The memory hits me for the thousandth time today. His lips were soft, and his movements were uncertain. His fingers gripped my shirt, and I’d fleetingly wished they were grippingsomething else. The small sound he made when I deepened the kiss made my dick hard.
I’ve spent all morning mentally scrolling through ideas for tomorrow—my one precious day off this week. And I still haven’t landed on anything worthy of what’s happening between us.
It needs to be perfect. Something that’ll stick in his memory long after the Ferris wheel kiss has faded.
Movies mean two hours of silence when what I want is to hear his voice. Miniature golf would unleash the competitive monster I become around scorecards. And the beach would turn Ryan’s fair skin lobster-red before we even laid out our towels.
The bell above the door chimes, and I look up with my customer service smile in place. Alex Donovan stands in the doorway, his fiery red hair slightly disheveled, and his large hazel eyes are set on me. Today is his day off, and what’s surprising is whoisn’there with him.
“Alex. Hey, man. Where’s Kyle?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
He approaches the counter with careful steps. “Kyle’s taking a nap.”
“Anap?”
“He didn’t sleep well last night.” Alex’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper despite the empty café. “Something about a dream where Gerard replaced all his protein bars with candy. He was very upset.”
“That sounds like something Gerard would do.”
“I think that’s what made it so upsetting. The plausibility.”
I can’t help but laugh. “So what can I get you?”
I gesture at the menu board behind me, where someone has decorated the specials with chalk drawings of dancing coffee cups.
Alex studies the board intensely. “An iced coffee, please. Medium.”
“Coming right up.”
I turn to the cold brew station, grateful for something to do. Ipour the cold brew over ice, add a splash of oat milk, and watch it swirl into a caramel-colored spiral.
“Here you go.” I slide the cup across the counter. “That’ll be four-fifty.”
Alex fumbles with his wallet, extracting a crumpled five-dollar bill. His hands are shaking slightly, and I realize with a start that he’s nervous. Not in a something’s wrong way, but in a general Alex way. The baseline anxiety of someone who finds the world perpetually overwhelming.
“Keep the change,” he says.
I expect him to retreat to a table in the corner where he can be invisible, but instead, he lingers at the counter.
“Oliver? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you ever think about how this is your last year?”
The question catches me off guard. I lean against the counter, studying his face. He’s not looking at me—his gaze is fixed on his drink, watching the condensation bead on the plastic cup.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “More lately than before.”
“I keep thinking about all the things I haven’t done with Kyle.” Alex’s words come slowly, like he’s excavating them from somewhere deep within himself. “All the experiences we’ve missed because I was too scared, or too anxious, or too focused on just surviving each day.”
“That’s understandable, given you’re…”
Alex shakes his head slightly. “That’s the thing. I’ve been using that as an excuse for so long. The anxiety, the fear, the—” He gestures vaguely at himself. “All of it. But this is his last year. My last chance to actually live the college experience with him by my side instead of simply enduring it.”
I think about my senior year stretching ahead of me. The weight of expectations, another championship, preparing the team for life after I graduate, and figuring out what comes next. All the responsibilities I’ve shouldered because someone had to, and I was the obvious choice.
“What do you want to do differently?” I ask.
