Page 37 of Sweat

“You still have my number?”

“Maybe.”

Oscar reaches down and shoves his hand down my pants pocket. It freaks me out, and I shove him back, but he managesto fish my phone out of my pocket. Chuckling, he swipes my phone unlocked, because I’m a careless dumbass who doesn’t lock his phone.

“Hm. Someone named Tommy keeps texting that he misses you, Rowan.”

“What?” I reach for my phone, ears burning, but Oscar slips from the booth and finishes typing his number into my contacts before handing it back.

I close the contacts page and open my texts, skimming everything Tommy has sent me since Sunday.

Tommy

I’m sorry man. Whatever I said or did to piss you off

Tommy

Are you sick?

Tommy

Can we meet up? I’m free whenever

Tommy

I’ll leave you alone til then

Tommy

Kinda worried tho ngl

“You’re a dick,” I tell Oscar before leaving, even though I’m pretty sure I’mthe real dick.

On Thursday, I show up for the pickup match on campus as usual. Half of me hopes Tommy will be there, and half of me hopes he won’t. In the end, he doesn’t show, and when the guys ask me where Tommy is, I tell them the truth. “No clue.”

Saturday night, family man Greg texts me while I’m on my way to the gym. Somehow, being in my car already, relatively clean and chronically horny, I'm convinced to bypass the gym and drive to McKinley. I park in the lot on the other side of the fence from the nature reserve. It’s more secluded here, shadowy and discreet. But that just makes it feel sketchier. More wrong.

It doesn’t hit me that I don’t want to be here until Greg pulls up in a minivan. I’m standing against my car door, hand near the handle in case I need to get out of here quick. The guy rounds the van, and he looks the opposite of intimidating. He looks like the sort of dude you’d see cheering in the stands of a Little League game. Probably twenty years older than me, average height, slender but out of shape, dark hair beginning to thin.

“Wow,” he says when he sees me. “You’re the real deal.”

“Am I?” I ask dully.

Hands in his khaki chinos, silver watch on his wrist, Greg says, “You’re beautiful.”

“Nah.” If I looked like Tommy, I’d be beautiful. I’d be perfect.

“So, uh…” Greg glances around us, but I already know there’s no one around. I’ve been here for fifteen minutes. “You want to do this in my car or yours?”

Like hell am I doing anything in someone’s family’s minivan, but I don’t really want him in my car either. I nod toward the darkness between the trees. “We can do it over there.”

Good ol’ Greg looks scared, which makes me feel a little less scared. If he thinks I might jump him, he won’t try to jump me. If he tries, he’ll be dead in a minute. So, I lead the way into the shadows, where there’s just enough light from the moon and the streetlamps cutting through the branches that it’s not pitch black.

I press my back to the trunk of a large tree and palm my dick through my joggers.

“Get on your knees,” I tell Greg, like I’m a seasoned pro at getting public blowies from random men.

After an awkward chuckle, Greg lowers his knees to the dirt in front of my shoes. He reaches for my waistband, but I slap his hand away.

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