Out in the Offense (Out in College 3)

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just be true to yourself.” He held my gaze, then snapped his fingers and winked. “Oh yeah…and relax. You’re too fuckin’ uptight.”

I burst into laughter. “I am not.”

“Yeah, you are. I get the impression that after football, you spend a lot of time overthinking shit you can’t do anything about. When was the last time you did something for yourself that was just for fun?”

“Um, I don’t know. I might head to LA after my game with Max. He wants to go to a few bars or clubs.”

“What kind of clubs?”

“I don’t know. He likes places where the deejays are the main draw.” I named a few, chuckling when Rory rolled his eyes.

“My brother bartends at one of the new ‘places to be seen.’ I hate that shit, but my drinks are free, so it’s hard to resist. If you end up on the west side, check out Vibes and ask for Justin. He’ll take care of you.”

“Hard to refuse free alcohol. But we might not go to LA at all. There are a few parties here and—”

“You should go,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“It’s like I told you earlier. You need to relax. And I bet you a million bucks it’ll help your math game.”

“I really don’t see how that’s possible.” I chuckled.

“Trust me, grasshopper. I’m smart about this stuff.” Rory tapped his forefinger against his temple. “If you can stand the crappy music, it’s all good.”

“It’s dance music,” I scoffed. “What’s wrong with it?”

Rory made a face. “Everything is electronic. It sounds the same after a while.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

“Classic rock. What about you?” he asked.

“I like everything, but I probably listen to classic rock the most. The Cars, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen.”

“Me too. I love even older stuff, like The Beatles and Stones too. And I have a soft spot for eighties music too. I love The Cure.”

“Same. What’s your favorite Cure song?”

“Boys Don’t Cry,” he replied quickly. “They’re more our parents’ era. My mom loved their music until she found religion and decided to cut out lead singers who wore makeup from her playlist.”

“Her loss.”

Rory smiled. “I think so too. What’s your favorite Cure song?”

“Just Like Heaven.”

“Everyone says that one,” he teased. “Give me another one. What was your…?”

I leaned forward with my elbows on the table and a sappy grin on my face. I could have done this all day and all night long. Just sitting across from Rory, talking about silly things I rarely shared anymore felt significant somehow. Like a new beginning. Like we were both in the same place, wanting to know so much more about each other than our usual ten-minute chat before tutoring allowed.

As thirty minutes bled into an hour and then two, we blocked out the excess noise from our table next to the window and lost ourselves in whimsical conversations that had no rhyme or reason. The most insignificant details seemed so damn interesting. I wanted to know his favorite color, movie, cereal, and TV show. And when he said, “Green, The Godfather, Wheat Chex, and The Office,” I wanted to know why. We analyzed our preferences and debated their merits good-naturedly before moving on to the next topic. I couldn’t get enough. And something in his eyes told me he felt the same way.

Rory’s self-deprecating candor made me laugh. I’d never met anyone so unapologetically in tune with himself. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I probably looked like a lovesick puppy. No doubt he knew I had a crazy crush on him. I wished I were brave enough to come clean and tell him who I was and how I felt. I wasn’t ready for words, but I found myself leaning in more than necessary to be closer to him. When our knees touched under the table and our fingers brushed as we moved our empty cups, we went still and silent.

And that was when I knew words might not matter. He knew I was gay, or maybe bi. He knew I liked him. But he wasn’t asking for anything in return. For now, this was enough.

The game Saturday afternoon wasn’t well attended. The normally crowded stadium was only half-full. There were a few different factors to blame. Our opponents were the lowest ranked team in the league, the weather was unseasonably cool for mid-October, and bigger names were playing at the same time. I was pretty sure UCLA and USC were both in town. But this was the only game that mattered to me.

I called a huddle in the middle of the fourth quarter, glancing toward Perez on the sideline before addressing my teammates.

“We’re gonna run number four. Moreno, box out my blindside. Don’t let anyone through,” I instructed gruffly.

“I got it, boss. They’re a bunch of fuckin’ pansies. My grandma could handle these idiots,” he scoffed.