Page 15 of 12 Gays of Christmas

I glare at our assistant coach. He’s a sexist jerk wad, but it helps me focus.

The morning rushes by. The game is tough. Nebraska brings it, and in the second quarter, their cornerback jumps up and takes Steph’s throw out of the air before I can get my hands on it. I hate that my screw-up shows as an interception on Steph’s stats. After that, I focus on the game, determined to not let my team down.

I make a couple of great catches in the fourth quarter, getting us closer to the end zone. Our running back gets injured and has to be taken out of the game. They put Wickett in, and he gets his chance to play. And boy, does he. He’s super-fast and zips into the end zone to make the winning touchdown. Everyone jumps on him to celebrate, and when it’s clear, I give him a one-arm hug and a slap to the helmet.

“Great job, Wickett.”

“Thanks, Lauten.” The smile he tosses my way has promise in it. Was Steph right? Is Wickett into me? And if he is, will I be able to stick to my no-teammate-hookup rule? Maybe I should give him a chance.

But then, as we rush out of the locker room dressed in our nice clothes so we look professional, Colin waves at me. I stop, and the surge of guys pushes me forward. Colin is here? At the game? Remi is beside him, frowning with his arms crossed. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black sweater.

Colin’s smile slips a bit. Is he upset? His gaze shifts to the other guys as he moves to the side to avoid the crush of people trying to get to us. That’s when I get it. He’s worried. Worried I’ll reject him? Worried about how the other guys will act? I’m not sure he’s ever been to one of my games. But he’s here now. Someone barks at him. It’s the asshole assistant coach, and I want to body-slam him. More than the Nebraska players who downed our running back. I don’t question the wave of protectiveness that rushes through me. I just go with it.

He isn’t looking at me, and that’s a problem. “Colin,” I shout, but there’s too much noise for him to hear. I catch Remi’s gaze and nod my head at Colin. I swear he rolls his eyes at me, but he nudges Colin and points. When Colin finally looks over, I smile. My intention is to give him the biggest fake smile I can muster since I’m still pissed at the coach for yelling at him. Then our eyes meet and happiness floods through me. My smile is real and big. I raise my hand in greeting to make sure he knows that I’m glad he’s here. I don’t even care who else notices. I hear a chuckle beside me, and I look over at Steph.

“Yeah, Roxy had it all wrong,” he says with a grin.

“You’re so annoying.” But he ignores my words because Roxy is right there waving to her man. Steph breaks out into a run. Not that he can get too far because of the crowd. I want to run, throw my arms around Colin, and twirl him, but I’m also afraid to read too much into it. He’s here for me because he’s a good roommate, and no matter what my dick wants, it’s nothing more.

But there is something wrong with my mouth. I can’t stop grinning. We won the final game and made it into the playoffs. And Colin is here. Remi being here is a surprise. I’m not sure what’s up with them, but I try to convince myself it’s none of my business.

“Good game.” Colin shifts, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. He’s wearing a gray beanie, and I want to pull it down over his ears, cup his face, and—nope. Not going there. Thankfully, he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking away with his smile tucked into the corner of his mouth like, no matter how he tries, he can’t get rid of it.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Remi says, throwing his arms around himself and stomping. It isn’t that cold, but I stopped feeling the cold a long time ago. And Remi is a little thing.

Someone slaps my shoulder, and I recognize it as Steph before he even speaks. “Hey, Roxy and I and some of the guys are going to the Wooden Pickle after press to celebrate if you guys want to come with us.” Steph glances at Colin and Remi, including them. Unlike what Colin thinks, I’m not hung up on my best friend, but in that moment, I could definitely give him a sloppy kiss for including Colin and Remi.

* * *

The Wooden Pickleis jam-packed with ASU fans and players. Everybody’s celebrating our big win, and this part is familiar. The slaps on the back. Being told how great we are. How great I am. People buying us free drinks. The unfamiliar part—the exciting and equally terrifying part—is having Colin here.

We pack into the biggest table they have and then pull over a smaller table. I motion for Colin to take the spot next to me. I want to keep him close. He’s not used to all this, and I feel protective for some reason.

Wickett keeps sliding me flirty glances from the other end of the table. I should be happy about that. The boy is cute. I glance over at Colin. Mauve, one of the bartenders, is taking his order. Most of us are drinking pitchers of beer that I know from experience will keep coming. But Colin orders a strawberry margarita. Mauve nods and asks if anyone else wants to order something different. Roxy gets a rum and coke. The guy next to her has the same dark skin and high cheekbones. Her brother. A journalist or something. I’ve seen him around a few times. He has a cheerleader attached to his side, and Mauve gives him a hard time before taking off to get the drinks. I’m only half paying attention because my focus is on Colin.

“I have a question.”

Everyone turns to look at Remi. He’s barely spoken a word the entire time. He looks out of place but not uncomfortable. As if we’re the outsiders. He’s comfortable in his own skin. He owns it. His look. His sass. Everything. And there is something attractive about that.

“What’s your question?” I ask, crossing my arms. I have no idea what he’s going to say, but I’m ninety percent sure I’m not going to like it.

“I don’t know much about football. It’s boring,” he says, waving his hand and dismissing half the table. It’s a bold thing to say to a bunch of football players. “But your job is to catch the ball when he throws it, right?” He nods at Steph. Okay, I do know where this is going. A chorus of “Yes” with Steph pounding the table has me shaking my head. “And yet I recall in the second period—”

“Quarter,” everyone at the table yells.

“—quarter, whatever. The point is, I’m fairly sure you’re not supposed to let the guys from the other team grab his balls.”

Everyone laughs, and I talk over them. “We won the game. That’s what counts.”

“Is it though? I think we should ask—what’s your name again?”

“Steph.”

“Steph, was it fun having someone from the other team take the ball meant for Gil? What’s that called again?”

“Interception.” Again with the group response.

“Interception. Does that count against you or him?” Remi asks it like he already knows the answer.

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