Page 13 of Out of Bounds

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. I think you have potential.”

Cliff lit up at the comment, the sunlight making the hazel of his eyes glow.

Brennan wanted to unleash the passion and creativity lurking behind the quiet, rigid exterior of Cliff Warner. It would be his way of looking out for him, helping him enjoy his time in college like Alex wanted. This could be how he proved his best friend bonafides to Alex.

“I have to run to class. But meet me tomorrow afternoon at my apartment?” Brennan walked backwards out the building. Cliff gave him a thumbs up right as he swung out the door.

5

CLIFF

Blazing sun and thick humidity permeated the first day of October. Summer wasn’t leaving without a fight. The long walk to Brennan’s apartment made this apparent to Cliff, who could feel his hat soaking up with perspiration. He fanned under his pits to air dry before he rang the buzzer. Brennan didn’t need to see a sweaty mess.

Nobody buzzed back.

“Brennan?” He called into the speaker.

Nada.

He stepped back to the curb and craned his neck up at the windows, no idea which was one his.This isn’t some prank he and Alex are pulling, right?

Before he could entertain that thought, someone called out from across the street.

Cliff turned around and breathed a sigh of relief. Brennan jogged across the road, finishing up a run. Sweat soaked through his shirt as one earbud dangled against his chest.

“Sorry. Ran a little longer than I thought. It helps clear my head.” Brennan wrapped his headphones around his phone and tucked them into his pocket. Sweat gave his eyes a watery glow, his mustache extra texture, and his skin a glistening sheen. He was alive with endorphins.

“Is this still a good time? I can come back later.”

“No, no. You’re good.” And then Brennan nearly gave Cliff a heart attack. He took his shirt off in one quick motion and used it to wipe his brow.

It took every fiber of Cliff not to stare - and not to tent his shorts. Judging by the muscles rippling in his chest and flat stomach, it seemed running wasn’t the only exercise Brennan took up recently.

“I know. I’m a mess.” Brennan gestured at his sweaty body, which gave Cliff an excuse to look some more.

“I didn’t know you ran.”

“Me neither. But going to school in Florida, where I could actually be outside year-round, turned me into an exercise nut.” His chest rose as he heaved in one more gust of air to catch his breath, getting him a touch closer to Cliff. “The humidity is a bitch today. Let’s go inside.”

Brennan stepped around him and unlocked the front door, giving Cliff a chance to smell the salty, musky sweat covering his body.

Cliff literally shook his head to shake this off. Brennan might be shirtless, but he was here to improve his art. Cliff had been in this position many times before. He had spent countless days in the showers and locker rooms with teammates and never once looked. He maintained rigid focus at all times to present himself as an upstanding, blatantly heterosexual teammate.

He made the trek up three flights of stairs. The humidity was so bad and the lack of air conditioning was so apparent that the black paint covering the metal banisters stuck to their palms. Cliff wiped off his hands on his shorts when they reached the top.

Brennan slid open the thick, metal door to his loft and suddenly Cliff got why the distance from campus, the sticky paint, and flights of stairs were all worth it. Artwork covered exposed brick walls - a mix of weird and daunting and hauntingly beautiful. And from this height, the enormous windows let them see the river and mountains.

“I got really lucky.” Brennan likely read the gobsmacked expression Cliff wore. He closed the door.

“Are these all yours?” Cliff pointed at the art on the walls.

“God, no. Even for an artist that’s self-absorbed. This one over here is from a tiny gallery outside Tampa.” The wild lines and vivid colors twirled in Cliff’s eyes. It was chaos that found order. “And this one is a Cezanne. Reproductions. I’m not rich enough to afford real ones, but you can get reproductions online for like twenty bucks.” He straightened out one painting that had splotches of different colors brushed across the surface. “I found this guy on Etsy. He should be a much bigger name. This one blew me away.”

Cliff, not so much. To him, it seemed as if the artist’s three-year-old got a hold of his paint set and fingerpainted.

“What do you see?” Brennan asked, leaning his shirtless body against the wall.