“Drew! Hey, man!” He holds up one large hand for a high-five, which I gleefully accept.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say, going for casual but overshooting into British butler. “Mind if I join? Or is this a roommate bonding thing? I don’t want to intrude.”
Ryan studies me with hazel eyes that never stop analyzing. “It’s hardly a bonding experience. Jackson needed sustenance after his workout, and I required a change of scenery from our dorm room.” His voice has a formal quality, as if he had learned English by reading Jane Austen novels.
“I’ll scoot over.” Jackson slides up against the wall and pats the spot where his ass just was. I do my best not to stare at the impression it’s left and instead let my brain do a happy dance because sitting next to him means our thighs might touch. “You look like death warmed over. Let me guess—Coach Donovan?”
I sit down, unsure of whether I should be happy or perturbed that my ass easily settles into the impression of Jackson’s, like a puzzle piece slotting perfectly into place. “I’m pretty sure it’s against the Geneva Convention what he had us do today.”
“Drama queen,” Jackson teases, and his knee bumps mine under the table.
A waitress appears at our booth, smacking gum and wielding a notepad. Her name tag reads Darlene, and her hair is half gray. “What’ll it be, Drew?”
“Double bacon cheeseburger, extra fries, and a chocolate shake.” After today’s practice, I could eat a horse and still have room for dessert.
“Coming right up.” She shuffles away, her orthopedic shoes squeaking against the sticky floor.
I turn back to Jackson and suck in a breath at the sight of his eyes. The low lighting has turned them into melted chocolate. “What were you two talking about before I crashed?”
Jackson’s face lights up with infectious enthusiasm. “I was trying to convince Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud here to do the Berkeley Shore Polar Bear Plunge with me this weekend.”
“The what now?” I ask, stealing one of Jackson’s fries. He doesn’t protest; he simply pushes his plate closer to me.
“It’s this thing where a bunch of people run into the freezing ocean for charity. All the entry fees are going to the children’s hospital this year. I figured it’d be fun.”
“And as I’ve explained to Jackson ad nauseam, I will not voluntarily plunge my body into the Atlantic Ocean. It’s January, which means the water is only a few degrees above freezing.”
“Come on, buddy,” Jackson cajoles. “Live a little.”
“I prefer to live with all my extremities functioning, thank you very much.”
An image of Jackson in swim trunks with water clinging to his skin appears unbidden in my mind. “That doesn’t sound half-bad. Mind if I invite the hockey team? Those idiots will be all over this.”
“Hell yeah! The more people who come, the more tickets are purchased, and the more money that goes to charity. Plus, it’ll be hilarious watching all of you guys run into the ocean.”
“Hilarious will be seeing Gerard run in with his pink socks still on his feet,” I say.
Jackson laughs, warming me more than any amount of diner coffee ever could.
Ryan sighs heavily. “I suppose I could attend to document this act of mass stupidity. And someone will need to be able to call 911.”
“Elliot won’t do it,” Jackson says. “So, at least you’ll have company on the beach while the rest of us turn into human popsicles.”
Darlene returns with my food. The burger is large enough to feed a small village, and there are enough fries to build afort. The chocolate shake is thick enough to stand a spoon in. “Anything else, boys?”
“We’re good, thanks,” says Jackson.
I grab my burger and work on eating, but my mind betrays me, conjuring images of the weekend ahead. Jackson peeling off his shirt. Jackson bending over to take off his shoes and revealing the slightest hint of ass crack from low-hung swimming trunks. Jackson leaving footprints in the sand as he runs into the water, ass cheeks jiggling all the way.
“Drew?” Ryan’s voice pulls me out of my naughty thoughts. “Are you alright? Your face is flushed.”
I choke on my burger. “Hot food.”
“You sure? Because I dare say?—”
“I’m fine!” I shove three fries into my mouth. “I was thinking about how Kyle’s going to react when I tell him about the plunge.”
From the way Ryan studies me, I have the distinct impression that he sees right through my lie. He takes a sip of his water before returning to his dinner. Jackson talks about the logistics of the plunge—when to meet, what to wear—and I let his voice wash over me as I demolish my dinner.
