You worried it’s like a kilt? ROFL. And TBH, Ronnie and I weren’t tight like that. Never looked.

That wasn’t entirely true. I’d never hooked up with Ronnie, but I knew perfectly well that he wore something under the toga. I didn’t want to examine too closely why I was having fun with Milo. And of course my pulse leaped with the next response. Okay. I’m gonna bring some shorts or something, unless that’s against cosplay rules?

There’s no rules. And sure, I’m not asking you to go bare-assed. Wear what you want under it.

But as soon as I typed that, my brain was filled with images of Milo in various stages of undress, a parade of all the possible underwear options. He probably wore boring mono-colored cotton boxers like all the jocks seemed to favor, but my brain enjoyed the mental fashion show waiting for his reply way too much.

Good. I have some white compression shorts. I’m probably overthinking this, right?

Yup. I’d been right. Jock gear. But there was something almost…vulnerable in his reply. Like he was worried about something more than ending up commando under a toga. I added a frazzled-looking emoji with steam coming out of its brain. Quite possibly. You’re nervous?

I don’t get nervous. Just don’t like public humiliation.

Well, okay then. Nice to know how he saw cosplay. My fingers hammered out my retort even as my back tensed with a thousand unwanted memories. Except when you’re handing it out.

I kind of expected that would end the exchange, and indeed there was a long pause, but the bubbles kept showing like he was typing. However, no message came, and I gave my mom a hug and headed out to my car. Still little bubbles, as if he was typing and erasing. And damn it, I was curious enough to wait a few more minutes while the car warmed up. Finally, the phone buzzed.

I’m sorry. You got a raw deal in school for sure. I was a shit. We all were. And I know it means dick now, but I’d do it differently if I could.

My chest did a weird flip as my hand tightened on my phone. He’d said sorry the day before, but I hadn’t believed him. And honestly, I didn’t entirely now either. He was likely only regretting that he needed my help and that I hadn’t forgiven him easily. But at least he was owning that he was an ass back then—him and his lousy friends.