Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Morgan had never liked sports, hated gym class, and once he was diagnosed, it became evident why. The neurological disorder weakened his legs and affected his coordination. He got fitted for braces our junior year in high school so he could manage the stairs and, well, life.
Morgan always blew it off, but I knew how much it bothered him to be seen as different from everyone else. It took him a bit of time—grieving, his therapist called it—before he accepted it without qualms. He now saw his disability as part of him, said it made him unique, and once even told me he was grateful for it because it shaped his worldview. Like I said, he was cool and special as fuck.
We’d always bonded over stuff like video games and stupid Netflix series and, of course, being queer. It was a vulnerable time in our lives, but once I started exercising to strengthen my shoulder and encouraged Morgan to work on his upper body too, we got stronger together, and that was pretty cool. Likely, it also helped me decide to pursue a doctorate in physical therapy at the university. I’d been taking the prerequisite courses and would apply before graduating with my health science degree. The program would take me an additional three years, plus obtaining a license to practice, but I thought it was worth it. It was the only thing that really excited me, so I figured I was on the right path.
“How was the game?” Morgan asked once he’d downed his glass of water. “Did the Pirates win?”
“Yep.” I tried to attend as many home games as I could, especially since I knew some of the guys playing, like Vickers, who was one of the starting pitchers this year. We’d played little league together, some charity events, and were on rival teams in high school.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Did your crush hit a homerun for you again today?”
“He’s not my crush,” I scoffed. “Ramirez has a hot ass in baseball pants. What can I say?”
“That you’re as hard up as me?” he said, and we laughed. “Maybe Ramirez is closeted too, like Jasmine’s roommate was.”
Morgan worked at the university bookstore with Jasmine. She used to live with her best friend, Kellan, former Pirates’ batboy, now turned team statistician. Kellan fell in love with the team captain and resident shortstop, Brady Donovan, and they’d initially kept their budding romance secret because Kellan was the coach’s son.
“Kellan wasn’t closeted. Donovan was,” I pointed out.
“Weren’t the pitcher and the catcher too?” Morgan asked, referring to Maclain and Girard and trying to get his facts straight about all the drama that had followed the team the previous years. After graduation, Maclain and Girard had moved to the apartment above the Girards’ bowling alley, and they’d recently gotten engaged.
When I nodded, Morgan said, “That’s so hot.”
“And suddenly baseball just got more interesting for Morgan,” I teased. “Maybe you can attend some of the games and point out hot asses in baseball pants too.”
He scrunched his nose. “No thanks.”
I figured as much. Morgan would take his computer and programming languages any day of the week. He loved gaming too, and sometimes we’d sit across the room from each other, creating the same world. These were some of my favorite moments with him because his brain was brilliant and his smile contagious.
“So since your jackass hookup bolted, how about we watch a movie and snuggle in bed?”
It was a thing we did. In fact, one of the requirements for anyone we dated—not that either of us had any real success with relationships—was that they had to be cool with our friendship. My boyfriend in high school was jealous of Morgan, and I couldn’t dump his ass fast enough when he made fun of him one day. I never told Morgan the reason, but he’d probably guessed.
“Make some popcorn while I take a shower,” Morgan said. “I still smell like his cologne after he had his tongue down my throat.”
I made a face. “Does that mean we need to change your sheets?”
“We didn’t get that far, remember?”
I blew out a breath. “Good, because your bed is way cozier.”
“You just need a better mattress,” he replied, and he was right. Mine was a hand-me-down that was lumpy in certain spots. Mom had sent me one of those foam mattress toppers for Christmas, and that certainly helped, but it was more fun to hang out in Morgan’s room.
I pretended to pout. “But then I wouldn’t have a best friend to cuddle.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And that’s what you love about me,” I countered.
Morgan rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.”
I heard him get in the shower while I placed the bag of popcorn in the microwave and got down a large bowl from the cupboard.
I changed into nylon shorts, took out the popcorn bag without burning my fingers, dumped it into the bowl, then waited for Morgan in his room. When I saw his discarded braces and sneakers in the corner of the room, my gut tightened again as I thought about his hookup—or lack thereof.