Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 241(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
“But it’s all toasty here,” he muttered in a thick voice. “I like it.”
I smirked. What a dork.
“Suit yourself.” I put away my laptop, then turned toward the wall and went to sleep.
By morning, he was flush against me, his arm draped over my waist.
I gently ducked out of bed so as not to disturb him and went to grab breakfast. When I returned with bagels and cream cheese from the dining hall, he was coming out of the shower, wearing only a towel.
Neither of us mentioned the sleeping arrangement, and I was glad for it.
8
BONES
The start of the term was hectic, but I was excited about my new classes in the sports-medicine track—namely nutrition and biology. I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Proving to my parents I could do it, make something of myself. Maybe even be happy. I was also excited about future internships the advisor had mentioned.
This coming Saturday was our first home game, and the tension was intensifying for us to have the same or a better record than last season. Everything that happened with Emil a week and a half ago had momentarily receded to the background, especially since we’d had a long bus ride to an away game last weekend and lots of homework when we were in our room.
We still got a couple of Slay episodes in late at night, and I tried not to fall asleep in his bed, though I secretly enjoyed it. He didn’t seem to care one way or another, even when I woke up with a boner, and I really liked how warm he was and how it felt to have someone there beside me. But it didn’t seem like the time or place to address it when we were both so busy. At least that bought me time to wrap my brain around it.
It was Thursday night, and we were all trying to blow off steam, so we played cards in the common room while sneaking sips of Spencer’s stash in between rounds. Emil and Jonah went to a band meeting and showed up afterward to chill in front of the television, which was tuned to a reality show a bunch of the residents seemed interested in.
Soon enough, Melanie and her friends joined us, and Flash jokingly suggested we play strip poker or spin the bottle, except it came off as misogynistic. Even I could recognize that. Maybe Emil was right—I was growing up and could acknowledge how immature I acted last year.
“Spin the bottle?” Emil asked, standing and stretching. “What are you, twelve?”
“Seriously,” Melanie said, “can’t we all hang out without you being a horndog?”
“Yeah, what the hell is wrong with you?” I said, and A-Train looked at me like I’d grown two heads. Last year, I might’ve laughed or added some dumb comment, but my roomie had offered me perspectives I’d never considered out of pure ignorance. Maybe that was why I was so fascinated by him.
I was lost in thought as Emil made his way back to our room.
Melanie nudged me, so I must’ve missed something.
“What?”
“I asked how your roommate situation is working out this year.”
I cleared my throat. “Uh, good. Emil’s cool.”
“Yeah, he is. And cute,” her friend said. “Too bad he bats for the other team.”
“What are we?” Flash asked, showing off his guns. “Chopped liver?”
When she gave him a pointed look, everyone laughed.
After another hour, I retired to my room as well, though Melanie seemed disappointed. When I got inside, Emil was tucked in his bed and reading something on his phone. I felt this urge to climb under his covers and get comfy with him.
Christ, I needed to figure this shit out.
I got ready for bed, then climbed into my own sheets and cut the lights.
“I don’t know how you can stand those jackasses sometimes,” he said.
“I thought you have fun when we all hang out.”
“I do,” he replied almost begrudgingly. “But then they say something sexist, and I remember what pigs guys can be.”
“Well, you’re a guy. Are you saying you’re more enlightened than the rest of us?” I teased.
He shifted toward me. “I’m a gay dude, so I can understand how stereotypes are used.”
“I get what you mean. Stereotypes can sting.”
“Are you saying that from experience?”
“Uh-huh. How do you think I got my nickname?”
“From being a big and burly football player? Though I’ve always thought it didn’t fit quite right.”
I stared at the ceiling, suddenly nervous. “My nickname as a kid was Bonehead. By high school, it got shortened and has come to mean something different—thankfully.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.” I could hear the frown in his words. “I hope you don’t think I feel that way about you. Sure, you’ve said ridiculous things, but that’s not because you’re stupid.”
“Sometimes I make impulsive decisions, and other times… I guess I just didn’t know any better.”