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“That’s not in my budget.” His smile fades as he lifts an embarrassed shoulder.
“Good thing it’s in mine, then.” I get us each another drink and reclaim my seat with a hesitant glance at my roommate.
“What?” he asks.
“I don’t mind spending my dad’s cash—neither does he since he never asks about it—but don’t football players get NIL money?”
“I’m a freshman.” Cruz frowns like that should be an obvious explanation, and it’s such a confused look on his normally self-assured face I can’t help but chuckle.
“A starting freshman. And I’ve heard more than one person say you’re pretty good. Besides, I see more of your jersey than anyone else’s.” I flick my head to get my hair out of my eyes
A sweet flush creeps over his cheeks, and it’s so cute I pray my own aren’t heating in return. “I think that’s just a recognition thing. You see my number all over my practice gear, so you see that number before any others.”
“Freshman or not, you’ve got the kind of talent that the school should be paying you for.”
“NIL deals can be worth hundreds of thousands. I’m not that good.”
“You’re good enough that you should be able to afford your own drinks.”
“Are you saying I’m taking advantage of you?” Cruz seems to deflate a little.
“Fuck no. I’m saying the school is taking advantage of you.”
A timid smile ghosts over his lips as he realizes I’m trying to advocate for him. “They can’t pay me. I’m considered an amateur while I’m in school so the school can’t give me any money to play. Only businesses can.”
“Who makes your jersey then? Are they paying you?”
“Our jerseys only have our numbers, not names. I won’t get paid for things that don’t have my name on them.”
“That’s bullshit. I’ve seen dozens of people sporting merch with your number. Why twenty-four, anyway? Did you pick it, or did they just give it to you?”
“We get to make requests, but there’s no guarantee.” He sips his beer then sets the glass down and spins it thoughtfully.
“So, did you pick that one?”
“I picked thirty-three, actually.”
“Why?”
He lifts a bashful shoulder. “Cruz Chambers, two C’s, C is the third letter in the alphabet…” he trails off, letting me finish that sentence myself as he takes another sip. “I’m glad I didn’t get it.”
“Really? Thirty-three has personal meaning, though.”
“So does twenty-four.” When he sees my brows pull together, he takes a deep breath and elaborates. “X is the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet.”
“So, it’s like Xavier is on the field with you.”
Cruz closes his eyes briefly as he nods.
“That’s pretty fucking cool,” I tell him.
“You don’t think it’s kind of…” His brow furrows in frustration.
“No.” I don’t know exactly how he would’ve finished that sentence, but I have a pretty good idea. “I’m not a ‘things happen for a reason guy,’ but I do think lots of shit happens that can’t be explained. Most of the time it’s bad shit, at least in my experience, but sometimes it’s good. This is one of the good times.”
That brings a small grin to his face, and it’s not until just now, after sitting across from an uncharacteristically stoic Cruz, that I realize how much I’ve grown used to seeing it. How much I’ve come to like it.
“To Xavier.” I raise my glass, hoping it will turn that grin into a full-blown smile. But when Cruz lifts his glass to mine, his expression isn’t happy or even wistful. It’s grateful. Like he feels understood.
