Out in the Offense (Out in College 3)

“Jesus, Christian,” Jonesie scowled, readjusting his towel.

“Sorry, man,” I said absently.

“If you wanted another peek at the goods, you coulda just said so.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be right over here.” He batted his eyelashes and gestured toward his locker, which unfortunately was located directly across the aisle from mine.

I gave him a sharp look as I swiped some deodorant on. “Good to know, but…no thanks.”

“Hey, never say never, man,” he singsonged.

Here’s the thing about guys like Jonesie. He was a stereotypical jock who gave the rest of us a bad name. He was loud, boisterous, and overbearing. He tended to think his role as a starting lineman entitled him to a variety of perks, like star treatment at school events and private parties—including free alcohol and the adoration of all the “hot babes.” His words, not mine. He wasn’t a bad guy; he was just a little dumb.

What he lacked in brains, he made up for in brawn. He was two inches taller than me and at least eighty pounds heavier. And most of it was muscle. His love of football and his considerable ego were assets on the field, but in everyday life, he could be irritating as hell. As team captain, I’d become a master at the art of deflecting stupid and keeping order in the locker room. I knew that sometimes the best method of dealing with a bonehead like Jonesie was to ignore him.

So I wasn’t quite sure what I was thinking when I responded with, “Sorry. You’re not my type.”

Jonesie gasped in mock dismay. “I’m crushed. It’s cool, though. You don’t do anything for me either. Your tits are too small.” He paused to slap high fives with Moreno, a fellow lineman and if possible, a bigger bonehead than him. “You know, since Evan graduated we lost our token gay dude. One of us has to go ’mo, fast. We gotta have a rainbow mascot. It’s good for business. We were all over the news last season.”

“That was ’cause we won the championship,” Moreno reminded him.

“Yeah, but the homo factor got us a spot on the five o’clock news.” He pushed his hand through his short brown hair and looked around the locker room. “Who’s it gonna be? Jackson, Andrade, Kawinski…?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jonesie,” I growled impatiently and for emphasis, I chucked my deodorant at his chest. I might look scrawny next to the guy, but I had a rocket for an arm.

“Fuck, that hurt!” He grimaced as he hopped backward, covering his right pec. “You know I’m kidding, man.”

“Well, don’t. Evan wasn’t a token gay anything to this team. He was a beast of an athlete who helped lead us to that championship.”

Jonesie held up his arms in surrender. “Geez, okay. It was a joke. I love Evan, dude. I got nothing but love for all the gays since he came out. I mean, he didn’t look or act queer at all. He was just one of us.”

I nodded curtly, then yanked my towel off and stepped into a pair of black boxer briefs. Then I reached for my jeans, hoping he’d clue in that the conversation was over.

No such luck.

“You know, I can’t even picture him with another guy but whatever…at least we know he’s the man in his relationship. I can’t see Evan letting anyone stick their dick in his ass,” he continued conversationally.

Nervous laughter twittered around us. I think everyone knew I was pissed that he hadn’t dropped the discussion, but they were hopeful I’d find a middle ground and ideally not lose my cool. I zipped my jeans, then wiggled my fingers, silently requesting him to pick up my deodorant and hand it over. He obeyed without thinking and let out a squeak when I twisted his wrist and fixed him with a menacing stare.

“Are we done here?” I growled in a low voice.

Jonesie held my gaze and nodded. “Yeah.”

Someone turned a Kendrick Lamar song on just then and belted out the lyrics at top volume. Within a minute, everyone was either singing along or talking over the din. And though it might not feel sincere, the atmosphere at least gave the illusion we’d returned to “normal.”

I finished dressing, hiked my strap over my shoulder, and stopped to give Jonesie a friendly pop on his arm. The guy was like an overgrown puppy. He hated being called out, but he disliked being out of sorts with anyone even more. Particularly me. If I walked away without a word, he’d beat himself up and be miserable the rest of the day. Ultimately, that wouldn’t be good for any of us. When he grunted in acknowledgment, I made my way to the exit, pulling my cell from my pocket.

My run-in with Jonesie had fired me up. This was probably the perfect time to chat with my occasionally caustic father. I hesitated for a beat before throwing my bag onto the back seat of my Prius. Then I scrolled for his number and pushed Call.