Page 5 of Rules of Play

“We sure are,” Elio agreed.

Shane looked around the table, aware of something going on under the surface, but he didn’t scratch it any further. “Cool,” he said simply, pressing the rim of the glass against his lips and taking another eyebrow-curling sip of the pink potion.

The text messagecame four days later. I was returning from the gym when my phone pinged. The message was well-structured, almost email-like, asking when it was the most convenient for us to meet up.

My reply wasn’t as well worded. “Where you at?”

The dots bubbled on the screen, disappeared, then bubbled again. Shane was in his dormitory and had plenty of time. I went there and knocked on the door of the room he had given me.

He opened the door, once again wearing an oversized hoodie and baggy pants, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, hair as shaggy as ever. “Hey,” he said, stepping aside to let me in.

I looked into the room. A standard dorm furniture made up of a bed, desk, chair, closet, bookshelf, some shelves, and a score of personal items. “Cute place,” I said, looking at the framed certificates, recognitions, and a couple of trophies. I recognized those. “You play?”

Shane’s hand rubbed his collarbone, then moved to the back of his neck. “No.”

“Got these from a flea market?” I asked, looking at the state hockey wins in the Junior Hockey.

He glanced at them, tearing his gaze away almost as quickly. “That was a long time ago.”

“Alright.” I was a guy who knew how to take a hint. “What did you want to talk about?”

Shane wiped his hands on his pants and circled the room. “I got the methodology approved by my mentor. We’re good to go.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “When I open my eyes tomorrow morning, I’ll find half your face outside my window?”

He snort-chuckled. “Not exactly. I’ll accompany you to your practice and games some, maybe even most, of the time. And to some social events. I’ll come with you to watch your exercise routines, downtimes, stuff like that, but not always. And I’ll always tell you if I’ll be there. I’m not a spy.”

I pulled the back of his chair, turned it around, and sat down. “Alright.”

“But before we begin,” he said and trailed off, wiping his hands on his pants again and shaking them off. He crossed the room to his desk and pulled a drawer out. “It’s just a procedure,” he said, taking a plastic cup out of the desk with a plastic wrapper still intact around it.

“Oh, you don’t trust me,” I said grimly, just to watch panic spike all over his face. “Christ, I’m teasing you, Shane. I can pee for you.” I grabbed the plastic, savoring the redness that replaced the fright on his face.

I did my thing and brought the cup back, setting it on Shane’s desk.

He was still a little torn. “It’s just a precaution. If I have your testosterone levels in the normal range, nobody can question my data over an oversight.”

“But you’re studying behavior, right?” I asked, although I had somewhat of an idea.

“Behavior is just your biochemistry placed within the diverse context of other biochemistries,” Shane said. “And performance-enhancing drugs can go to great lengths in affecting your mood and actions.”

“Yeah?” I asked. To be honest, I was mostly just prompting him to keep speaking. There was something interesting about the way he talked about the things he knew everything about.

“It’s not unheard of that straight guys who take testosterone for muscle growth over a long period of time experience a spike in libido. In fact, it gets so sharp that regular sex isn’t enough anymore, and they, well, kinda go gay just to get off.”

I barked a laugh. “Boy, that explains more than you can imagine,” I said, thinking of how Easton swore Kyle had been dropping hints for a long time before Easton leaned in to kiss him. Kyle, of course, freaked out, which was ultimately very lucky for Easton because he was now dating someone much more loyal, if equally scary. “And you mentioned tracking my physical stuff.”

“Heart rate, blood pressure, stuff like that, yeah,” he said. “We’ll do it before and after some of the drills, all the games I shadow you to, and your workouts, but also at random times to find your baseline. For a start, we could write down some basics.”

I nodded obediently.

Shane produced the measuring tape. “Let’s see your height.”

I lifted a hand and laughed. “Six foot two.”

He didn’t write it down. “Still, if I could just make sure,” he said.

Reluctantly, I exhaled and walked over to the door.

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