Page 22 of The Last Person

I havethe same routine the nights before away games as I do the nights before home games.

I sit in my hotel room and crochet while Hardy reads or finds some kind of melodramatic TV show to watch.

It’s a weird glimpse of what I’d love for my future to be, but that idea is unrealistic. At least with Hardy by my side.

Don’t fall for your straight friend. It’s a rule all queer folks learn early on. It only leads to heartache.

Yet, here I am, crocheting a blanket for his bed in the apartment we share. Totally normal things two pro football players do for each other.

“I’m bored,” Hardy says, tossing the remote to the side.

“Not enough drama for you on TV? There has to be a bunch of terrible reality shows to pick from.”

He shrugs. “I’m not interested in any of them.”

“Try the news. You can definitely find some drama there.”

He scrunches his face. “Not the kind of drama I want.”

I sigh and look over at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Let’s go somewhere.”

“Curfew is in half an hour.”

“Fine, then talk to me. Something. I don’t know. You’re my roommate. It’s your job to entertain me.”

“Remind me to talk to Coach in the morning.”

“Brian…” he whines.

I hate when he says my name like that. I have to work way too hard to keep from popping a boner.

“Fine,” I say, setting my crocheting to the side. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. What were you thinking about while you were crocheting? Or is it just blank darkness?”

“Like the blackness of my soul?” I laugh.

“Please. That’s far from black. You’re one of the purest, kindest humans I know. Your soul is probably white. Not sparkly and shimmery white, though. More like that gray-white of an early morning fog lifting over the mountains.”

“Wow. That was profound.”

“Thanks. Now do me.”

No. Mind. Gutter. Bad.

“Do you?”

“What color is my soul?”

“Red,” I answer without a second thought. “A deep, fiery red because everything you do, you do with brightness and passion.”

He blinks at me for a moment. “Damn, that was a good answer.”

“So was yours. It’s almost like we know each other.”

He climbs out of his bed and comes to sit next to me on mine.