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“That’s all?” he says, watching as I yawn and then stretch my arms over my head.

“Yep. I have to work in the morning.”

“Where do you work?” he asks, reaching for his jacket.

“The campus gym.”

“That’s cool.” He stands and looks toward the door. “Can I go out the front door this time or are we still doing the window thing?”

I shake my head. “You can use the door, just don’t make a show about it.”

“Damn, my plan had been to walk out on the front porch and shout out that I’d been hanging out with you all night.” He winks. “No one needs to know that all we did was watch soft porn.”

I gasp. “That’s not soft porn! It’s about teenagers.”

“T, two of the characters had sex in a shower. Sure, they didn’t show anything, but that’s like porn 101.”

“Gross.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He shrugs. “But I definitely know why my father didn’t let us have cable.”

“Was he strict?” I ask, walking him to the door.

“You could say that.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Thanks for letting me come over and distracting me with tits and sex scenes.”

“Even if they weren’t my tits?” I joke.

“Oh, yours distracted me too, T.” He gives me a lopsided grin that makes my stomach clench. “Bundle up all you want, I’ve seen them, remember?”

I fling open the door. “Go.”

“I’m going,” he laughs. “But really, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I lean against the door as he steps out on the dark porch. “I refuse to admit that I was tempted to swipe on waterpolo Caleb tonight, but I can acknowledge that I appreciated having company.”

“No worries, T. I told you, I’m your safe space. Call me any time you get the urge.”

He walks off with a smirk, and I take a deep breath. I did it. I made it through a night with a sexy, dangerous, varsity level athlete without taking off my clothes. Maybe he is my safe space after all.

For someone attracted to athletes,organized sports isn’t my thing. Sure, my parents put me in all the standard youth sports: soccer, volleyball, basketball, softball, but none clicked. I wasn’t lacking athletic ability, I had good balance and hand-eye coordination, but the idea of chasing other girls around a field, court, or bases never held an appeal. Girls are mean, and competitive girls are worse. By middle school, it was clear that I wasn’t going to find my tribe this way.

That didn’t mean they let me off the hook–not exactly. My mother, in particular, saw the benefit of exercise with or without a team. Her view is that it’s not just good for the body, but for the mind, and as much as I hate to give her credit for anything, she’s right. Working out definitely makes me feel better, primarily by reducing my anxiety. After a few more trials and errors, I realized that I didn’t want to play games. I wanted to be strong.

I’d been coming to the campus gym since I got to Wittmore. I’d been happy to just use the facilities, coming in for spinclasses or to use the free weights or cardio machines. But after everything went down with Brent and CJ, and I kept coming home to find Twyler and Reese snuggled up on the couch watching one of her disturbing documentaries, I bit the bullet and asked Abby, the gym manager, if they had any open positions.

Thank god she said yes.

“When Brian gets here, it’d be awesome if one of you can straighten out the mats in the studio,” Abby tells me when I arrive for my shift that day. “The last class made a huge mess.”

“I’ll get them sorted.” She opens her mouth and I quickly add, “And disinfected.”

“Thank you,” She grins, grabbing her jacket and shoving her arms into the sleeves. “Oh, also, the thermostat in the men’s locker room has been acting up. Maintenance should be here in the next hour. If you’ll show them where it is when they get here.”

“No problem.”

Loud shouts from the back corner echo off the high ceilings and she sighs. “Keep an eye on that back corner, will you?”

“The Wannabes are back?”