He froze.
"Wait — you were at my game?" he asked, peering up at Oz. "You never go to games. I figured the only sport you'd even consider watching is the one where knights run at each other on horseback holding those long sticks."
"Jousting," Oz muttered, ducking his head to rub at the back of his neck. "And I watch sports. Sometimes."
"Name one other time." Logan narrowed his eyes the second Oz opened his mouth. "And anything involving mandatory school assemblies or bows and arrows doesn't count."
Oz huffed, looking away down the hall again. "Fine. Then riddle me this: why were you looking at another guy's ass?"
"I wasn't looking at his ass!" Logan shot back just a hair too loud, before remembering where they were and lowering his voice. "Maybe he had grass on his butt. Or — Alright, maybe Iwascomparing. Why do you care? Like you said, we aren't dating, are we?"
Oz's right eyebrow lifted.
Logan's cheeks burned.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Oz frowned. "Fine. So how do I measure up then, straight boy?"
Logan snorted, looking away.
Fine. He wants to play? Then let's at least make it interesting…
"I'm here studying, aren't I?" Logan told him. "Trying to get a 'B' on this damn report instead of going to a party?"
Because 'B is for Blowjobs', Logan didn't say out loud; worrying that they'd just about pushed their luck too far as it was.
Oz's eyes widened gratifyingly as the penny dropped.
"Don't worry, Oz. You're enough of an ass for me," Logan whispered, shooting the other man a sly little smirk. "…For now."
Oz cursed. "Oh, you're gonna pay for that, you smug fucker," he hissed, reaching for the unopened library books and stacking them together. "Pack this shit away and get your ass upstairs. I'll help with your report after…"
Logan chuckled, hurrying to obey.
Chapter 17
Clubbing
Butterflies rolled in Logan's stomach as their ride share pulled up to the curb outside the gay bar Oz insisted on dragging him to tonight. Wearing Oz's clubbing clothes and about thirty pounds of eyeliner and glitter, Logan didn't even recognize himself in the mirror.
"Are you sure about this?" He hissed at Oz's back as his…whatever Oz was, exited the car.
When Logan had made this deal of theirs, he'd expected to wind up in Oz's bed. Not — Nothere.
And definitely…
Definitely not dressed likethis.
"Don't worry!" Oz laughed, a deep-throated thing that Logan should not enjoy nearly as much as he did. "It's less revealing than those spandex uniforms y'all prance around the field in on game day. Besides, you look great."
Logan didn't know about that. Oz's clothes were so far off from anything he'd usually wear, and fit ridiculously tight on Logan's larger, muscled frame. For fuck's sake, you could see his abs through the mesh shirt he was wearing and the crop top under that was at least two sizes too small for his chest. And then, of course, there was the little number that'd had Logan damn well ready to call off their entire deal — his future on the team be damned — when Oz pulled it from the lockbox he kept at the bottom of his closet, grinning like a fool from ear to ear.
He called it a kilt,Logan tried to remind himself, resisting the urge to tug the hem down.Braveheart wore a kilt
Yeah, but Braveheart's kilt probably didn't have a slit up the thigh,a traitorous little voice whispered back.Certainly not one that went this high
Maybe Logan should be thankful Oz's lockbox — or the 'Container of Queeriosities' as Oz had called it, laughing — wasn't very big. That he couldn't fit a fucking feather boa or leather harness or some shit inside, too. Something to complete the walking stereotype Logan had caught reflected back at him from the ride share's door when it'd pulled up next to the curb.
The second ride share, that was. The one that'd picked them up from the bar they'd had the first drop them off at on the other side of town. Where Logan could change into his…fineryin peace, without having to worry about anyone they knew seeing him. Because the kilt was bad enough; the hem distracting, brushing his thighs as he walked. But combined with the rest?
