“It’s fine, you can tell me you rocked his world, even if y’all only got to third base. I can see it in your face. My boy might be stopping goals on the pitch, but in the bedroom, any hole’s a goal, huh?”
“You’re a fucking idiot, Pérez.” And, as much as I try to give him a glare, I’m all smiles because, yeah, my face is going totell all the stories I won’t say out loud. I like not having to be ashamed of this. Still, “I’m not getting into this right now. I’ve already told you more than you need to know.”
“Pues, next time then. Anyway, if you’re done crying, like I was saying, tacos?”
“Te’l hocico, bro. Let’s go get your pinche tacos.”
“Cool. Vamonos,” Pérez says as he lets me go. “Oh, but first, should we get a groupa huevoon three for the culture? For the they/thems and the bisexuals and the guys who love them?”
I shake my head, laughing, but still, a hand goes out toward his. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“One,” we start. I look up from our hands to Kat and Pérez’s faces. Their eager, promising smiles get me hyped up and take my mind away from all the ways this could go wrong. “Two—”
It’ll be okay. It’ll be worth it.
I have to believe that.
“Three.”
III
The presence of the self is evident particularly in cases of strain, opposition and struggle. In an easy life without trouble, in moments of peace and tranquility, the self hides itself behind the smooth and gentle experiental stream. But a sudden interruption of the common flow of life is enough to show the presence of the self that emerges from the experiental stream and does not let it flow, but leads it.
—Risieri Frondizi
23
“¡A HUEVO!” I YELL,falling on my mattress and punching the air. “Finally.”
I feel Vale sitting down next to me, his fingers lightly scratching my thigh. I hold my right hand up and still so he can take my phone and see the good news: we finally got our Philosophy midterms back and listed at the very top of all the assignments so far, that go fromhate it here and it’s obvioustotrying my best, is my very first A. ToI’m actually getting the hang of this. In the comments, Professor Coolidge even added a “Nice job.” Hell yeah, it was a nice job. A great job, even.
“Proud of you,” Vale hums. I hold myself up on my elbows, looking from his hand massaging muscle and fingertips threatening to go inside my shorts to his smile that’s just for me. He leans down, giving me a kiss, smiling into my lips. “Getting all smart and shit.”
“Yeah I am.” I get selfish, going for more kisses, wishing that his hand would go up just a little more. “And I think we have alittle time to celebrate before I’ve got to be at the Athletics Center for my interview.”
“Smart and a celebrity.”
“You want to wait here for me? And then we can go to my parents’ together?”
On top of the A, I left last night’s away game having broken the record for longest shutout in the Border Conference’s history and with my name in the NCAA’s top fifteen, every game getting me closer to hitting the top ten. I FaceTimed my parents afterward, like I usually do after away matches, and their first words (when they finally stopped screaming) were “We’re celebrating tomorrow. Carne asada. Bring your team. Bring your friends.”
Whether I call one of them my boyfriend when we’re in private is really just a technicality.
But first, a couple guys who host my favorite football podcast (even though they call it soccer) are headed this way in the next half hour to talk to me about it. Trevor and Rashid, of Goals and Glory, two guys I’ve seen on YouTube and listened to on runs and watched interviewing professional players in thirty-second clips on TikTok, here forme.
“Is it cool if I stay here?”
“Yeah, make yourself comfortable. But, before that, going back to the whole having some time to celebrate …”
The rest of the house is gone; they’re at one of Kat’s games that Vale and I would be at too, if I didn’t have to go talk about myself soon. But, with this in-between time, all I can think is how fast can I get Vale’s clothes off. Between the regular season’s end right around the corner and our virtually guaranteed spot in the NCAA Division I tournament, even more practices and trainings, classes piling on all the things we have to get through before finals in December, and Vale putting in some hours at High Tide, we haven’t gotten a lot of time together. And even when we do, it’s with a full house. Trying to be quiet while Ahmed is right acrossthe hall or the two of us hanging out with my boys, leaving me unable to touch Vale at all and getting sympathetic looks from Kat and Pérez. But most nights are FaceTiming until we’re falling asleep and during the day it’s small touches during Philosophy and walking him, now, all the way to his next class.
However, when we do get some time, and we find ourselves all alone (or desperate enough to try to be quieter than Ahmed’s music or TV), nothing beats kissing him, holding his hand, wrapping my arms around him, talking about our day. And how often Vale’s head ends up in my lap. Literally, my boyfriend is a blowjob fiend. Finish studying early? Head’s in my lap. Needing a study break? Head’s in my lap. After my game? Head’s in my lap. Surprising him right as he’s closing up High Tide for the night, thinking he might want to go to Whataburger? Pulling me into a fitting room and,oop, head’s in my lap.
Vale looks at my phone one more time before pressing it to my chest. “I don’t want to end up being the reason you’re late to your interview.”
“So is that a no?”
He bites his lip, his eyes going from my eyes to my dick, already halfway ready to go, wanting out of my shorts and in between those lips. And then he lets out a soft, breathy laugh as he kisses me one more time before scooting down, pulling my shorts and underwear with him.
