Page 7 of No More Jocks

I quickly lit some incense, hoping to create a calm atmosphere. Then, feeling slightly ridiculous but unable to help myself, I did ten quick push-ups to give my chest a good pump. I sprayed some peppermint breath spray into my mouth, took one final deep breath, and opened the door.

The guy of my dreams stood on my doorstep with his purple and yellow backpack, matching chucks, and khaki shorts that complimented his hairy legs and defined calves. My heart was beating like a little schoolgirl about to meet her boy band crush.

"Come in and welcome to my humble abode," I said, cringing internally at how formal I sounded.

6

CALEB

Marcus stood in the doorway, shirtless, with tiny beads of water dripping from his body like diamonds under the sunlight. His skin glistened, highlighting every curve and contour of his muscled physique. It felt like I had stepped into a Calvin Klein model shoot; the view was too good to be true. It took every ounce of my self-control not to stare and resist the urge to trace the lines of his abs with my fingertips.

If football didn’t work out, he had a future in print, runway, and fashion modeling. There was not one ounce of fat on his body, and whenever he moved, it felt like he was flexing for me. He was bringing out my inner desires, a side of me I had locked away after Bradley.

All I wanted to do was lick him from head to toe. I looked down at his feet because I couldn’t do ugly feet. God, please let his feet be ugly, because if they are, this might save me from giving this boy my ass on the first day of meeting him alone. I had purposely prepared myself, just in case we wound up getting intimate. I looked down at his feet, and apparently, God had no intentions of hearing my prayer because he had beautiful and well-manicured feet.

“It’s good to see you, Caleb; nice chucks.”

“Nice to see you too, Marcus,” I said, avoiding complimenting his body. I had misread signals before and didn’t want to embarrass myself. I stepped into Marcus’s house and understood why he might keep his sexuality a secret. If I were in his position, I’d want to do the same. Not because I would be ashamed of my sexuality, but because there was no way you could authentically be who you were in this house. I couldn’t walk three feet in any direction without seeing a reference to Christ or Christianity.

Religious paraphernalia was everywhere. Bibles, pictures of black and white Jesus, and crosses hung on every wall. Bible scriptures were plastered in quotes that hung above the doorways, and Christian music played softly in the background. I love God, but this was overzealous for even the most hardcore Christians. I think I stared too long at the decor because he began apologizing.

“Sorry about all the church stuff; my mom is a minister and is serious about God.”

“Is she okay with an openly gay guy being in her home? I know a lot of Christians have firm beliefs about the subject of homosexuality, and I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

“Don’t worry about it, she’s at bible study, and afterward, they always go out to dinner. We’re good till about midnight.” This was red flag number two. I was not about to fall for a straight jock whose mom was a religious fanatic. I’d worked hard to accept myself for who I was, and I would not go backward for a cute, sexy, kind jock to whom I’d been fantasizing every night since our first meeting. My eyes darted to Marcus in his sweats, and my anxiety subsided. Why did he have this effect on me?

We settled in the living room, books spread out on the coffee table. I was focused, explaining concepts with such enthusiasm. I watched him intently, his face staring at me as I spoke.

“Marcus, are you even listening?” I asked, teasingly.

“Uh, yeah, of course,” he stammered, cheeks flushing slightly. “You were talking about... um...”

I chuckled, unable to contain my amusement. “The symbolism in ‘The Great Gatsby.’ You’re hopeless.”

“Hey, I’m trying,” Marcus protested, grinning. “It’s just... you make it sound so interesting, it’s easy to get lost in it.”

I shook my head, smiling back at him. “Well, let’s try to keep you on track then. How about we take a break?”

“Oh, yeah!” Marcus exclaimed, jumping up. “I’ve made some cookies. I’ll get them.”

As Marcus brought over the plate of cookies and glasses of milk, I couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture. The cookies were perfectly baked, golden brown with chocolate chips that glistened under the kitchen light.

“These are amazing!” I exclaimed after taking a bite. “Did you make them?”

“Yeah,” Marcus said, sounding proud. “I remembered reading in the yearbook that you liked chocolate chip cookies with oat milk.”

I looked at him, feeling a mix of surprise and something more, but I couldn’t quite place it. “You remembered that?”

“Of course,” Marcus replied casually. “I wanted to make you feel welcome.”

“Well, you succeeded,” I said sincerely, taking another cookie. “Thank you, Marcus. This is really thoughtful.” We continued chatting as we ate, the conversation flowing effortlessly between us.

“So, what made you transfer here?” I asked, genuinely curious about his story.

Marcus hesitated for a moment, then decided to share more openly. “I got expelled from my old school. My ex-girlfriend cheated on me with a guy and then they started spreading rumors about my sexuality. It led to a fight between us.”

I listened attentively, my heart going out to him. “That sounds tough. Betrayal and rumors can be cruel.”

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