Bromosexual

I lean into his closet and thumb through his wardrobe like it’s a clothing rack in a thrift store. Polos. And polos. And more polos.

Look, surprise, yet more polos.

And plaid.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Ryan tells me, then goes for the door.

“Really?” I call back at him. “We changed a zillion times in front of each other in the locker room.”

“Uh, I know. Just thought, like, uh—”

“Seriously, you’ve seen me in nothing but a jockstrap. Stay and talk to me while I figure out what the fuck polo I want to put on, since that appears to be my only option.”

He chuckles. “Well, y’know. It’s … school, dress code, and …”

“Having trouble forming sentences back there, bro?” I call back to him.

Then I whip off my towel and toss it at the bed.

“Shit!” he exclaims. “A little warning, please?”

I smirk, then turn around to catch him staring at my bare ass. His eyes shoot up to meet mine, then he spins away, red-faced, and glares at the wall.

“Alright. There. Now I’ve seen you naked,” he tells that wall. “Improvement from the boy-sized jockstrap, I guess.”

“Oh, I never fit boy size,” I shoot back at him.

Despite appearing scandalized by my towel removal, Ryan snorts with one dry laugh, then folds his arms and shakes his head, fighting off a smile.

I pull a red polo off the hanger, since it caught my eye. A pair of jeans comes with it. I toss them to the bed before asking, “Got some boxers I can steal?”

He bites his lip and half-turns toward me.

Only to discover that I’m full-on facing him now.

His eyes flit up to the ceiling at once. “Aren’t yours clean?”

“Nah.”

“I thought it was just your jeans and shirt that got all the beer and blood.”

“Beer must’ve soaked through. Dude, why are you staring up at the ceiling?”

Ryan rolls his eyes and huffs. “Get dressed, Stefan.”

He’s leaving himself wide open, really. I mean, he’s just way too easy to taunt. He always has been. “C’mon, Caulfield. Don’t lie. You totally want to take a peek.”

He chokes on another laugh. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

“You totally want to see what all the girls went crazy for back in the day. It’s the stuff of legends, man. Half the writing on the bathroom walls was about what I’m packing.”

“Someone let all the baseball fame go to his head,” he shoots back at me, smirking and still staring at the ceiling.

“Which head? Listen, all I’m saying is, I’m having doubts that your boxers are even gonna be able to contain what I got.”

“You going to stand there naked in another dude’s bedroom boasting about your big junk all morning?” he retorts. “Or do you actually plan to get dressed at some point?”

“So you admit it’s big?”

He snorts and shakes his head, then turns away finally.

I go for the pants and start pulling them on one leg at a time. Yeah, they’re on the smaller side, but apparently he has a bigger waist than me because they zip up with room to spare. The red polo is another story, proving to be quite an endeavor to put on. My biceps make work of the sleeves, stretching them to the max, which is nothing compared to the way my thick, broad shoulders make the damned shirt feel like it was bought from Baby Gap.

Ryan, whether from curiosity or just judging from the sounds of my dressing, turns his head slightly toward me, then faces me all the way. He gives me a once-over, then wrinkles his face. “Uh, what about underwear?”

I shrug as I grab the towel off the bed. “Decided to free-ball it. How’s your shirt look on me?”

He swallows hard, gives me one quick look, then teeters his head from side to side. “I guess it’s a little … hmm. Looks fine.”

“Good.” I head out of his room and into the bathroom, tossing the towel over a rack to dry. I catch a glimpse of myself in the big bathroom mirror. Ryan’s red polo literally looks like it’s glued to my chest and arms. All I need to do is pop my collar and I’ll be my cocky high school self all over again. I give myself a smirk, then run a hand through my hair, fussing it up.

Still got it.

“Where are you staying?”

Ryan has emerged from his bedroom and stands in the hall by the bathroom door. I lift an eyebrow at him. “Huh?”

“You … got a place?” he asks quietly. “Or are you just visiting? In town for the weekend or something?”

“Nah.” I push out of the bathroom and stroll into his living room, which I didn’t get a good look at. “I recently moved back home with my parents and Rudy. Sold all my shit from my condo in Frisco. Too cold, anyway. I hate dealing with the snow.”