Page 11

The bar was loud, crowded with students and locals alike, the hum of conversation and the sharp clink of glasses filling the air. The Weeknd’s In Your Eyes played in the background, giving the place a cool, trendy vibe.

I leaned against the edge of the pool table, nursing a light beer, the bottle sweating against my palm. Finn and Scott were at the dartboard, arguing over whose aim was worse, while Dean was halfway through demolishing a plate of nachos at the bar. It was supposed to be a team bonding thing, but somehow, a few of the Gettysburg Bullets had joined us—Chris among them.

Leaning against the table beside me, his arm casually brushed mine as he chalked his pool cue. His smile was lazy and confident, his blue eyes sparkling with something that quickened my pulse. He was hot—blond and sexy in that casual, laid-back, young Thor kind of way—and being so close to him made me nervous. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who’s such a beast on the mat,” Chris said, his voice low and teasing.

I laughed, ducking my head. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he shot back, his grin widening. “You gave me a hell of a fight.”

There was a warmth in his tone that caught me off guard, and I found myself glancing up at him, feeling the faint blush creeping up my neck. Chris’s confidence was easy, effortless, the kind that made you want to lean in, to match his energy. But still I held back, a tension coiled in my chest that I couldn’t quite shake. I wished I was more like him.

“Hey, Tyler!” Finn called from across the room, a dart in one hand and a pint in the other. “Tell this idiot he’s gonna lose. Jared’s already betting against him.”

I waved him off with a grin. “You’re on your own, bro. I’ve seen your aim.”

Chris chuckled beside me, shaking his head as he lined up his shot. He bent over the table, a strip of bare skin flashing between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. A hint of his crack showed, and I couldn’t help checking out his ass. It seemed firm, round, his pants hugging the glutes tightly. I forced myself to look away before he caught me staring .

The clunk of the cue ball against the rack of solids and stripes sent a satisfying sound through the air. He stood back, gesturing for me to take the next turn. “You any good?” he asked, his voice warm with challenge.

“I can hold my own,” I said, stepping up to the table and leaning over to take a shot. I could feel Chris watching me, his gaze lingering on my butt the same way mine did on his. Fuck, he must have known I checked him out, too. My hands felt clumsier than usual, the cue slipping slightly as I aimed. The ball bounced off the bumper without landing, and I groaned, straightening up.

Chris smirked, stepping in close enough that I could smell his deodorant. After grinding against each other on the mat earlier today, his proximity felt somehow natural, intimate yet not invasive. “Maybe you need a little help,” he teased, his hand brushing my arm as he adjusted my grip on the cue. His touch was light, casual, but it sent a jolt of awareness through me.

I pulled back, chuckling awkwardly. “I think I’m a lost cause.”

“Hardly,” Chris said, his voice dropping a bit, enough to make my pulse quicken. “I think you’re showing great potential. Plus, you fill out your singlet nicely.”

I almost gasped, glancing around us to see where the other guys were, if anyone could hear us. Chris caught my frightened stare.

“Ah. Not out yet. ”

“You are?” I asked, incredulous. “And your teammates don’t mind?”

“Why should they? I’m the best fighter on the damn team. And the coaches would rip a new one to anyone who’d give me shit about it. Gettysburg has a zero-tolerance policy toward discrimination.”

Williams had the same progressive rules, in theory at least, but I still didn’t want to be known as the gay one . I glanced around again to make sure no one was paying attention, then stepped closer and whispered, “How did you know? About me, I mean.”

“I happen to have a great gaydar, if I do say so myself.” Chris smirked. “Also, you were staring at my junk.”

“I did not!”

“Well, why the hell not? I’ve been told I got a nice bulge, you know.”

I could only gawk at him, my mouth probably hanging open, yet no words coming out.

He laughed so hard that he almost snorted his beer. “I’m messing with you, man! You looked everywhere but at my crotch. That’s what gave it away. Straight guys have no problem looking. They look all the time .”

Now I had to laugh too. “Checking out the competition, right?”

“Exactly,” he said. “They just gotta know who’s got the biggest dick. It’s some sort of alpha-male thing. And those singlets leave little to the imagination.”

“Tell me about it. ”

We both laughed at that. “Seriously, though,” he said. “I was sure I was going to lose when I saw how hot you were in your tight purple spandex. It was very distracting.”

“Yeah?” I teased him. “Is that why you copped a feel?”

“Hey, I’m a red-blooded dude. Can you blame me?”

We laughed again. It was so easy to talk to him, to joke about the things I would struggle to admit to anyone else, even to Finn. The chemistry was undeniable, a spark that flickered in the space between words and glances. Under different circumstances, I might have leaned into it, let myself enjoy the easy flirtation, the possibility of something simple and fun. Chris was handsome, charming, and there was a warmth to him that felt easy to be around.

But every time I caught myself thinking about it, my thoughts drifted back to Blake—his steady, grounding presence, the way his hands had felt on me in the locker room, the raw intensity in his eyes when he looked at me. There was no denying the pull I felt toward him, the way he’d carved out a space in my heart that I was still reluctant to surrender to another. The heart wants what the heart wants.

Chris must have noticed my distraction because he stepped back, tilting his head at me. “You’re somewhere else, aren’t you?”

I gave him a small smile, shrugging. “It’s been a long week. ”

He nodded, his smile softening. “Dude, I’ve seen that look. I’ve had that look. You’ve got it bad for someone.” Noticing my panicked expression, he chuckled and said, “Relax. Your secrets are safe with me. I only hope that, whoever he may be, he realizes how lucky he is.”

“Thanks,” I said simply, not knowing what else to say.

He seemed to understand, even without me opening up. “Look, how about we exchange numbers, and if you ever want to chat, hit me up. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. As a friend.”

The offer hung in the air, light but genuine, and I found myself nodding, grateful for his kindness. I didn’t have any gay friends, and I could really use one right about now. Granted, we lived in different states, but beggars can’t be choosers, and Chris seemed like an awesome guy. So I fished my phone out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Sure, I’d love to stay in touch. But for now, I think I need more alcohol in me,” I said, glancing at my empty bottle.

He typed in his number, then looked up at me. “You know what,” he said, giving me my phone back with that mischievous grin. “Beer’s not gonna cut it. Let’s do some real damage.”

Before I could protest, Chris started chanting, “Shots,” and within seconds, the whole group joined in: “Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!”

What the hell, I thought. Let’s get wasted .