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He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Gerard, you’re one of the best players we’ve got. Maybe the best this program has ever seen. But talent isn’t enough if your head’s not in the game.”

A knot forms in my stomach. This is worse than him yelling or threatening to bench me. This is him being…concerned. “I’ll get it together, Coach.”

Coach Donovan sets his sunglasses on his desk and leans forward, resting his elbows on the cluttered surface. “Whatever’s going on with you—with school, with girls…” He pauses long enough for me to notice. “…with anything, or anyone else—you need to sort it out.”

I nod slowly, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than I want them to. Sensing he doesn’t have anything else to say, I rise to my feet. The ache from practice and sitting in that tiny seat shoots through my bones, making me wince.

I stretch my neck and shoulders, trying to loosen the tightness that’s settled in. “I promise, Coach. I’ll do better. I’llbebetter.”

Grabbing the door handle, I whip open the door and step out. But I’m not free. Not just yet.

Coach claps a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. We’re nearly the same height; I have an inch or two on him. Our eyes meet, and I’m forced to hold his gaze. “Alex is looking forward to carving pumpkins with you next weekend. He’s been talking about it nonstop. Can I ask that you keep an eye on him and see to it that he doesn’t injure himself? He’s a smart kid, but when it comes to arts and crafts…”

“Yeah, of course. I can do that, Coach.”

Coach Donovan nods, and I don’t miss the relief that flickers in his eyes. The relationship between Coach and his son is something I’ve always admired. They’re a well-oiled machine, each knowing the other’s thoughts and feelings without saying a word. It reminds me of how my dad and I used to be before I left for college. I need to call him. Soon.

I plop down at my locker stall and take off my gloves and skates. My pads follow, hitting the floor with a thud.

Coach Donovan is right. I need to sort this stuff out. But how do I even start? I can’t flip a switch and suddenly know who I am or what I want.

I enjoy being around Elliot. That much I know. He’s different from anyone else in my life—smaller, quieter, smarter. And even though I’m more confused than ever, I breathe easier when we’re together.

That’s never happened with a girl.

I peel off my jersey and undershirt and wipe the sweat off my back with my bare hands. It’s gross but necessary.Standing up, I undo my pants and let them drop around my ankles, along with my cup and jockstrap.

Now that my gear has been removed, I feel lighter. However, my thoughts are still weighing me down, turning me into a mixed bowl of emotions.

There’s attraction and curiosity, which shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise considering my fantasy this morning.

But there’s also fear. A whole heaping load of it.

12

ELLIOT

Monday rolls around with the subtlety of a horn signaling the end of a period. It’s the first day of sunlight in eight days, and I’m walking across campus when suddenly my backpack decides it’s had enough of doing all the heavy lifting.

Everything for my back-to-back-to-back classes—books, papers, pens, and pencils—spills onto the pavement, and I curse under my breath as I pick everything up. I reach for a stack of papers comprising a research project, only for the wind to pick up and take it on a joyride.

“No!” That research is due today; without it, I’ll fail the course.

“Don’t worry, Elliot! I’ll get it back.” Out of nowhere, Gerard swoops into the picture, a knight in shining Under Armour.

He chases after my work with determination and speed.I watch in awe as he leaps over a bench, his muscular legs propelling him forward to grab a page before it flutters into a nearby puddle.

If I weren’t pissed at my stupid backpack for exploding like a piñata, I’d be filming this moment for posterity. And also to jerk off over because Gerard’s bouncing ass is a mesmerizing sight.

When he bends down to pick up anotherpaper off the ground, I nearly faint at the sheer volume of ass that’s hoisted heavenward. I glance around the quad, surprised that no one is paying us any mind.Perhaps fate is intervening on my behalf?

I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out to Gerard when he jogs back to me, panting and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But inside, my heart is tap dancing to “Baby Got Back.”

“I think I got them all.” He hands me the papers, and our fingers touch briefly, sending a bolt of static electricity up my arm.

“Thanks. You really saved your ass—I mean, mine. Saved me. With the pages. Running and catching them. Like…that.”Real smooth, Elliot.“You didn’t have to.”

Gerard shrugs. To him, chasing papers in a blowing wind is another form of exercise. “I wanted to. It also looked like you could use the help.”