the other dorm. But since he doesn't think he'll have that much time to play, I leave them on the shelf. It's not like I have anyone to game with.

By the time we get back to the dorm and get everything set the way we want it, the dining hall is open for dinner, so we make our way there. We're just sitting down to eat our burgers when two other guys help themselves to seats at our table and immediately start jabbering to Cruz.

Jocks. My whole body goes tense.

At one point I was one of them. Still am in the sense that I play a sport, but that's where the similarities end. Macho locker-room bullshit that's supposed to pass as camaraderie holds no appeal for me.

"Killer party last night," the striking dark-haired one says, and damn, even his voice is pretty.

"How did you feel this morning?" the attractive blond asks. "Since you're so epically bad at beer pong, I'm gonna guess shitty."

"Did you even make it back to your new room? Once you remembered you have it?" The dark-haired guy flashes Cruz a smile that can only be described as dazzling, despite the fact I'm pretty sure it's meant to be mischievous. I don't think he's capable of looking anything other than enthralling, regardless of the expression he's wearing.

Cruz glosses over that question by introducing me. "Guys, this is my roommate, Liam. Liam, this is Jagger." He points to the dark-haired one. "And Cameron." He points to the blond.

Jagger, the beautiful one closest to me, thrusts out his hand. "Sup, man? You get here this morning?"

I shake his hand before taking Cameron's. "Last night."

"Shit man, we must've just missed you. We moved this lug in and took him to a party." Jagger grins like he's reliving a good memory, or sharing an inside joke, and once again I'm struck by how good-looking he is.

It's not that Cameron isn't, he's got a sexy surfer look about him, but Jagger is otherworldly. That almost makes me more edgy than the fact he's a jock.

"Yeah, he knows all about that party." Cruz ducks his head to rub the back of his neck, a move that conveniently keeps him from noticing the daggers I shoot at him.

How could he? I know I told him I'm not hiding in the closet, but to blurt out what he saw me doing last night?

My legs feel like jelly under the table. I have no desire to make a scene, but I'm determined not to sit here while he ridicules me. Before I can get up though, Cruz continues, a slight blush on his face.

"I got back to the room, buzzed as all hell–thanks to that damn game–and collapsed on the bed only to find him already in it. Scared the shit out of us both."

The breath I didn't know I was holding seeps out as I realize Cruz didn't just throw me under the bus, and the other two explode into a fit of laughter.

"Fuck man, that'd be like the Hulk falling on top of you," Jagger says.

"I'm not that big," Cruz mumbles.

"You're not that small either." Cameron laughs. "He's lucky you didn't break his ribs. Not that you're a small guy or anything." Cameron tilts his head in my direction. "But not many people are as ripped as our Cruz."

Don't I know it.

"So, what's your story?" I involuntarily tense at Jagger's question, though I think that's more due to my privacy issues than the fact he's a jock. Or hauntingly beautiful.

"What do you mean?" I try to keep my expression blank.

"Where are you from, what's your major, how big of a genius are you…you know. Your story."

"Looking for tutors already, Kitcat?" Cameron taunts with an exaggerated eyebrow wag.

"I like to be prepared." Jagger doesn't miss a beat. "So?" He turns to me.

"Kitcat?" My brow scrunches.

"Don't ask," Cruz says. "It's some long story from when they were kids that they won't tell you."

I have only a quick second to puzzle over why Cruz has a sort of pained look on his face before Jagger says, "I'll tell you our story if you tell us yours."

I take a deep breath, stalling to find the right words. On the surface Jagger's questions are innocent, but the follow up could dig deeper than I'm comfortable with. "I'm from Arizona, studying pre-med, and I'm not a genius, just good at science."

"Pre-med sounds like a genius to me," Cameron says. "You want to be a doctor?"

That's the follow-up I was hoping to avoid, although I suppose with my major it's inevitable. "A doctor, a researcher, a lab rat. I haven't really narrowed it down. What about you two?"

"We're from the western slope—that's what we call the other side of the Rockies here—we've known each other since elementary school—"

"Preschool," Cameron interrupts.

"Same building." Jagger shrugs, and when Cameron raises his eyebrows Jagger amends, "My bad, preschool. Anyhow, I'm his rebel and he's my conscience, which is why we've been best friends forever, and I'm athletic training while he's physical therapy. Cruz here is the lone engineer." Jagger gives Cruz a little up-nod.

"I prefer oil and grease to blood," Cruz says by way of explanation, though I'm not sure what it means. Maybe a reference to his dad's car shop? That reminds me…

"Where are you from?" I ask Cruz.

"A really small town north of here. Practically Wyoming."

"And you guys all play football together?" I'm certain I know the answer but ask anyway to keep the conversation on them.

"Wide receiver, fullback, tight end." Jagger points to himself, Cameron and Cruz in turn. "You ever play?"

"No."

"Liam plays lacrosse," Cruz says. "Did you know they have a club team here? But it can't be NCAA because you have to have an equal number of scholarships for men and women, and we take up most of the scholarships for men."

I'm waiting for the accusation that I must not like football because of that, but it doesn't come. And Cruz doesn't hint that's the case, another point in his favor.

"That's a spring sport, right?" Cameron asks.

"Yeah."

"Ooh." Jagger shudders. "Good luck. I swear spring weather is worse than fall in Colorado."

"That's when all the snow falls," Cruz tells me. "Our season might get the cold weather, but we don't usually have to play in snow."

"So, you're saying lacrosse players are tougher then?"

Three sets of jaws drop open in a mild state of shock before Cameron snorts, "Good one," and Jagger throws a fry at me with an exaggerated eye roll.

Cruz just grins like the golden retriever he is, and while I'm still not ready to declare the four of us friends—in my experience jocks have a hive mind, and if one decides to be a douche the rest follow—these particular jocks have surprised me.

Maybe they aren't like the ones where I came from. Maybe somewhere down the road being friends is a possibility.