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January – Present

Paul

B eing in love with one of your best friends fucking sucks. I tried to avoid it. Most of the time I can ignore the fact that I’m a sap for him. At this point, I’m faking it through every day of my life. Even I don’t know who I am anymore.

It was hard knowing that he was fooling around with our other best friend. They didn’t rub it in my face or anything, but I knew. They would disappear for twenty minutes, then come back flushed and relaxed. Jealousy definitely reared its ugly head more than once.

I’ve known they’ve been fooling around since it started when we were still in Michigan, playing for the Lumberjacks, not long after Jeremy joined our team.

I’m a year older than them, so I moved out here to Darby University last year to play hockey while they stayed in Muskegon, but I’m really glad they’re here. I hoped the time away would give me a chance to get the hell over the redhead I pined over, but the second he showed up as my roommate, I knew I was fucked. All those feelings came rushing back, and I hate myself for it.

I spent a damn year trying to fuck around when time allowed, but every time I tried, it felt off. Like something was missing. I couldn’t get Brendon out of my head, so I never went past kissing. That definitely didn’t help me get over him. I’ve always been weird about hookups. Sure, getting off is great and all, but without a connection to your partner, what’s the point?

I love having Jeremy and Brendon here, though. Last year was boring without them, and I never gelled as well with the other guys as I do with them on the ice. We’re perfect together.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I’m up to my armpits in biology homework when I’m startled by Brendon yelling instead of the lyrics from Tarzan he was just singing.

“Why am I so fucking stupid?” He throws his pencil across the room and drops his head into his hands.

“What have I told you about that?” I give him a stern look to match my tone. I’ve worked hard to make him stop with the negative self-talk.

“It’s true. Fuck off!” he snaps and shoves his chair back from the desk, heading toward the door.

I fling the book aside and stalk after him. When he reaches the door, I grab his shoulder and flip him around. He startles a little, and the anger fades from his face before he waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Oh Daddy.” Brendon bites his lip and winks at me. “You gonna spank me?”

I try not to react to him. It only encourages him to act like a brat. When I cross my arms and give him an unamused look, he drops the smart-ass act, and a softer side of him comes out.

Fuck, I love the way he melts for me. He’s such a big personality normally, loud and joking around, while I’m in the background, but here, like this, he’s quiet and reserved. Does he like it as much as I do? The big personality is a front, at least part of the time.

“You are not dumb. The next time I hear you say something like that, I’ll make sure you’re up at four to work out with Preston.”

His expression morphs to scandalized, complete with the hand to his chest.

“For a week,” I tell him.

He crosses his arms and glares at me. “That’s just cruel.”

“If that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do.” My hands ache to touch him, to cup his jaw or run through his floppy red hair. I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m not straight. I’m still figuring out where I fall on the spectrum of LGBTQIA+, but I also don’t really care to label myself.

“You wouldn’t do that to me.” He’s not confident about his words.

I lift an eyebrow and stare at him. “You sure about that?”

He deflates and looks like a spoiled brat about ready to stomp his foot. It’s harder than it should be not to smile at him.

“Pizza will be here soon, then sleep. We have a game tomorrow.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know.”

Brendon slithers past me, his body brushing mine, then there’s a knock on the door. I open it and take the pizza boxes from the delivery guy.

Brendon grabs them from me and rushes toward my bed, cackling like a lunatic when he opens them. The delivery guy watches him warily for a second, then hands me the receipt to sign.

“Have a good night,” I say and close the door.

Brendon is sitting cross-legged on my bed, a garlic twist in one hand and a slice of pizza shoved into his mouth with the other. I sigh and shake my head.

He looks up at me and tries to say “what” around the mouthful of food, but it’s just a garbled sound.

“Why do you always make a mess on my bed?” I reach for a garlic twist and take a big bite.

“Why would I make a mess of my own bed?” he scoffs. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

I shove him over, and he laughs but moves enough for me to be able to sit down. Once one of his hands is empty, he turns on my Xbox and TV, then flips through shit even though I know he’s going to pick something from the Star Wars universe because he always does.

After ten minutes, he settles on Disney+ and turns on The Mandalorian . Brendon scarfs down half the pizza and three twists before laying back on my pillows and rubbing his stomach. I move the pizza boxes, and he stretches out, pulling my blanket over him.

“I ate too much,” he whines. “My stomach hurts.”

He pulls his shirt up to show me how round his stomach is as I lay down next to him.

“You shouldn’t have eaten the last two garlic twists.”

Brendon scoffs, “But they’re so tasty.”

He reaches for my hand and places it on his stomach. I lift an eyebrow and look up at him.

“Am I waiting to feel the baby kick?”

“Rub it; it hurts.”

I sigh but readjust on the bed so I can rub his stomach, the big baby. Secretly, I love it. I like taking care of him. I like that I can touch him sometimes, and I like that he only lets me do this for him.

We make it halfway through an episode before he falls asleep and rolls over, dragging me in behind him to spoon. He mumbles something in his sleep, and I smile into his shoulder when he settles and snores softly.

For a little while, I can almost pretend like he’s mine and fall asleep with him in my bed.