Rear View Mirror

1.2 - The Hidden Benefits of Playing Hockey

If rugby is too hostile, and evidently it is, then hockey is so fucking boring that it's totally fine. Playing field hockey is not an attractive quality like rugby somehow is, and our team's actually terrible, but I don't hate showing up. My good mate Vinny is our captain, and he's great friend but the same can't be said for his captaining. It isn't his fault it's bad, he's usually doing fine, the problem is actually everyone else.

About two thirds of the boys on this team only joined because they like cardio, and hockey is a lot less physical (read: terrifying) than rugby, though it's still less pathetic than soccer. Also unlike rugby, very few of us are really friends outside of this, so trainings are bland and cold affairs that everyone just wishes would cease to exist. The saving grace for me is that, even though Fritz's athletic performance is about as average as I expected, he's wearing these five-inch inseam shorts that are making me feel dizzy.

Yeah, and what? I might be moral enough to not objectify his sister, but Fritz and I are good mates. I think I'm entitled to an inappropriate glance at his thighs every once in a while.

That being said, Fritz's legs can only do so much. After the training is finished and we're all standing around, Vinny goes on a long spiel about how we're making progress, and that we're surely going to win so many games this year. We all just stand there and stare at him, because we all know he's full of shit. Even Fritz, who almost always has something overly self-assured to toss out, just squints at him and says nothing.

I get on so well with Vinny, we hang out all the time and I even know who he's got a crush on at the moment, but not even I am encouraged. Hockey's fun, and I'm at least sure that these guys aren't just playing for chicks, but sorry, Vinny. We have a lot of things going for us, but potential is not one of them.

Training ends, and Fritz and I sit against the wire fence along the back end of the field. I do try at training, so I sit there trying to hide the fact that I'm actually quite sweaty, and Fritz more or less just shows up for the banter so he still looks excellent.

He sits with his legs crossed, plucking grass from the dirt, those incredible shorts riding up to leave the upper region of his inner thigh exposed. I am trying not to look. I am trying very, very hard.

"I'm surprised you haven't got your piece of shit jersey on," Fritz says, unaware that he's got the world's nicest legs on display. I wish I was unaware. Maybe then I could stand up without having to readjust my own shorts.

Yikes.

"Thought it would rub it in too much," I say finally, and Fritz looks up, squinting against the low afternoon sunrays.

"You're such a dick," he tells me, but his face betrays him - he's giving me that smile again.

"That's not true," I say back, trying to casually wipe sweat from my temples with the back of my hand. "Your mum says I'm a real nice guy." He scoffs, before leaning back against the fence, the side of his shoulder now pressing into the side of mine.

"Calum," Fritz says.

I ask, "Who?" God, I wish I was funny.

"Have you ever been with another guy?" Fritz asks, and my head turns to find him looking me dead in the eye. My heart rate picks up like someone's just given me crack, and I immediately return my gaze back down onto the ground because I can't look at people when I'm nervous.

"Why are you asking me this?" I ask, maybe too fast. He beats the crap out of Rafael and he's gay. Fritz and I are supposed to be friends!

"Oh, I was just wondering," he says. He's talking like he's asking how my day was, not like he's asking about my biggest, perhaps only, secret.