“Good,” Eric says, clapping me on the shoulder. “I know it’s just a friendly, but I really want to crush them after last time.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
A dull pang tugs at my chest. That match—when Moon and I both got red-carded and thrown out—Dragons scored before regular time ended, and the game finished in a draw. Then in extra time, they scored again and took the spot in the semis.
So for the past eight months, I’ve been living with the fact that blowing our shot at the championship was on me.
Funny thing is, the absurdity of Moon kissing me kind of dulled the sting of losing. And the Dragons getting knocked out in the semis didn’t hurt either.
I toss my bag and phone into the locker and glance around. The air already smells like liniment and sweat. The room’s buzzing—no trace of that usual pre-match tension, probably because it’s just a friendly.
Manuel, Joe, and João are stretching and talking about the buffet we’re getting after the game at the Lafayette—the hotel we’re staying at. Will and Derek are taping their ankles.Patrick, Charlie, and Adam are arguing about Halloween plans. Everyone else is halfway into their jerseys.
“Got plans for Halloween, Cap?” Adam asks, catching my eye.
“Not really,” I say, propping my leg up on the bench to re-tie my laces. I wear cleats a size too small so I can feel the ball better, which means I’ve gotta keep the ankle tight—no wobble.
“I’m sticking around Dallas for the weekend,” I add. “My brother lives here.”
“Nice,” Adam says, shooting a look over at Eric. “What about you, Tommo?”
“Huh?” Eric turns toward him with his right ear—the one without the AirPod. He always keeps just one in. “What am I what?”
“Are you doing anything for Halloween?”
“Yeah,” Eric says, standing up. “Crashing with the Woods brothers for the weekend. Figured I’d drag Mark and his brother out trick-or-treating—Dallas gay club edition.”
“No way!” Charlie grins, eyebrows shooting up, then looks at me. “Is that true, Mark?”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “I never said yes.”
“Yet,” Eric says, deadpan, and Adam, Charlie, and Patrick crack up.
I roll my eyes again as Eric smirks at me, brushing his hair back like he’s in a commercial. Eric’s very handsome—objectively—and he loves gay clubs. Mostly because, at six-four, he’s the tallest guy in the room, soaking up attention and free drinks from every guy who wants to fuck him. Or more accurately, get fucked by him.
I’ve known Eric since Midwest Soccer Academy, but I’ve never gone clubbing with him—not once. It’s not about hidinganything—I’ve been openly gay for years. I just get swarmed by fans every time I step into a crowd.
But from what I’ve heard, when Eric’s out partying, pretty much every bottom in the club tries to climb him.
And even though I’m basically infamous for having zero social life—hence the guys’ reaction—I’m actually considering going this time.
Reason A: Eric’s been trying to drag me to a club for years.
Reason B: Halloween parties might be the one time I can wear a costume andnotget recognized.
And reason C: I really want to get drunk this weekend—and that sounds way more fun than getting wasted with Eric and my brother Nick in his one-bedroom apartment. (Samia’s out of town at some dental conference in New York.) Because when Eric and Nick get together, they fuse into this snobby cinephile megazord and start binging arthouse films that make me want to claw my eyes out.
“Five minutes, guys,” says Daemon, Coach Skinner’s assistant, poking his head into the room.
The small talk dies down, and everyone starts locking in. Coach Skinner walks in a moment later, making his way around the room, giving each of the starters a few quiet words of last-minute advice—stuff we’ve already gone over at least three times.
I know this match, even if it’s just a friendly, matters to him too.
And tonight, I need to prove myself.
I’m not letting Moon get under my skin. Not this time.
***
