Page 11 of Sweat

“For real?” I ask, putting my sights on his face for any hint of deception.

Dude is as stoic as they come, though. The muscles in his face seem soft while the look in his eyes digs into me deep. His lips fold like he’s mad for a second, but relax again in the next. The way his tongue slips out to wet his lips stirs something in me that I really don’t want to be feeling right now, in front of everyone.

“For real,” he says. No deception detected. “How long’s it been since you played?”

I sigh, dropping my shoulder and curving my body until the top of my head touches my lap. I wait for the sound of my back popping, then I straighten up some. “Two years about.”

“Why’d you quit?”

“Personal shit.”

He nods, accepting my vagueness. “You wanna un-quit?”

“What?”

Before my scrambled brains can fully process Rowan’s question, he’s answering mine. “There’s just over four months til August. I can get you on the team if you really want it.”

Despite the burn in my lungs, I laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Again, no deception detected. Then again, Rowan is a superstar. I shouldn’t put it past him to be a superstar liar too.

“So, what? I’ll kill myself and ignore all my responsibilities just to sit on a bench every match come August?”

Rowan’s face hardens up. “I don’t waste my time on benchwarmers.”

I study Rowan closer. Not for deception this time, but for motive, because none of this makes sense. “You think I can be a starter in four months?”

“I think I can make you a starter in four months.”

I want to laugh again, but all I do is smile at the arrogance. The fact Rowan Hughes is taking any sort of interest in me at all has my inner fanboy reeling. The fact he’s still shirtless is doing things to me too.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Meet me back here tomorrow night. Same time. Don’t be late again.”

By the time I’ve slow-blinked myself into the realization Rowan means to train me personally, he and his bag are already gone.

This time, I don’t tell Ma where I’m heading out to after supper. I’ve got a feeling she’ll be mad, and it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. I don’t know yet if trying to makethe Sac team is worth it in the end, but I’m sure about meeting up with Rowan tonight. Even if it’s just for another grueling scrimmage, it’s an opportunity I can’t wuss out on. It’s a taste of something that used to be my everything. Plus, it’s Rowan fucking Hughes.

I had a dream about him last night. It wasn’t a nightmare, but I woke up sweating and panting all the same. Thank God Mav was fast asleep. He’s too young to know why guys sometimes have to change their pajama pants after certain kinds of dreams. It took me an hour to fall back asleep, and I spent all that time watching YouTube clips of last season’s Sac State matches, clicking on anything and everything with the name Rowan Hughes in the title.

It’s safe to say I’ve got a major boy-crush on the guy, if that’s even a thing. Maybe it means I’m not straight, but does it have to mean I’m gay? Am I gay just because I get off to wank porn and have wet dreams about Rowan pressing his hard, lean, sweaty body against me? I had a girlfriend for four years, for fuck’s sake. I loved her once, I think. Liked her, at least. I’m aware she’s beautiful, and she was fun to be around when she wasn’t upset over dumb shit, like me not wanting to have sex all the time.

We could have sex sometimes, like when I was high on edibles or in one of those moods where just about anyone would do. I guess that’s not very romantic of me, but I’ve never been good at romance either. Probably because I’m gay but have only dated girls.

Shit.

I can’t meet up with Rowan tonight. What am I thinking? I know next to nothing about him save for his talents and the one time he called me a slur after a game. Could he tell I wasgay then, when I had no idea? Can he tell now, when I’m only half aware of it myself?

“Where you heading off to?”

My sister’s voice breaks me from my silent freak out. I’d come into her and Ma’s room to say goodnight in case she’s asleep when I get back, but I ended up staring at the wall beside the TV, forgetting to breathe.

“Huh?” I ask.

“You’ve got your backpack on,” she says. “Where you headed?”

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