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At least I stopped talking before I got to the part about my parents not showing up at the hospital. Cruz may not have sexual urges, but he does appear to experience pretty intense feelings of friendship and loyalty. I suspect he might’ve gone all overbearing protector if he knew that part. And while it’s nice to have someone show concern, the last thing I want is pity. And a guy like Cruz with such a happy family life would definitely pity me if he knew my parents forgot I exist.
Hell, he might feel that way now, knowing that I’d been attacked. Knowing Cruz, he’s probably crafting me a ‘Sorry You Got Beat Up’ playlist, but at least that little confession didn’t result in him looking at me like he felt sorry for me. The opposite actually… I don’t think I’ve seen anyone that angry since, well, since I got my ass kicked for being gay.
That was a bit of a shock. It’s one thing for people to accept that you’re gay, and another for them to go to bat for you. When Cruz said he wanted to kick their asses with such a determined look in his eye, I got this overwhelming feeling that he meant it. That might’ve made Cruz even more appealing than I found him before, although I’m still afraid to fully trust him for fear that he’ll turn out like my supposed best friend, James, who didn’t hesitate to throw a few punches when the rest of the crowd was beating on me.
Logically, I know Cruz isn’t James. I need to judge Cruz on his own merits instead of the lingering trauma James left me with, but it's a lot easier said than done. Still, I swear that little statement of support had almost as much impact as his hand when it comes to making me feel a tiny bit less alone.
The hand thing works since I’m touch starved—and horny, living with a specimen like Cruz—so actual human contact is appreciated. But those words were almost like a hug. Lame, I know. But they’re the closest thing I’ve felt to a hug in ages, so I’m going with it.
I suppose that’s why I’m sitting in the stands, bundled like an ice cave explorer, watching a football game. Why he thinks this is better than watching on TV I have no idea, but as far as I’m concerned the TV coverage is far superior. Especially when the camera zooms in on him from behind when he’s crouched over on the line of scrimmage, ready to pounce. Damn. Just, damn.
I’m not proud of it, but the chance to secretly ogle my asexual roommate got me off my football boycott. Speaking of…
A quick search of the field from two-thirds of the way to the nose-bleeds, I don’t see the ass I’m looking for. Or rather, I do since I can see Cruz’s number on the jersey, I just can’t see those glutes flex as he moves. That’s disappointing.
Maybe they’ll flash a closeup on the big screen by the scoreboard. They’ve gotta put at least one good shot up there over the next four hours, right? Maybe an instant replay or something if there’s a score or a flag. I won’t get the benefit of the commentator telling me exactly what’s happening, but I’ve seen enough by now that I could probably suss out what’s going on.
That almost makes me sound like a fan, which I’m most definitely not. I’d go with reluctant observer, and not solely because of the view. After telling Cruz about what happened in high school, I realized it isn't fair to be angry at an entire sport just because of one bad experience. Plus, Cruz—and Jagger and Cameron—seem like good guys, and after suffering prejudice myself over what I like, I don’t want to act like that toward anyone else. It’d make me the world’s biggest hypocrite, and that’s not a label I want.
So, to show my roommate the same support he’s shown me, here I am. In person, yet not close enough to satisfy my weekly voyeuristic urges.
I should’ve brought binoculars.
Dammit, Liam. What you should do is be grateful the guy is willing to play with your dick on occasion instead of dreaming about seeing his ass. It’s never gonna happen. As is, you’re getting hooked on his hand. Don’t let it get further than that. Don’t—
“Liam?”
I snap out of my internal tongue-lashing to find Aiden standing in the aisle next to my seat.
“Oh, hey.” I offer a contrite smile.
While he’s a nice guy, I’m not really into Aiden, which I haven’t admitted to him. I haven’t intentionally avoided him, I just got caught up in the mind-blowing orgasms my ACE roommate gives me and stopped visiting his frat for our—whatever that was we flirted with several weeks back.
“You haven’t been to any of our parties lately. And you didn’t rush. Or did you, just not at our house?”
I say a little thank you that Aiden and I never traded numbers, so my absence is less ghosting and more of a ‘life got in the way’ timing issue.
“I didn’t rush. And I haven’t been in much of a partying mood lately.” I hold up my arm to show him my cast.
“Oh shit, what happened?” He helps himself to the empty spot next to me, which is more like half a spot since the student section fills up on a first come basis, and I’m getting the impression there isn’t an official max capacity since I’ve yet to hear anyone say they can’t make room for another body.
“Long story. Let’s just say parent’s weekend is a health hazard I plan to avoid from here forward.”
“You know that answer only makes me more curious, right?” Aiden’s trademark shy smile spreads across his face, and for some reason what I used to think was cute strikes me as meh, although I can’t really say why. He’s an attractive man, and his expression seems genuine enough. It just doesn’t spark anything the way I think he intends for it to, so I don’t feel compelled to answer.
“Tell me about your rush. How’d that go?” I change the subject.
“It’d have been better if you were there.” Aiden bumps my arm with his. “But overall, it’s going well. We’ve got about twenty new guys who all seem pretty cool. Well, almost all. One is a legacy who has a bit of an attitude—thinks he shouldn’t have to do the grunt work all prospects have to do—but he’ll come around, eventually.”
“Grunt work?”
“You know.” Aiden lifts a nonchalant shoulder. “Cleaning bathrooms, doing laundry, watching the door at parties instead of partying.”
Hazing.
Admittedly, that doesn’t sound awful, but I’ve been around long enough to know those are probably the more acceptable forms of torturing newbies. The less acceptable ones wouldn’t get discussed in public.
I wriggle my jaw, which is trying to lock down tight. “How will you get him to come around?”
