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I never thought of it that way, but it makes a lot of sense. I guess that means I have something to be grateful for when it comes to my sexuality. “That’s probably true,” I agree. “Do we need another truce?”
That earns an unexpected laugh. “I don’t think we hit that level of pissing each other off, did we?”
“Just checking. Were you serious about learning lacrosse?” I figure it’s time for a subject change.
“Hell yeah.” Cruz grins like the giant puppy he is.
“Pick your dinner.” I let the hand resting on his arm fall away as I get up to grab my sticks. “I can show you how to toss the ball while we wait for it to get here.”
“Deal.” He makes his order and follows me outside.
Chapter seven
Cruz
“Don’t just hold the stick steady and expect the ball to stay in the pocket, absorb the catch,” Liam says, demonstrating how to follow the trajectory of the ball with the stick so it doesn’t fall out of the mesh netting.
We’re on the quad outside our dorm, enjoying an unseasonably warm October afternoon. He's been teaching me for a couple weeks or so, but in that time all I've managed to learn is roughly how to play catch with a pole that’s nearly as tall as me. And I'm quickly realizing lacrosse isn't as easy as he makes it look.
I’m used to a large brown ball, and this one is tiny and white. Plus, it’s not like you can wrap your fingers around it to keep it secure, either. You have to absorb it like Liam says or contort your wrist to twist the stick and wrap the net around it.
There are more steps involved in this type of catch, most of which require different muscles, and while I’m sure being an athlete gives me some advantage to picking it up, there's a rather large learning curve. I think Liam secretly loves that—we’ve developed a friendly little lacrosse vs. football rivalry over the last several weeks—though he’s not overtly gloating.
I manage to catch the next ball, but I don’t need him to tell me the flaw in my return pass. The bells in my head are already telling me that I released the ball on the arc of my swing instead of following through.
See, I listen.
Although it’s hard to feel guilty about the mistake when it forces Liam to show off his quick reflexes and surprisingly graceful moves to save my errant ball.
Not that football receivers aren’t graceful when they dive for a catch, but Liam’s doing it with a stick that’s almost like an extension of his body. It’s kind of hypnotic to watch, and it makes me appreciate his skill since I can now say with certainty that it’s infinitely more complicated to catch with a stick than your own two hands. Not that I'd ever admit that to him. It’d only give him more fuel for the whole ‘lacrosse is better’ argument.
“Don’t say it,” I warn as he jogs back into place. “I know exactly what I did wrong, I’m just tired and sore.”
“How can you be tired?”
“I played a game yesterday.”
“You probably ran less than two hundred yards and caught three passes. I run miles during my games.”
“But I got tackled twice.” I press my lips into a pout, which almost gets him to chuckle before his face morphs into a droll look that screams ‘really?’
I find myself choking back my own grin. He likes to pretend he’s winning the lacrosse vs. football competition since he gets me out here throwing every week, but I’ve got him watching the games, so I’d call it a tie.
“Want to keep going, or are you too tired?” Liam goads me with a wry smirk.
I check my watch and shake my head. “I’ve gotta call my folks.” We try to catch up every Sunday before dinner, and with parents’ weekend coming up I need to touch base to make plans. Which reminds me… “Hey, do your folks hate football as much as you do? If not, I can probably get them tickets. I think everyone on the team is allotted four and we only need two.”
The scowl Liam wore the first night we met some four weeks ago, which I’ve rarely seen since, takes over his face as he visibly stills. “No. Thanks.”
I’ve never seen someone go from pleasant to pissed so fast in my life. It’s like a damn switch flipped, swapping my roommate out with his ominous alter ego. Sunshine.
The last time I saw that guy radiate this much venom was when I collided with him in the hall. He accused me of being so self-absorbed I didn’t even notice him. Which, come to think of it, might be the issue here. After nearly a month, I’ve yet to hear Liam talk about his parents, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t spoken to them since he arrived. Talk about self-absorbed.
I don’t know that for a fact, but my gut tells me I’m right. He leaves the room whenever I call my folks, although I’ve never asked him to do that, and I don’t think it’s to give me privacy. It’s almost like he tries to avoid the reminder of his parents by hiding when I talk to mine.
I’ve always had the sense his family isn’t as tight knit as mine since he doesn’t talk about them, but now I’m wondering if they even exist. Like, did something happen to them? An accident? No, if they were gone, I doubt he’d have gone all menacing when I asked if they’d want to go to the game. Maybe they disowned him for being gay? That would explain the daggers he’s shooting at the world right now.
The fact Liam is tight-lipped about his life before college has never bothered me until this moment. I can’t do anything to help if I don’t know what’s wrong, and it’s not really in my nature to sit idle when people need assistance. Still, I won’t invade his privacy by drilling him about something he clearly doesn’t want to talk about.
