Page 10

Blue just takes the draw.

The pass is cleaner this time. I catch it, drive the net, and bury it off the far post against the back-up goalie.

Eli whoops from the other side of the rink like we won a playoff game.

I skate past Blue, cheerful again. “Goal.”

“Lucky,” he grunts.

“Skill,” I counter.

Practice continues that way, and I decide somewhere along the way that my problem isn’t really that big of a deal. I can study. I know how to study. The test results just spooked me because I’m so close to the finish line.

I stretch out on my stomach on my bed and open the Analytical Chemistry book, because I have to have paper in my hands or I can’t absorb it. A lot of my friends have gone digital for their books, and I just can’t. I tried. The screen would blur, and I’d end up falling asleep. With the actual book, I can flip back two pages and re-read something if I need to. And yeah, I know you can do that with a digital book, but it’s not the same.

I’ve hyped myself up to read chapters one through three like the syllabus requires before our next class. Would I rather be out with friends? That would be a hell yes. Luke. Will. Tyler. Eli talking me into something with sugar on it. But my future is more important. So here I am, in my dorm room before seven, so I can make sure I have this information in my brain.

Quinn’s side of the room is perfectly made up. Everything apparently has its place. I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m pretty positive if I moved something he would know. Not that I want to fuck with my new roommate. He’s out. Probably with friends he actually wants to talk to. Which is great, considering he looked at me on the lawn like he couldn’t recall my name yesterday. And last night, he was asleep by the time I got in. So I don’t think friendship is in the cards for us.

I flip to chapter one.

I make it half way through before my eyes start blurring. If this was a lab, I know I’d excel. I love being in the lab. But textbooks with all the statistics, equilibrium calculations, error propagation…it’s all abstract noise in my head. I need to put it into practice to learn it.

I swear I can read the same paragraph four times without absorbing it. But if you put me in front of a spectrophotometer with an unknown sample, I know I could figure out what it is. Ask me to explain the equation that makes the machine honest and my brain just…leaves.

I drag a hand down my face and read the paragraph again anyway.

Still noise.

Ugh, this is torture. I pick up my phone to check my notifications and end up opening up TikTok and scrolling mindlessly. That’s what I’m doing when the door opens and Quinn steps inside. I glance at the time on my phone and see that an hour has passed since I opened the app. Fuck. I’m not going to learn what I need from watching people dance.

I glance back at Quinn, and he’s already grabbing a pair of sleep shorts from his dresser and disappearing into the bathroom without a word.

The lock clicks, like I’m some crazy person that will follow him in and do bad things to his body. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him I’m Bi.

Because we are essentially strangers who share a trash can.

The shower doesn’t turn on, but I can hear water in the sink, and the quiet sounds of him existing in the same space and still not speaking to me. I shut Tiktok as if that will erase the hour and sit up against the wall, book now open on my thighs so I can pretend to be a person who actually does the homework.

The bathroom door opens. And I meant to keep my eyes on my textbook, but they go to him instead. It’s curiosity, I tell myself.

Quinn is only in the sleep shorts.

That is the whole thought, for a second. Then I register his bare chest, stomach, thin shoulders, soft abdomen, and how pale he is in the cheap dorm light. A little dark trail under his navel disappears below his waistband. I should not have enough time to notice that, but I do anyway. The shorts sit low and tempting. I’m pretty sure I can see the shape of him inside his shorts. Not hard, but not small even when soft. He crosses to his bed, obviously not noticing my attention.

Roommate.

Off-limits.

My mouth goes dry anyway as I watch him.

He starts arranging his things on his desk, moving them only a little bit each. I know I didn’t disturb that stuff so I hope he doesn’t think I did. I can’t pull my gaze away, his back is toned more than his front, a smooth expanse that would look good with⁠—

Whoa…cut that off right there. Maybe Blue was right. Maybe I should call someone. One of the girls who already knows the drill, then I can get things out of my system, so I can actually study and not stare at my roommate as if he is an option. I could just be horny, and a puck bunny could help that. That would make this simpler.

The thought makes me feel cheap. I’m not a bastard. I don’t objectify people. But I guess a nerdy guy does it for me, because I can feel myself plumping up inside my sweats. I tug a pillow into my lap and clear my throat.

“Hey,” I say, and it comes out way too loud for eight thirty.