Bubble Guts pop when I think of the countless times I’ve used that move. “Dominic always liked it.”

“Good for him, but you’re not kissing Dominic right now. Can I show you what I’d like?”

I swallow, the only motion I can manage, but it’s definitely a swallow in the affirmative.

Ross turns to fully face me on the couch, tucking a foot under their knee. Then they take my hands again and place them around their waist. “I like your hands here.”

“I like it too.” I like being able to feel the rise and fall of their torso with each breath. I like the way I can feel their skin heat beneath my touch. I like the way my hands rest on the top of their hips. They’re kind of bony, but they feel like placeholders or bookends, like my hands are supposed to rest on them.

Ross moves their fingertips over my legs, slowly trailing their fingers until they are midthigh. Not dangerously close to groin region or anything, or like they’re trying to get in my pants, but let’s be real. Things still get very worked up. But I’m not ready for that yet, and I don’t think Ross is either. Their movement feels more exploratory, like Ross wants to see what somebody else’s legs feel like for a change. Their thin fingers look even more delicate resting on top of my thighs, their skin even more pale against my black jeans.

Ross gently squeezes both my legs and asks, “Is it okay with my hands here?”

I nod, and Ross licks their lips. Goose bumps rise up and down my arms, the dark hairs all over them standing on end.

This time it’s Ross who lunges in, our lips moving in sync as we kiss deeper and deeper.

I don’t know how much time passes, and I don’t know how late I am for work. I don’t really care. All I know is that I don’t want this to end. Even though deep down I know it will eventually have to, and soon, I’m sold on how great the next two weeks can be.

I’m in.

My lips are sore as I head into practice Monday morning. But it’s the best kind of sore. Tender and chapped, and there’s definitely a mark from where Ross bit too hard once, but god I’ve missed this feeling. But as soon as I enter the locker room, this bubbly mood is knocked right out of me.

Literally.

Miguel’s already suited up, and he rams me with his shoulder as he walks by. One of the nice things about being as big as I am is it takes a lot more than that to make me stumble, but still.

“Whoa, man, sorry,” Miguel mumbles. “Didn’t see you there.”