Page 13 of Fair Catch

Because I swear to God, if anyone on the team or in the league is giving them a hard time, or Oakley has brought out his douchey side again, I will get in my car and drive to Jersey. No hesitation.

“I feel like I should be the one askingyouthat, considering the last time we spoke.”

Surprisingly, I don’t want to talk about the disaster that is my current living situation, so I reroute the conversation back toward him while the two of us gather weapons. “You’re the one living the high life now as a full-fledged adult. I’m still just a college boy, remember?”

Quinton snorts. “I’d hardly call it the high life, and don’t think I can’t see right past that deflection. You forget I’ve known you for over half of your life?”

As if he’d ever let me forget.

“Fine, but you go first. How is living with Oakley?” I ask, genuinely curious about how their first year of cohabitation is going. “I’m sure not nearly as great as it was living with me, but hopefully it’s at least subpar.”

“Oakley puts out, so there’s really no comparison.”

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “And the times when the two of you aren’t boning?”

He chuckles at the same time he tosses a frag grenade into one of the buildings an enemy team just entered. “It’s been good, honestly. There’s been a few hiccups now that we’re living together full time, figuring out a new routine and whatever else. Lord knows I willneverbe touching his laundry after the first time I attempted to wash a load of our clothes together. But everything else is pretty fucking perfect.”

Hearing how happy he is and how easily—for the most part—he and Oakley have shifted into cohabitation makes me happy in turn, of course. But I’d be a liar if there wasn’t a tiny little piece of me that hoped to hear he was having a hard time adjusting to this new living situation too.

“And what about hockey?”

“I really like the team. They’ve all been really accepting of us as rookies, and shockingly, of Oak and I as a couple.”

“As any decent human being should be,” I mutter, annoyed that acceptance of people being who they are could be shocking. But that’s just the world we live in, and I’d be a shitty best friend if I said I wasn’t worried about Q heading off to the world of professional sports. One where there are very few openly queer athletes—and none in hockey before the two of them got drafted.

Add on that he’d be doing it with his boyfriend on the same team? Let’s just say, I was waiting for someone to make a sideways comment and for the old, hot-headed, fist-throwing Quinton to resurface.

I’m just happy to hear my worries were disproven.

“All right, enough delay. Tell me how things are going with Kason.”

I groan, and not because of the fucker who just nailed me in the shoulder with a bow and arrow, of all things. Talking about my living situation makes methinkabout it, and I’ve taken to pretending that when I’m in my bedroom, there isn’t a blundering buffoon just down the hall.

“His alarms are annoying, he has no respect for my sleep schedule when he’s getting ready at the ass crack of dawn, and he eats my food.”

“Sounds like he makes living with me and my overactive sex life a dream come true.”

You could say that again.

“Believe me, I might’ve bitched about hearing you and Oakley fucking like rabbits at all hours, but it would be preferable over this.” A little scoff leaves me before I add, “I had to buy soundproofing boards and shit for my room, Q.”

“And write your name on all your food now too?”

He says it like a joke, but it’s so not funny. “Thankfully the food thing has only happened the one time.”

Quinton remains quiet as we zone in on a fight with another dude, him taking the high ground on top of a building and me rushing them from below. It’s only a few minutes before the members of their team are dead, and we’re looting the bodies.

“Have you talked to him about it?” he finally asks, swapping out frags for a sniper.

“No, but—”

Tsking his tongue, he playfully chides, “Use your words, H. You’re a big boy.”

For all the bullshitting and jabbing we do with each other, I know he has my back. If I needed advice about this—which I don’t, because I know communication is key here—he’d give it in a heartbeat. Just like I know, if I decided I really did want to commit a felony, he’d be here to help me hide the body.

It’s just that some of the things I need to communicate with Kason feel pretty obvious. Common courtesy, common sense, that kinda thing. Like not eating food that isn’t yours and being quiet during the early hours of the morning.

But apparently not to Kason Fuller.

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