“Move it Cubby, Jesus.” I laugh so hard, I cry and I’m so glad I did this. After moving like a sloth, Cory does remove his hand and we make it to Agganis Arena without any further inappropriate touching. There’s plenty of inappropriate comments, but yeah, hands stay on the correct side of the vehicle.
Braving the rival crowd, Cory awkwardly pulls the collar up on the puffer coat and slaps on hit Boston B’s hat, backwards of course.
“You think that will keep the adoring fans at bay?”
“Should do. Works great at school.” I must admit he’s right. Glasses and cap on, he really does look like a different person.
The first thing we do once we get inside is hit the concession stands. Cory orders enough food for an entire team, and I stick to some nachos—just cheese, and a Pepsi. Anything more will upset my stomach. It’s churning, and my skin itches, the lights and crowd and noise reeking havoc on my nerves already. I do love this game, but why must it be held in a nightclub?
We make it to our seat, I dump all the food I’m carrying and sigh in relief when my ass hits the hard plastic. In silence, Cory watches me from the corner of his eye, hand gently patting mine reassuringly when my own twitches nervously at my side. Unlike the groping in the car it’s non-sexual and appreciated.
“Great spot.” He eventually mumbles around a bite of his hot dog. “When did you order the tickets?”
“Ahh, I’ve had them for a couple of weeks.” I lie. “Ryan was going to come with me but he canceled.”
The dog is dropped back into it’s cardboard tray, sauce and pickles sliding off with a plop. “Ryan? That dick from O’Reilly’s?”
“Yeah, I mean no. He’s not a dick, but he’s the guy from O’Reilly’s.”
“Huh.” Cory picks up the dog again, letting the bun drop and just taking the wiener in his hand. Eyes locked on mine, he deep throats it, then slides it back over his lips, sauce free. Biting a chunk off the end, he shoots me a wink and I shift in my seat to cover the … situation brewing. “The tip’s my favorite bit.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He smiles, doing the exact thing again. “I’m just eating.”
Thankfully, the lights drop and if I squint enough I can pretend I don’t see him treating that thing like I want him to do to my dick. “Just friends.” I tell myself. “Just friends.”
“Are you talking about fish, again?”
“No. Just reminding myself something important.”
“Sounds boring. Ryan does too.”
My eyes roll of their own accord. “Ryan is not boring.” Ryan is kind of boring. “What’s your issue with him, anyway?” I ask, leaning in to his ear so he can hear me over the announcements.
“No issue. Just looking out for my friend. I know a dud when I see one.”
“All those years staring in the mirror really paid off, huh?”
Chuckling under his breath as we stand again for the national anthem, one defiled by Cory’s erotic hot dog consumption that I cannot take my eyes off no matter how hard I try.
“We should do this more often,” he yells over the cheering as the teams line up.
“What, eat food porno style?”
“No, but now that you mention in that too. Hang out, I mean. At the hockey or whatever. I don’t get to do that very often. Still not sure why you’re at a BU game though. Is Ryan-the-dud a fan?”
“No I am. I went to school here.”
“You what!” He coughs, almost choking. “You went to BU? Does Coach know?”
“Yes he knows. It’s called a resume, Cory.”
“Well I am shocked and disappointed that you’ve been keeping this from me the whole time.” Eyes narrowed, glassed a little fogged, he shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Talk about sleeping with the enemy.”
“Lucky we’re just friends who don’t sleep together then.”
“Yeah. Lucky. For you. A Bulldogs fan could never keep up.”
