“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Alex says softly.
Kyle’s jaw works for a moment. Then he glances from Alex and the rest of us to the TV showing theJust Dancemenu and lets out the longest, most put-upon sigh I’ve ever heard. “Fine,” he grumbles. “But if I die of hypothermia, I’m haunting all of you assholes.”
“That’s the spirit!” Gerard pulls Kyle into a bear hug, lifting the goalie off his feet. “This is going to be legendary!”
“Put me down, Gunnarson, or I’ll make sure you can no longer bust a moveanda nut,” Kyle threatens, but there’s less venom in it than usual.
“So, what’s the deal, Drew?” Oliver asks as Gerard releases Kyle. “Saturday at what time and where?”
“Ten a.m., Berkeley Shore Beach.” I lean against the entertainment center and process the fact that I’ve now committed to freezing my balls off for charity.For Jackson.
“We should make team shirts,” Nathan suggests. “Something obnoxious.”
“Pink shirts,” Gerard says immediately. “Hot pink. With ‘Barracudas Do It Wetter’ on the back.”
Elliot almost chokes on his popcorn laughing. “That’s terrible. I love it.”
“We are not wearing shirts that say that,” Kyle protests.
“How about Ice Ice Maybe?” Oliver suggests.
“Frozen Pucks?” Nathan adds.
“Shrinkage Squad?” Elliot offers with a wicked grin.
“I hate all of you,” Kyle announces while fighting a smile.
More teammates pile into the living room, drawn by the commotion. Soon, we have half the team crowded around and talking over each other about the plunge. Someone suggests we do it in Speedos. Gerard’s still pushing for pink everything.
“How are we getting there? Who’s driving?” Alex asks, ever the pragmatist.
The conversation shifts to transportation and timing. As plans solidify around me, my traitorous brain keeps thinking about Jackson in swim trunks.
I can only hope like hell that I’ll be too frozen to pop an erection in front of my best friend and everyone I know.
3
JACKSON
Two Years Ago
Holy hell. I’m officially a Berkeley Shore University student.
An empty cardboard box dangles from my fingers as I take in my room for the next four years. I’ve been here less than three hours, and my side of the room already screamsJackson lives here. Cleats kicked halfway under the bed, my lucky jersey hanging off the desk chair, and somewhere in that mountain of T-shirts and shorts is the football Coach Daniels signed for me after the state championships. Mom would have an aneurysm seeing this mess, but that’s the beauty of college—she’s hundreds of miles away and can’t make me fold a damn thing.
Across from my chaos, the other half of the room sits untouched. The bed has been made with hospital corners, the desk surface gleams, spotless. According to the housing email sent out last week, my roommate is a sophomore and also on the football team. We’ll probably become instant bros, stay up late talking plays and girls, maybe even play grab-ass in the shower as all teammates do.
Wait—that’s not what I mean.
I drop onto my bed and give it an experimental bounce. The whole frame groans loudly, the springs protesting under my weight.Great.This thing has probably seen more action than a frat house mattress. I bounce again to make sure it won’t collapse mid-sleep and send me crashing to the floor.
Through the thin walls, move-in day chaos bleeds into my room. Some dad bellows about watching the corners while his kid grunts noncommittally. Down the hall, a woman sobs about her baby growing up too fast. And from somewhere—I cock my head to pinpoint the direction—yeah, that’s definitely porn playing from three doors down. Some guy couldn’t even wait until his parents left the parking lot.
I snicker. Can’t judge too hard. I’ll be doing the same thing once I meet my roommate and figure out his schedule. A man has needs.
Pushing myself off the creaky death trap, I wander to the window and press my forehead against the glass. The quad buzzes with activity—students lugging boxes, orientation leaders in matching neon shirts waving maps, a group of guys tossing a football near the fountain. My fingers itch to join them.
This is it. Berkeley Shore University. My first real step toward the NFL.
