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I snicker as I lean in close to his ear. “You look super hot right now.”

“So do you.”

We talk through the commercials but quiet down when the house lights go dark and the trailers play. By the time thesilence your phonesad plays, my cheek is on Rowan’s shoulder, inhaling whatever cologne he put on to smell so damn good.

It’s true that movie theater dates make for lame get-to-know-you’s, but I already know this is the person I want to be with. Whatever Rowan’s hang-ups are, whatever trauma lies inside his stormy mind, I want all of him. Seeing a low-budget slasher movie is just an excuse to dip our feet into being intimate in public, and hopefully, by the time I’m acclimated to dating a man, Rowan will be a little less skittish about the idea.

After the movie, we walk around the promenade a bit, my hands shoved deep into my pockets so I’m not tempted to holdRowan’s.

“How’re you feeling about tomorrow?” I ask him. “Will there be recruiters there?”

“Probably,” he says. “Trying not to think about that, though.”

“I bet you could’ve gotten into a club last year or even two years ago.”

He shrugs. “I like school, and I always wanted to get my degree. And I dunno. I didn’t feel totally ready before, I guess.”

“You’re good enough. You’re incredible.”

“That’s easy for people around here to say, but there are incredible players all over the country. All over the world. I’m just a drop in the bucket.”

“Do you know where you wanna end up?”

His smile turns wistful. “Whichever team wants me.”

“I wish we could have a sleepover.”

“Match tomorrow in Berkeley. Gotta be up bright and early for the bus.”

“I know,” I groan, knowing I’ll be waking my ass up at five in the morning just to go sit on a bench for two hours at Cal. It’ll be worth it to see Rowan do his thing, but I’d also really like to see Rowan domything in his bedroom.

“Tomorrow night?” he asks, because Saturday nights have become our thing. The only evening per week when Rowan isn’t clambering to train, and the one night per week where neither of us have to wake up at dawn the next day. I’ll take one night per week. It’s a lot better than no nights per week, and we do fool around a lot in between.

“Totally.” I tug on the hem of his shirt, coaxing him toward my parked truck, because the sooner we’re not inpublicpublic, I can put my hands on him properly. “Is your, uh, your…people gonna be there tomorrow?”

“My people? Like, my posse?”

I laugh, but ever since Rowan’s meltdown, I’ve been reluctant to call the people he lives with his family. Clearly, that’s not how Rowan views them all the time, and I don’t want to force a narrative that doesn’t reflect his reality. “Yeah, your entourage.”

“Nah.”

“Well, I’ll be there cheering you on.”

Rowan’s hand on my back, stroking my spine, is a pleasant surprise, since we’re still finding our way to the parking lot. Baby steps. “Thanks, babyface. You’re by far my favorite groupie.”

“Fuck you,” I cackle. “I better be your only groupie.”

Smirking, he says, “Don’t worry. You’re definitely top ten.”

The bus ride to Berkeley is a little over an hour, and I sit next to Rowan the whole way with one of his earbuds in my ear, watching compilation videos of sports movie monologues. All part of Rowan’s away game ritual, but the vids do get my blood pumping a little quicker. I bunch my sweatshirt between us so no one notices I’m holding his hand beneath it, smoothing my thumb along his forefinger.

Berkeley is beautiful, and the weather already feels like fall. Overcast and foggy. I have to keep my sweatshirt on during warm-ups until exertion warms me up. The stands fill in, but there’s no one here to watch me. My eyes scan the bleachers anyway, wondering which of the solo spectators are professional scouts here to see Rowan.

I briefly wonder where he’ll end up next year, and if they’ll help him accept himself, or if they’ll only do more damage.

Three minutes into the match’s second half, Connor goes down on a foul, and he doesn’t get up. He doesn’t look pained, but he stays on his knees anyway, cradling one hand on his lap and sticking the other high above his head, waving toward our line.

Rowan is the first to reach Connor. He puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder and waves Coach over.