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I should turn the TV off, or at least change the channel.
I do neither.
By the time my laundry is done–I might’ve forgot to move it to the dryer for almost an hour–and it’s getting close to dinner, I’m just about to order in so I don’t have to go to the dining hall by myself when Cruz, Jagger, and Cameron burst into the room.
“That play was epic. It really set the tone for the second half.” Jagger gives Cruz a shove that I think is supposed to be playful, only Cruz is so solid he doesn’t budge and Jagger ends up falling back against Cameron, who steadies him with an eye roll.
“One of these days I won’t be here to catch you,” Cameron says.
“One of these days I’ll knock him off balance,” Jagger retorts.
“Unlikely,” Cameron mutters, though he’s got the hint of an amused smile on his face as he says it.
The two of them give me a little up-nod when Cruz says hello, but Jagger keeps going. “Seriously, I bet that makes the highlight reels. Top ten plays of the week.”
“It wasn’t that big a deal.” Cruz dips his head as he puts his bag in the closet and strips off his shirt, standing there half-naked while he looks for another.
“It was the start of a three-touchdown run. It absolutely was a big deal,” Jagger insists.
“They’re talking about this flying leap Cruz made during the game,” Cameron tells me.
“The one where you jumped over that other player?” I ask, and three large jocks go eerily still as they look at me.
“You saw that?” Cruz pauses with a fresh shirt in his hand, a bashful grin teasing the corner of his lip.
“I thought you said he doesn’t like football?” Cameron faces Cruz with a puzzled look.
“He doesn’t,” Cruz says. Turning to me, his expression earnest, he asks, “Did you really watch the game? I thought you were going on a hike.”
Damn he really needs to put that shirt on.
“I did hike. When I got back there was nothing to do and nothing else on, so…” I lift my shoulder to finish the sentence.
“You seriously don’t like football?” Jagger’s mortified gaze morphs to agitation as he whirls on Cruz. “I thought you were fucking with us when you said that.”
“Why would I make that up?” Cruz asks as he, mercifully, covers his drool-worthy chest.
“To fuck with us.” Jagger looks at him like he’s dense before looking to Cameron for backup. “Did you know he was serious?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Cameron gives a listless shrug.
Jagger looks between the two of them like he can’t believe they’d do him so dirty, even though no one did him dirty at all. On a face as gorgeous as his, it’s broodingly sexy.
“No. Nope. Not okay.” Jagger shakes his head at me. “I can’t in good conscience let you continue on this misguided path. We need to make you a fan.”
“We don’t need to make him anything,” Cruz insists.
“It’s teammate code.” Jagger looks at Cruz while pointing to me. “Letting you live with a non-fan is blasphemy. We have to fix it.”
Cameron winces before turning an apologetic eye my way. “Good luck man. He pulled this shit on me as a kid and I’ve been playing ever since.”
“You say that like you don’t love every minute of it,” Jagger huffs. “And it’s not like this’ll be an impossible task. He’s got a Spiderverse poster over his bed so clearly he’s got good taste. It’ll be easy. We’ll just watch some games so I can point out the highlights.”
“You’d have better luck pointing out how tight our uniforms are.” Cruz winks at me, and though he’s got a proud grin on his face like we just shared some inside joke, all I can do is blink in return as I feel the blood drain from my face.
He just outed me.
To his teammates.
