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One day we’ll laugh about how you ran my ass so hard I popped a boner

I want to smile, but it’s hard when I know Tommy knows that boner had nothing to do with running and everything to do with my traitorous hands. He’s saving face on my behalf, and I don’t know why. The only person who should have apologized is me.

But I can’t.

Before I figure out what to say, Tommy double-texts.

Tommy

Messaged that girl Eve. That should help the problem lol

I swallow, and my saliva sinks like a stone into the pit of my gut. It almost hurts too much for me to consider jerking off, but only almost.

7

Tommy

Idon’t hear from Rowan the rest of the weekend, and by Monday, I’m panicking that he’s through with me completely, and that would fucking suck for multiple reasons. For one, try-outs for the soccer team are this coming Saturday, and it would feel strange trying out without Rowan in my corner.

Just when I thought the Tommy and Rowan duo was fit to take off, my dick went and outed me three feet from his face. In the middle of a public park, no less. Thank fuck it was early enough in the morning that there wasn’t anyone else close by.

After dropping Mav off at school, I drive to campus for my first final of the day. Statistics. Takes nearly the entire three-hour class period for me to finish, and by then I’m famished. After lunch, I wait in line outside my English class to drop off my paper. While I’m waiting, my phone vibrates, and Rowan’s name across the screen has my body temp rising and my heart beating funny.

Rowan

Come to the gym. Room B. 12:30

The time in the top left corner of my phone reads 12:13, but there’s still a few people ahead of me in line.

Don’t be late.

But the dude gives me 17 minutes’ notice. That’s messed up. Not as messed up as my nerves, though, wanting to get there as soon as possible.

What if it’s a trap? What if Rowan rounded up the other guys from the team, the guys still on the fence about me, and told them all I’m a fag? What if they’re waiting for me in Room B, ready to jump me like it’s elementary school all over again?

Man up, Tommy. You’re six-two and two-hundred pounds.

After I hand my paper to Mr. Pratt, I jog across campus and get to Room B of the student gym at three past 12:30.

And…it’s the opposite of what I thought I’d be walking into.

A curvy, bleach blonde woman stands barefoot at the head of a class of equally barefooted students, all standing with their toes at the front edge of their respective yoga mats. The woman sends me a pointed look when I accidentally push the door shut so hard it echoes through the quiet room. No one says a word, but some sets of eyes land on me while I scan the room.

I lock eyes with Rowan. My tummy flutters like something’s tickling it from the inside, and I sidle down a narrow path between yoga mats toward the empty one laid out between Rowan’s and a mirrored wall.

“You’re late,” Rowan mouths. No sound passes between his lips, but my mind processes the words in his voice. His eyes flicker to my feet, and he mouths, “Shoes.”

I tug off my Vans and socks and shove them against the mirror along with my backpack. I scoot my feet to the top of my mat, and when the blonde instructor gently commands us all to raise our arms above our heads as high as we can reach, I do that too.

Seems odd now that I’ve never done yoga before. It always sounded like a chick thing. Actually, everyone in this class is awoman, aside from Rowan and me. Between poses, my head keeps straying sideways, drawn to Rowan’s profile like there’s a magnetic field between us. Something doesn’t jive between my memory of him snarling a slur at me and him taking a majority-female yoga class on a Monday afternoon.

Is this what being secure in one’s identity looks like?

The poses start off easy-peasy, like the shit Mav does during P.E. But, while the poses are simple, it’s holding them that starts my adrenaline going. Lunging deep, flexing my muscles and holding steady for minutes at a time. Reaching up to the heavens, breathing deeply from my core. Stretching my legs farther than I thought they could go and leaning into it, reveling in the burn. It’s relaxing and strenuous all at once, and I’m sweating bullets in the air-conditioned room.

We end on the floor in what the instructor callssavasana,which is a fancy way of saying “lay on the floor and chill.” It’s more special than that, though. I lay there so long my limbs feel like jelly and my mind feels like I took an edible. Legs parted, arms out, the backs of my hands rested on the sleek wood floor.

I look at my left hand and notice Rowan’s hand lying limp an inch away. If I only had the courage to stretch my finger out, I’d be touching him right now instead of just thinking about touching him. I want tosavasanaon top of him. I’ll breathe deep for him, and he’ll breathe deep for me. Maybe we’ll meld together and become one. Tommy and Rowan.