“Thank you,” Max says from beside me, and I mumble my own thanks.
We spread out at one of the sticky McDonald’s tables, a tray in front of each of us. Immediately, as though this is the first food he’s had in days, Nate shoves a handful of fries in his mouth. Max, sitting next to him and across the table from me, looks down at his own food in resignation. I’d ordered forhim, since I know what he likes, and in the hope that he’d eat the whole thing since someone else paid for it. If he even manages half, I’ll be happy.
“Okay, Marcos,” Nate mumbles, before swallowing his mouthful and taking a swig of Pepsi. He might be beautiful, but his taste in soda is obviously flawed. Pepsi. Disgusting. “I need to know about baseball. Hit me with the dirty details.”
He curls his fingers at me above the table, as though trying to get me to hand him something. I glance over at Max, who doesn’t duck his head fast enough to hide his grin. Nate watches me with wide, candid green eyes.
“I don’t know any dirty baseball details,” I tell him, thinking he’s asking for gossip.
“The rules,” Max clarifies, smiling as he puts a single french fry in his mouth and chews like it’s made of rubber. “He wants you to explain the rules.”
I frown at Nate, who nudges his foot against mine beneath the table. Taking a bite of my burger, I nudge him back, a little more firmly.
“All right,” I start. “So the basic rules of baseball are pretty simple.”
Nate watches me as I talk, occasionally shoveling food into his mouth but never taking his eyes off of mine. I divide my own attention between him and Max, wanting to make sure the latter is eating. He is, which makes me wonder if the trick to getting him to do so is to bring him out with others. I have a feeling it’s only Nate’s presence that is spurring him to make the effort. Even so, his expression as he does gives the impression that the food is rotten.
I hardly notice it as it’s happening, but I feel better by the time I’m pulling up into the house Nate shares with his roommates. I’m calmer, somehow, and less in my own head than Iwas right after the game. I’ve even rolled up my sleeves, and manage not to flinch when Nate’s fingertips brush across my wrist unnecessarily as he unclips his seat belt.
“Thanks for letting me tag along,” he says cheerfully, turning around to grin at Max. “See you tomorrow.”
I watch him as he strolls up to the front door and fumbles with his key, waiting for Max to slide into the now vacated passenger seat. Once he’s belted in and Nate is safely inside, I back out of the driveway. Immediately, Max turns to me. The car is dim enough that I can’t really see his expression, but I know him well enough that it doesn’t matter.
“So,” he starts, and then pauses to see if I’ll fill in any of those blanks.
“So.”
“How do you know Nate?”
“Same way you know Luke. We just met.”
Max makes a disgruntled noise at that, clearly unhappy with the answer. I can’t think of a good reason not to tell him about what happened, except that it feels…private, somehow. It felt like a one-time thing when it happened, and even though Nate acted like he wanted another round when he asked for my number tonight, I don’t exactly know where we stand. Nate told me he’d never been with a guy before—told me he was straight—and if I tell Max what happened, I’ll be outing his teammate. I can’t be that guy, no matter that I don’t see Nate being someone who would mind if Max knew.
“Do you have a class together?” Max asks, face scrunched up in confusion as he tries to connect the dots.
“No. I went out with the team last weekend, and we met at the party.”
“Really?” He sounds surprised. “You obviously made ahell of an impression. He couldn’t wait to see you after the game.”
I fidget at that, remembering the eager, hungry expression on Nate’s face when I walked out of the locker room.I didn’t know how to find you, he’d said, as though he’d been looking all week.
“Yeah. We talked a little bit,” I reply carefully.
“You’re terrible at making friends,” Max says around a laugh, smiling at me when I scowl at him. “Come on, you know it’s true. You have one friend, Marcos, and that’s me.”
“I only need one friend,” I grumble.
“Well, I like Nate,” he says, making the words sound more meaningful than they are. Like he’s trying to tell me something important.
“Okay.” My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I think of several things I want to say before discarding them all and settling on, “I’ll probably never run into him again.”
Max doesn’t say anything to that, and I let him have his silence as it’s more comfortable for me as well. I want to talk to him about Luke, but the timing feels wrong—like I’d be distracting him from my strange love life to talk about his. As always, it’s easier to say nothing at all, so that’s what I do.
At midnight,I hear a soft cry and jolt awake. Sitting up, I throw off the covers and leave my room. Barefoot, I step softly through the dark apartment until I reach Max’s closed door. I stand there for a few minutes, ears straining as I listen for any sounds. When I hear soft gasping noises, I tap my fingers gently on the door.
“Max? You okay?”
I can hear him walking toward the door, so I take a step backward, not wanting him to know I was standing there with my ear pressed to the wood. Light spills under the door seconds before he opens it, rubbing sleepily at his eyes and hair standing on end.
