“Do you remember that hot chick in that polka-dot shirt, tits nearly hanging out?” The friend estimated the size of her breasts. “She was at that stoplight party, and we totally hooked up. Dude, she was such a nice piece.”
“Excuse me,” Ethan said. It came out as a mumbled whisper. He motioned to the locker right next to theirs, which of course justhadto be his today. He squeezed in the middle.
“Sure.” Greg nodded at him like nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. They were in a locker room. People get changed in locker rooms all the time. This was all perfectly acceptable behavior, Ethan assured himself.
Ethan hated these situations. He worried that guys would instantly know he was gay and demand that he leave. Or worse. He never sneaked a peek or anything like that. This was a delicate situation—gay and straight men in a locker room. He had to handle it just right. Not make others uncomfortable and not let on that he totally was. He wondered if he was the only gay guy who felt that way.
Greg undid his sneakers. “You gonna see her again, Sahil?”
Sahil kept mum, and Greg punched him in the shoulder playfully. It looked to Ethan like it would’ve hurt at least a little. Not that he was looking at them. Nope. Not at all. Ethan focused every ounce of eyesight on a peeled strip of gray paint on his locker.
“So that was who you were texting during our workout.”
“Hey, man, I still worked out my left arm,” Sahil said.
“I’m sure you’ll work out your right tonight. Alone.”
Ethan opened his locker. He sat on the bench, inches from both of them. Sahil took off his shorts, and then Greg did the same.
Greg was now in nothing but boxer briefs. White boxer briefs that hugged his butt, forming this perfect curve. It was like an upside-down question mark. Ethan used all his willpower to avert his eyes.He’s an asshole. He’s mean to me, Ethan repeated to himself.
“Still hitting the books?” Greg asked him. Ethan had to look up. He’d been asked a question. His heart galloped in his chest.
He caught a glance of Greg’s broad chest, a drop of sweat trickling down each well-defined muscle and ab, before making eye contact. He wondered how long it’d taken Greg to get that body or if it was another gift of birth.
Ethan patted his law textbook, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah. I tried. I just read the outline.”
“’Atta boy,” Greg said with a wink that made Ethan’s blood rush through his face. And elsewhere.
Ethan untied his shoes. He would take his time and avoid going shirtless in front of these guys. His slender torso had some definition, but nothing like what he was facing. Or not facing. Because he wasn’t looking.
He’s an asshole. He’s mean to me.
Sahil’s booming voice chimed back in, and Ethan gladly hid behind it. “Dude, what happened to that blonde you were talking to at the party?”
Greg shrugged, and Ethan caught a flash of discomfort squeeze onto his face. “She was all right. We’ve been texting.”
“That’s it, Sandman? I thought you’d already found out if the carpet matched the drapes.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“You’re slipping,” Sahil said with a slight edge.
“Still got a better game than you. Although not as good a game as Wendell Sharpe.”
Ethan realized that was for him. They were waiting for his response. Heat choked his neck. “Um, yeah.”
“Have fun studying,” Greg said.
“I’m going to read the textbook later.”
“Okay.”
“I will.” That came out as a yelp. Ethan cringed and looked forward to some privacy.
“I believe you.” Greg pointed at him. Ethan felt so small. “Happy studying, Ethan.”
Greg wrapped his waist in a towel and tossed his boxer briefs in his locker. The towel hung just under that heavenly V that his abs formed—a “happy trail” was what he’d heard some girls in his dorm call it. His eyes burned with want. Only for Greg’s body, he told himself. Everything else about him could be recycled.
