For a heartbeat, all I can do is stare. He invited me. Out loud. The corner of my mouth curves, slow and deliberate. “Guess I know what I’m doing for New Year’s, then.”
He nods once, clipped, like that settles it, but his ears are red when he says, “I’ll text you the details.”
He turns toward the lot, and I watch him go, every nerve buzzing, already eager for tomorrow. Once he’s out of sight, I head back to my apartment.
The hallway smells like stale pizza and incense someone must’ve lit to cover the weed while I was gone. My key sticks in the lock, so I shoulder the door open with a grunt.
I barely make it two steps inside before Drew looks up from the couch. He’s sprawled across it like it’s a throne,gaming controller dangling in one hand, half-empty bag of chips balanced on his chest. He pauses his game and squints at me.
“Where the hell were you?” he asks, eyeing me up and down.
“Gym.”
He snorts so loud it echoes down the hall. “Sure. You? In a gym voluntarily? What’s next, pigs flying down Wilshire?”
I toss my jacket at him. He doesn’t even try to dodge. Instead, he lets it smack him in the face because he’s too lazy, then peels it off with a grin and drops it to the floor like it offended him.
“So, the gym,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Man, just admit it—you’ve got a full-on hard-on for a jock. No shame in it. We’re all reaping the rewards.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but I play it cool, striding to the fridge. The inside light blinds me for a second before salvation appears in the form of a cold beer. I crack it open, take a long swig, and let the bitterness settle me.
Miles is at the kitchen table, laptop glowing, headphones slung around his neck. His curls are standing up in about eight directions, which means he’s been editing tracks way too long. He leans back in his chair, eyebrows lifting with interest.
“So that’s it? You’ve traded in basslines for baseline drills?” His grin sharpens. “You smell like gym varnish and bad decisions.”
I take another pull from the bottle, stalling just long enough to make them lean in. “We’re going to a party tomorrow. New Year’s. Off campus.”
Drew actually sits up—not fast, but enough to show I’ve got his attention. He tilts his head and frowns. “Party? Since when do you do parties we don’t play at?”
“Since now.” I take another swig of beer, leaning against the counter.
Miles abandons his laptop entirely, twisting in his chair to face me. “Wait. You mean like that first jock party? The one you told us aboutafterthe event?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Round two, but this one I’m sure you can handle since you’re now housebroken.”
Miles shoots me a glare while Drew whistles, low and skeptical. “So, you’re telling me you’re voluntarily going back into the lion’s den?”
“Basketball guys,” I confirm, like that explains everything.
For a solid three beats, the apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge. Then Drew actually laughs. Not a chuckle—an outright laugh. He drops the controller onto the couch cushions and slaps his knee like he just heard the funniest shit of his life.
“You’re kidding.”
I shake my head, casual as I can manage even though my insides feel like they’re still humming from that moment outside the gym. “Not kidding.”
Miles’s grin is slower, sharper. He crosses his arms over his chest, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting track he’s about to remix. “Oh, he’s definitely getting some.”
I flip him off without heat. “You wish.”
Drew smirks. “Idowish. It’ll change the ‘pining’ lyrics to ‘this is hot and fucking sexy, I’m getting boned’ ones.”
I throw a bottle cap at his head. He ducks, cackling.
“Don’t act like you’re not curious,” Miles says, still eyeing me like he’s lining up a beat drop. “Basketball captain invites you twice? That’s not random. That’s… what’s the word? Intentional.”
“Friendly,” I shoot back.
“Bullshit,” they say in unison.
