Chapter 2

2

Max

I can't concentrate on my book at all, with Luke flitting around and sending me flirty looks every time he walks by. I am horribly aware of the fact that I haven't brushed my hair in three days, and that my clothes are two sizes too big. I'm still not convinced that he's not fucking with me—nobody in their right mind would ask me out right now. I've stopped putting any effort into my appearance and it shows.

I notice he left the pie for me to finish; I wish he hadn't. My appetite has been garbage this past year, and the task of finishing this is daunting. By the time 2 a.m. rolls around, I've only eaten half of it. Luke strolls back over with a pot of coffee, leaning a hip against the opposite booth and grinning at me. I honestly can't tell if it's meant to be a flirty smile or if that's just the way he does it, naturally; only half of his mouth pulls upward, and the other side ticks downward. With his brown eyes dancing in the fluorescent light, it's a remarkably devilish look. I wonder if he practices it in the mirror .

"Refill?" He asks, gesturing toward my mug with the pot.

"Uhm, sure. Thank you." I nudge the mug over the table toward him so that he doesn't have to lean too far. He does anyway; I get a whiff of sunscreen and grass.

"How's the book?"

"Oh, it's…honestly, I haven't read much. Too distracted."

"By what?" He smirks. I roll my eyes and the smile kicks up a notch. "Distracted by my fiendishly good looks?"

"Distracted by that hideous shirt, more like." I aim a pointed look at his shirt. He arches a brow at me and gestures at his torso.

"What? I look fantastic in yellow."

"You look like an omelet."

He laughs, lurching forward in a way that makes the coffee slosh dangerously in the carafe. Jokes aside, he really is unfairly attractive: sun darkened skin and expressive brown eyes. His dark brown hair is longer than mine and tousled up in a way that makes one wonder who was running their hands through it to get it so ruffled. He looks like he could have come from a Calvin Klein shoot, while I look like I came straight from bed.

"But a handsome omelet," I allow, and try to ignore the way my stomach swoops at my own daring. Relax. You're just flirting, it doesn't mean anything .

He winks at me as he turns toward the door when the bell sounds. I try not to feel too disappointed when he greets the newcomers with the same flirty attention with which he spoke to me. I shouldn't be surprised—being nice to people is his job, and he's obviously good at it. Apparently, I've become so starved for affection that I become attached to virtual strangers. Ironic, really, seeing as I've spent the last year doing my level best to become invisible and not get hit on .

Annoyed with myself, I mark my place in the book and drink the last of my coffee. I leave enough money on the table to cover the pie as well as a tip for Luke, and head toward the door. He meets my eye across the room, where he's taking the orders of the newcomers; he makes a hand gesture that probably signals a request to wait. I pretend I didn't see it and push through the door.

It's dark outside, and blessedly quiet. Though I could do without the insomnia, I have to admit that there is something peaceful about being one of the only people awake. I start walking in the direction of Marcos' and my apartment.

"Hey! Max, wait!" Luke's voice calls from behind me. Surprised, I turn to see him jogging down the sidewalk for me, yellow shirt shining in the light of the street lamps. He comes to a halt in front of me and smiles, head cocked slightly to the side. "You left without getting your change."

I look down at his hand, fist clenched around dollar bills. "Uhm. That's your tip."

"You left me an $18 tip for a single cup of coffee?"

"And pie."

"The pie was on me." He holds out his hand. When I raise my cupped palm, he presses the money into my hand instead of just dropping it, like I'd expected. I jolt at the contact; it's the first time someone's touched me in a year.

"Okay," I say, trying to cover up my obvious flinch, "well, thanks."

"Sure thing." He starts walking backward, eyes on me. "Text me when you get home. Send me a picture of you in bed."

"Oh my god," I laugh, shaking my head. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He turns and starts to jog back toward the diner, laughing somewhat maniacally. I wait until he's out of sight before I turn and continue making my way home. I feel lighter, somehow. Luke's ridiculous flirting and goofy disposition make me feel like I've spent the last few hours sitting in the sun, skin still tingling with the warmth of the rays.

I let myself into the apartment silently, grateful for the light Marcos left on for me. He hates my penchant for nighttime wanderings, but understands the necessity. When I can't sleep, I can't sit still. And so, I wander. I'm glad that tonight my wandering brought me to Luke and gave me the opportunity to bask in his glow for a bit. As though my thinking of him brings him to fruition, my phone dings with a text message. I wait until I get into my bedroom and close the door before I check it, not wanting to disturb the hopefully sleeping Marcos.

I miss your face.

Look at what I have to stare at now.

He sends a photo of a man sitting in my vacated booth, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. The man looks like a werewolf, body covered in a thick coat of dark hair; he's wearing a shirt that barely covers his belly, and there is enough food sitting in front of him to feed me for days.

Well, that's setting the bar a little low.

Or maybe you set the bar too high. Perhaps this man is beautiful, but I can't appreciate it because I've spent the last few hours looking at your stunning face.

Do you even mean what you say, or do words just fall out of your mouth?

Maxyyyyyy

You gonna send that picture?

Of course not.

You're right. Date first, naked pictures later. What kind of food do you like?

Whatever. Why?

Because I'm planning our dinner date. Duh. Keep up, Maxy.

I'm grinning down at my phone like an idiot. Disgusted with myself, I lock the screen and toss it down onto my bed, heading into the bathroom to change for bed. I'm not the least bit tired, but I have to at least try. I've noticed Coach Mackenzie watching me, lately, and I know I've slipped up a few times where my weight is concerned. Sleep isn't the only thing I've lost this past year—my appetite has all but abandoned me. I force feed myself just enough to maintain my athlete's body, but that's it. I can't remember the last time food gave me any sort of pleasure.

Turning off the lights in my room, I crawl into bed and feel around for my phone. The screen lights up automatically when I lift it, showing me several notifications from Luke. Turning onto my side, I scrunch my knees up to my chest and open the text thread. There is a selfie of Luke in the diner, bent over with his arm slung around an older man. Luke's face is split in two with a wide smile, while the other man just looks annoyed. The message under the photo reads: Reggie misses you, too. The text below that is nothing but a string of sad face and crying emojis, with a dodo bird incongruously in the mix.

What's with the dodo bird?

Whoops. Didn't mean for that to be in there. Must have bumped it since it's in my most used emojis. It's a classic.

The dodo bird is one of your most used emojis?

Obviously.

What's yours?

Wait, let me guess. Is it this one?

He sends the ninja emoji. I chuckle softly. He texts like he talks; it's painfully endearing. I should probably cut him off sooner rather than later, before he picks up too much steam on the dating thing. I don't want him to get his hopes up, where I'm concerned. Maybe we could just be friends. Immediately, I think of his bright, happy eyes, and expressive face. I think of the way he filled out those pants he was wearing, and that hideous yellow shirt. Maybe friends won't work so well, either.

Really? The ninja? I don't think I've ever used that one.

You're right. It's this one.

The blind man emoji follows and this time I can't hold back the laughter that bubbles out of me. I'm glad Marcos' room is on the other side of the apartment; if he heard me laughing in here at 3 a.m. he'd be sure to investigate.

You got it. That's the one.

I fucking knew it! You know, I've got psychics in my family. Lots of talented seers in my bloodline. Not to toot my own horn or anything.

You in bed?

Shouldn't you already know the answer to that, oh psychic one?

Well of course I could KNOW if I wanted to. But one must not abuse the inner eye, Maxy. Shame on you.

Sorry. I'm not well-versed in the laws of the supernatural.

Stick with me, I'll keep you on the straight and narrow.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard. The urge to continue this conversation until morning is so potent my chest aches with it. I want Luke to keep me company through the night, grasp his virtual hand and hold on tight. It's that desire that breaks me out of that daydream.

I'd better try and get some sleep.

Okay! Talk to you tomorrow. Sleep good.

Dream sweet dreams of me ;)

Sighing, I set an alarm and hook my phone up to the charger. Lying there, flat on my back with my hands resting on my stomach, I close my eyes and wait for sleep to find me. It does, eventually, but brings nightmares instead of dreams of Luke.

"Kuemper," Coach calls, and the locker room immediately goes silent. I'm half dressed, shirt sticking to my damp chest and towel still clutched around my waist.

"Yes, Coach?" I keep my tone even and my grip on the towel firm. I hate changing in the locker room; if he hadn't interrupted me, I'd already be fully dressed and halfway out the door.

"Stop by my office once you're dressed."

He's gone before I can answer. It wasn't a request, anyway, but an order. Steeling myself, I pull the towel off and swiftly put my boxers on. In less than thirty seconds I'm fully clothed and able to breathe easier. When I knock on the open door of Coach Mackenzie's office, he looks up in surprise, eyes squinted as he gazes at me.

"That was quick," he notes. "Shut the door and have a seat."

Swallowing the nerves that take root in my sternum, I do what he says. He surveys me, quietly, for a few protracted moments and I have the almost uncontrollable urge to squirm.

"Is everything all right?" He asks, and I tighten my fingers where they rest on my thighs. He doesn't know. Calm down, he doesn't know.

"Yes, sir," I say, nodding. He taps a finger on the top of his desk, a steady drumming that fills the silence between us once more. I feel more naked right now than I did in the locker room. He pulls a sheet of paper out of a folder sitting on his desk, glances at it, and back up to me.

"You've lost fifteen pounds in the last year, and you're not sleeping."

I keep my face carefully blank, though my hands are clenched so tightly on my legs that they hurt. "I've gained most of that back."

"Mm," he hums, finger resuming its tapping. "You and I haven't had many opportunities to speak one on one since you've joined the program, and that's on me. All I wanted to say was that you can come to me, if anything is wrong. You know that, right?"

"Yes, sir," I repeat. But I can't. I can't talk to him about this. Not even Marcos has brought up that night in anything more than an oblique way. I'm going to pretend it never happened until I can convince myself that it didn't. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. And even though I know he means well, I can't bring myself to pick the scab off of that particular wound.

"Well, I suppose I can't force you to talk to me," he says, mouth twisting wryly. "But you have my phone number and I'm available all hours of the day and night. For anything."

I nod, and dry my sweaty palms on my thighs. "Yes, sir."

Sighing, he closes his eyes for a moment. Pushing back from his desk he reaches down and grabs his bag, shoving a couple things inside and gesturing for me to stand as well. I wait for him to squeeze between the desks and join me.

"I'll walk out with you," he says, and gestures for me to precede him through the door.

He walks a step behind me through the halls, making my neck prickle with discomfort. I'm ashamed of my own body's reaction; Coach Mackenzie isn't a threat, chill the fuck out, Max . I hold the exit open for him and he murmurs a thank you as he passes. I'm looking at his face and catch his wince as we step outside. His eyes are squinted nearly shut.

"You good, Coach?" I ask carefully.

"Fine," he answers immediately, but sighs. "Just a headache. And, I suppose, not looking forward to an empty house."

He smiles at me, and I smile back. His relationship with Anthony Lawson was a big reason I was so on board with Marcos' plan to transfer here. The Queer Revolution, Marcos calls it: the professional athletes who have come out in the past couple of years. I wanted to be a part of it, however indirectly. I would be a part of it, after I graduate and join the NHL.

"They're on the road this week, huh?" I ask, about South Carolina's NHL team.

"Yes." He brightens, slightly, as much as Coach Mackenzie ever brightens. "Until tomorrow, that is. You have a roommate?"

"Oh, uhm, yeah, I do."

"Good. Try to get some sleep tonight, Kuemper, you look dead on your feet."

"Right," I agree, because he's not wrong. When I did fall asleep last night, I was plagued with ambiguous nightmares of impenetrable dark and the inability to move. I woke up this morning strung out and feeling that I would have been better off just staying awake. "I'll go to bed early."

I cringe as I say it, because it's likely a lie. I haven't gone to sleep before the early hours of the morning in months. Coach doesn't catch the untruth, but nods and reaches a hand out to rest on my shoulder. I hold myself still and don't pull away, even though I want to. I've become one of those people who can't tell the difference between a friendly touch and an attack; I'm so disgusted with myself, I can hardly stand it.

"Have a good evening," Coach says, squeezing gently and letting me go. I return the goodbye and watch as he walks off across campus. He's moving carefully, head down as though he's watching where he puts his feet.

It's not until he's a blurry figure in the distance that I realize I've been standing here watching him like some sort of creep. Shaking myself out of the stupor, I head toward the parking lot. I've got a shit ton of homework to get through and then I'm going to go to bed early, nightmares be damned.