Page 24 of Prince Material
I swallowed. “You sure? It might be fun.”
“I have a problem set due Monday.”
“It’s Friday.”
“Exactly. I need the whole weekend to get it perfect.”
I bit back a sigh. “Right. Well, if you change your mind…”
But he was already settling at his desk, effectively ending the conversation. I grabbed my phone and wallet, trying not to feel disappointed. This attraction was dangerous anyway. The last thing I needed was to develop feelings for my roommate, especially one who viewed anything fun as a distraction from his studies.
Still, as I headed out the door, I couldn’t shake the image oflean muscle and smooth skin, or the way my heart had practically stopped when I’d walked in on him. I needed to stop this. Nip this in the bud. Force myself to quit entertaining even the slightest hope for something more because nothing could come from this.
We were oil and water, as opposite as two people could possibly be. The only things we had in common were our studies and being gay. And maybe our sense of humor. And we did seem to like the same kind of documentaries, but that was not enough to build anything serious on.
Not that I was looking for anything serious. I was way too young for that. A hookup would be awesome, but not with Orson. He wasn’t the type, as he’d said so himself, and besides, he was my roommate. It would muddy the waters and lead to complications I didn’t want. Like losing him as a roommate. As a friend. And I couldn’t bear that thought so no, I just had to get my shit together and learn to share a space with someone I… liked. Was attracted to. Whatever.
The game should be a good distraction. I knew little about American football other than what a touchdown was, but that was fine, I’d been assured.
“We’re not going for the game,” Brett, the guy who had invited me to join him and his friends, had assured me. “The team sucks anyway. It’s just a fun atmosphere.”
And he wasn’t wrong. Throngs of people dressed in Vernon colors headed toward the football stadium. The energy was infectious—students decked out in blue and gold, faces painted, carrying signs and foam fingers. Music blasted from somewhere ahead, mixing with laughter and excited chatter. This was exactly what I needed: noise, chaos, anything to drown out thoughts of my half-naked roommate.
“Floris!” Brett waved from a group near the stadium entrance. “Over here!”
I threaded my way through the crowd, grateful for the distraction. Brett was part of my calculus study group, and he seemed genuinely friendly.
“Nice jersey,” he said as I approached. “Though fair warning: wearing Eagles merch means you’re committed to disappointment.”
“I’m Dutch. We’re used to our teams letting us down in crucial moments.” When they looked confused, I added, “Soccer. Or football, as the civilized world calls it.”
That earned me some laughs. Brett introduced me to his friends—names I immediately forgot because my brain was still stuck on Orson’s back muscles.Get it together, van Oranje.
“So,” a girl whose name might have been Ashley said, “you’ve never seen American football before?”
“Only in movies.” I followed them toward the stands. “Though I’m pretty sureRemember the Titanswasn’t an accurate representation of typical game strategy.”
“God, I wish,” Brett laughed. “Our team’s more likeForget the Score.”
The stadium was smaller than I had expected, but the atmosphere was electric. Students packed the stands, the air thick with excitement and the smell of popcorn and hot dogs. We found spots near the middle, and I tried to focus on Brett’s explanation of basic rules instead of wondering what Orson was doing. Was he really studying, or was he just avoiding social situations? And why did I care so much?
I wanted to spend more time with him, but every time I asked him to do something, he turned me down. Even after our outing to Worcester, which had been so nice. Was there nothing I could think of that he’d be willing to do with me? Maybe Ineeded to try a little harder… without ever venturing into the territory of not taking no for an answer.
“Earth to Floris?” Brett waved a hand in front of my face. “You zoned out there.”
“Sorry.” I forced a smile. “Just trying to understand why you call it football when you barely use your feet.”
That launched a heated debate about sports terminology that carried us through the pre-game warm-up.
The game itself was… interesting. By halftime, I understood why Brett had said we weren’t here for the actual football. The Eagles were living up to their reputation for creative ways to lose, currently down by four touchdowns. But the crowd’s energy remained high, fueled by what I suspected was more than just school spirit, if the subtle passing of flasks was any indication.
“See?” Brett nudged my arm, gesturing at our flailing quarterback. “What did I tell you? Pure comedy gold.”
I laughed, but my mind drifted to Orson again. He would probably have something fascinating to say about the physics of a badly thrown football, complete with calculations of trajectory and force. The thought made me smile despite myself.
“Okay, spill.” Ashley dropped into the seat next to me. “Who are you thinking about?”
“What? No one.” I said it too quickly, and she grinned.
