Hail Mary

Liam

I shouldn't care about Horan texting some guy, but for some reason it puts me on edge. It's not like I give a shit what he does or who he does it with, but I did ask him over to help, not to sext. He could've turned me down if he had other plans. The more I think about it, the more I can't focus on taking notes at all. Horan seems to pick up on my agitation, and puts his phone away. Even across the room, I can see it light up again. "It's cool. Write him back. Not like I don't have shit I can be doing." "I'm good," he says, and I can feel the weight of his stare even as I look down at my notebook. He's probably wondering what the fuck crawled up my ass, and I wish I had an answer for him. We work for a little while longer, but I can tell he's getting frustrated because I don't seem to be making any headway past a certain point. Putting the psych lesson in coaching terms made a big difference, but my brain is choosing to focus on Horan's phone now, and it doesn't help that I can see it light up again every few minutes. "You should answer. Seems like this guy really wants to talk to you." "Yeah, well. Desperation isn't a turn on for me." He reaches over and turns off his phone. It feels like a small victory, but before long my brain is stuck on the subject again. What's going to happen after he leaves my dorm? Is he going to call this guy? Maybe hook up with him? And why do I even care? "This somebody you know from class?" It takes him a minute to realize what I'm talking about, and I already want to take it back. I don't actually want to have this conversation, but I can't seem to stop. "Fuck no. At least, I hope not. It's just some guy from an app. I don't even know his name." A few of the guys on the team use apps like that to get laid. I guess it shouldn't surprise me that the gay community has something similar. I tried it out once, when I was feeling too horny for my own good. But I didn't really like the anonymity of it. It felt hollow. Worse even than picking somebody up at a club or a bar. Maybe that's what's wrong with me. I don't want Horan to have to deal with the same kind of shit I dealt with. He deserves a lot better than some random hook up. "You gonna meet up?" He looks to me like I've just grown a second head, then shrugs. "Don't know. Probably. He's a good-looking guy, and I haven't been laid in a while." Those words make my body heat up again, and I suddenly remember having him pressed against me in the park. Fuck. I've tried so hard not to think about it, and I definitely don't want to think about it now. "You got somewhere in mind?" "He wants to meet at Dazzle. Not really my first choice, but it's a pretty common place to meet." Dazzle. It takes me a second to realize what that is, then I remember the few times I've driven past it. It's the largest gay bar in town, situated right between a dance club and a tattoo shop on the downtown strip. Music is always thumping in that place, and every time I've driven past it, I've seen a few guys going in and out. For some reason, though, the idea of Horan going there doesn't really add up in my mind. It seems like it's beneath him. The whole casual scene, picking up some random guy to take home for the night. But fuck. We're both in college. Isn't that what college guys are supposed to do? "You want company?" The words come out before I even realize I've said them. Whatever's making me so agitated has also managed to convince me that it's a good idea to go with Horan to this bar. And now he's looking at me like I'm fucking insane. He isn't wrong. "You do know it's a... Gay bar, right?" I shrug. "Yeah, so?" Horan arches a brow. "Not exactly your scene." Now I have to dig myself out of this hole I've created. I could go back on my offer, act like I was just joking. But there's still a part of me that won't budge on it. "You're my friend," I say as casually as I can manage. "I can still be your wingman even if I'm straight, right?" "Yeah, sure. I guess." have to keep digging. "Plus, you don't know this guy. He could be a serial killer or something." That actually makes him laugh. An honest guffaw that I can tell catches him off guard. Finally, I'm off the hook. "A serial killer? Really?" "It could happen." We spend the rest of the night arguing about the logistics of a serial killer who preys on random hookups at a gay bar before finally getting back to psychology. I've managed to dodge a bullet here, but I can't help thinking that I've just gotten myself into an even bigger mess.