Bromosexual

Of course, we’re going to celebrate in the best way we know how: dinner at a favorite restaurant of ours followed by banging sex that’s guaranteed to make our heads pop off.

I might have to renovate our bedroom to be soundproof.

Seriously. With our nosy neighbors, it’s a wonder they haven’t called in a noise complaint to the police.

I’m saying that some nights, it’s the goddamned Lion King in our bedroom. The roof shakes and walls tremble. Just how we like it.

“We’re here,” I call out to the backseat, spotting the tall, wide buildings of the campus as we draw closer and closer.

Rudy’s face says it all as his eyes stretch open and he stares up at the buildings, probably wondering which window is his. All of the awe and wonder of what awaits him these next four years is reflected in the sparkle of his eyes. It’s like he’s itching already to get out of the truck and start his adult life.

Here I am at the steering wheel, begging him to slow down. I really do sound like a father, desperate for his son to stop growing up so fast and racing through life. Before he knows it, he’ll be in a cap and gown holding a shiny diploma of whatever major he finally settles on.

I pull into the parking lot and have to slowly wade my truck through a battlefield of bodies until I find a spot. Of course, it’s all the way in the back.

Once the engine is shut off and we’re piling out of the truck, I give a look toward the distant buildings and squint against the hot and unforgiving sunlight. “Which way is registration?”

“That way.” Rudy nods his head toward the buildings. “I know which one it is. I’ll run ahead, check in, and get my dorm key.”

“We’ll be right behind you,” I tell him, but only get half the words out before he’s already vanished halfway across the parking lot. Maybe he should have stuck with baseball; that kid can run.

Ryan slings an arm over my shoulder. “Does it kinda feel like we’re sending our kid off to school? Or … is it just me?”

“It’s just you,” I lie, still trying to spot my brother somewhere in the crowd.

Ryan chuckles, knowing me too well. “You kinda have a ton of kids, now, considering all the ones on your baseball team down at the LGBT center. Hey, what name did you all settle on for your fall team, by the way? The Butt Bunters or the Queer Bat-Crackers?”

I snort. “I think Rainbow Runners was the top contender.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Who could have ever guessed that big scary Stefan Baker would be one day coaching a team called the Rainbow Runners?”

“Hey, don’t let the name fool you. Those fuckers are mean.”

“Oh?”

“They’d catch a hundred hits, crack bats in half, and outrun your ass any day.”

Ryan turns my face toward him and plants a kiss right on my lips. “With you as their coach, I don’t doubt that one damn bit. You don’t settle for nothing when it comes to winning.”

“Nor when it comes to picking boyfriends.” I open my mouth to his for a kiss twice as deep as the one he just gave me.

Yeah. Boyfriends. I said it—and proudly. I’ve come a long way from bromos and homos and buddies-I-do-stuff-with. Ryan is the guy I’m sticking with, and I couldn’t be happier.

Except for that peculiar way that he kept looking at me in the rearview mirror during our drive to campus. And the way he’d whisper something to Rudy—like they had some string of inside jokes between them—and then the two of them would snicker.

Something’s going on. I’m fairly certain of it. But I’m also not going to let on that I suspect anything. After we get Rudy settled in, Ryan’s all mine. And I’ll get it out of him one way or another.

RYAN

So the elevators are broken down.

All of them.

No, that’s okay. I totally wanted to spend today—this special, important day—scaling dozens of steps in the sweltering summer heat lugging boxes, a backpack, and two duffel bags full of clothes.

Sixteen floors, by the way.

And I’m not alone, either. I’m bumping shoulders with dozens of other students moving in with Rudy. Their parents and families, too. On my way up—somewhere around the eleventh or twelfth floor—my face gets unexpectedly intimate with a dude’s sweaty armpit as he lugs a flat screen over his head.

He wears Old Spice deodorant, by the way.

Not even Rudy’s first day yet and I’m the one learning things.

When we get to his room—1616—we stand at the doorway and stare at the two beds, two desks, and two tiny windows. The beds are so close, I’m pretty sure Rudy could roll over and smack his roommate’s cheek. The desks are squished right against each other, making sure that neither Rudy nor his roommate can hide any porn on their screens between study sessions.