Once a Nerd Ch. 11 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 11

... is desperately trying to kill our momentum, while also hacking together some kind of contingency.

By the second quarter, the high sets in. My muscles are liquid heat, and those practiced movements that came easily in the first are now seamless and fluid. Slow, measured breath cycles through my lungs with mechanical pacing, and adrenaline numbs any place that might otherwise ache or fatigue. With the speed at which I'm sprinting, sweat is like a screen of frost to keep me from overheating. It's total mastery over this suit of meat I was born into. Every part of me is functioningbetter than it needs to, every cog clicking smoothly into the next.

I'm deaf to everything but the deep exhales bouncing around the inside of my helmet, commentary passing between my teammates, and interruptions from the refs. I'm blind to anything beyond the thick, white stripes boxing in the turf. It's a feeling second only to being pressed up against Sam, and whenever there's a spare second between plays, I turn to find his face in the midway point of the stands. It was a 'Where's Waldo' moment at first, but once I found him, his position stayed pinned in my mind.

Through the entirety of the game, there's a series of repetitive thoughts and questions looping in the background of my mind:

Did Sam see that?

I bet he's just watching quietly, I can't imagine him cheering or screaming.

Is he uncomfortable? Is it too loud? He hates places like this.

Is he proud of me?

Did he mean ...

... it, when he said he loved me?

Will he say it again after this, to my face?

I hope he's proud of me. I hope he's so fucking proud, he won't be able to bottle it up.

I hope he saw that, fuck, that was good—

Then, there's the guy next to him, the friend he brought. During halftime, I finally have a chance to appraise the dude. Even fifty rows up, he stands out as a truly massive bastard. His name's...Casey, and he's 'big into football'—either because he's a lineman for the Golden Bears or hewas a lineman for the Golden Bears. Sam deliberately withheld that little tidbit, but it's not like I've got the time or freedom for a deep-dive. Besides, Sammy only has eyes forme. He can't help but look down here, as hard as he's trying not to. It's killing me that I can't make out the finer details of his expression, and our team's sideline isn't the best place for focused contemplation:

"Saunders, good Godalmighty, where have you been all my life?!"

"Dean, I think I'm actually in love with you, dude."

"You'vegot to chill, man, my girl's watching."

When the game's over, the Bruins look like they're preparing to form a suicide pact in the wake of such a brutal defeat. There's a rush of those designated friends, families, and lovers swarming the sidelines, and I'm swept into the center of a celebratory circle thatshouldn't feel like the biggest pain in my ass. I can't hear myself think. I can't tell where I end and the hot, damp bodies around me begin. It's fucking ...