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Some people show you what you’ll get from the start. Both the pretty and the ugly.
Liam exposes a lot…and nothing at all. Some of it is evident from the start—the drive, the determination, the dedication. But there’s more that shows itself slowly. The guy who ran into the ocean naked and called me at the crack of dawn. It’s reassuring and concerning—knowing there are layers I haven’t explored yet.
“Remember when you told me you can throw a football?”
“Yeah…”
He looks over, a small, soft, secretive smile I never thought a Glenmont quarterback would aim at me playing on the lips that have spent a lot of time pressed against mine. “Wanna prove it?”
“You brought a football?”
“I’ve got one in my car.”
He’s gone and back within a couple of minutes, a brown sphere tucked under one arm. There’s plenty of space to spread out along the shore now that most people have left. Liam hands me the ball before jogging away. About thirty feet, I’d estimate. At least he didn’t stop a few feet away and make a joke of it.
“Let’s see that arm, Jacobs.”
I position my fingers on the laces and throw it as hard as I can. The ball flies about ten feet—fifteen at most—before nosediving straight into the sand.
Liam literally keels over, laughing so hard he can’t stand.
“Shut up!” I call. “It wasn’t that bad.”
He’s laughing too hard to form words. And the sound of it—deep, unchecked, genuine—makes me laugh as well as he scoops the football up and jogs back toward me.
“Whatever,” I huff. “I doubt you can do a headstand.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll show you. But first—” He grabs my hand and curls my fingers around the football. “You’re going to learn how to throw a football.”
My fingers get spread along the laces. His hands adjust my hips and my shoulders, then my arm. Then he steps away. “Throw it.”
I do. It’s not a perfect spiral, but it goes farther than my first attempt.
I glance back at Liam, a proud smile on my face. “See that?”
“You’re perfect,” he tells me. “Fucking perfect.” He sounds annoyed about it. Angry, almost.
“I’m the furthest thing from perfect.”
“Not to me.”
“Maybe you’re an idiot.”
“Maybe I’m right,” he replies.
Then he jogs away to retrieve the football.
“We might get arrested.”
“Shut up. We’re doing this.”
I sigh as I unlock the door and push it open, turning on my phone’s flashlight and letting it illuminate the hardwood floors that lead toward the stairs. It turns out Liam can do a headstand, and he cashed in my doubt in his abilities by insisting I show him some of my art. Liam follows silently as we climb to the second level of the community center.
It’s creepy in here at night. Familiar shapes look eerie and threatening. There’s also something thrilling about it. Forbidden. Something electric that lights up my blood and heightens my senses.
