Chapter 9 #2
Hello Gavin, of course I saved it.
Gavin
Oh great. What did you name me?
Is it something rude or something nice?
I’m betting on rude ;)
Me
I saved you as Gavin
Sorry to disappoint
He will never know.
Gavin
Alrighty then :)
Anyway, just wanted to say you did great today
The angels didn't win
My chest does a thing. Which is stupid. It's just a text.
Me
They never win. The Doctor always figures it out
Gavin
Geek
Me
Jock
Gavin
Student and jock
Respect your tutor
I'm smiling at my phone like an idiot when something catches my eye. His backpack's still here, forgotten under the seat. I grab it, meaning to text him, but it's partially open, and papers spill out.
I don't mean to look. But the top page is clearly visible, a training journal, detailed and meticulous. Sets, reps, weights, all tracked with notes about form and adjustments. Below that are pages of play diagrams with annotations in his surprisingly neat handwriting.
I flip through before I can stop myself. Everything's organized. Thoughtful. There are nutrition logs with calculated macros, injury-prevention protocols, and even notes from what look like sports-psychology sessions.
"Fourth quarter mental fatigue—review visualization techniques" "Hip flexor tightness affecting explosive power—add targeted stretches" "Team cohesion drill worked well, suggest to Coach."
This isn't some dumb jock going through motions. This is someone who approaches his sport like I approach medicine, with precision and dedication and genuine intelligence.
"Fuck," I whisper to the empty auditorium.
My phone buzzes again.
Gavin
Hey did I leave my bag?
Me
Yes. I have it
Gavin
My hero! Can I swing by and grab it?
Me
I'll bring it to the quad. You need it for practice?
Gavin
Nah just homework stuff
But thanks Doc you're the best
I shove the papers back, but the damage is done. I can't unsee it. Can't go back to thinking he's just some pretty face who happens to be good at sports.
He's smart. Really smart. And kind. And those fucking thighs...
No. Absolutely not. You don't have time for this.
But I'm already walking to the quad, his backpack over my shoulder, trying to ignore how it smells like his cologne.
He's waiting by the fountain, changed into jeans and a hoodie. The sunset does ridiculous things to his hair, all golden and—
Stop it.
"My savior!" He bounces up, reaching for the bag. Our fingers brush. "Seriously, thanks. All my stats homework's in there."
"Stats?" I hear myself ask.
"Yeah, for my sports psych minor. Fascinating stuff about performance prediction and—" He catches himself, rubbing his neck. "Sorry. I know it's not exactly quantum physics."
"Statistical analysis is crucial for psychological research," I say, then want to kick myself. Idiot, could you sound more pretentious?
But he lights up. "Right? Like, everyone thinks psychology is just feelings and talking, but there's so much math. Correlation coefficients and regression analysis, and—" Another neck rub. "And you totally already know all this."
"I didn't know you knew it."
There’s a flicker across his face. "Yeah, well. Dumb jock, surprising depths, et cetera." It's self-deprecating, but there's an edge underneath.
"I didn't mean—"
"Nah, it's cool. I get it." He shoulders his backpack. "Anyway, thanks again. See you Thursday?"
He's walking away before I can fix it. Can explain that I'm not surprised he's smart; I'm amazed I'm attracted to a jock… who's also smart. That the combination of intelligence and kindness and physical presence is fucking with my head in ways I'm not prepared for.
"Gavin!"
He turns.
"You're not dumb," I blurt out. "I never thought you were dumb."
His smile is slower this time. Softer. "Thanks, Doc."
And then he's gone, and I'm left standing by the fountain like an idiot, watching him disappear into the evening crowd.
You can not catch feelings for him.
But my brain's already cataloging everything. How he knew exactly how to calm me down. The careful way he touched me. How he actually listened to my Doctor Who rambling. Those fucking thighs in shorts.
He's a baby gay who needs education, not complications.
Right. Education. That's all this is.
And he might just be experimenting. Curious what it's like before going back to girls.
That thought sits like acid in my stomach. I've been someone's experiment before. Someone's "college phase." I think every gay guy has been someone's 'experiment' and it sucks for us every time.
And I can't, won't, do that again.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Gavin
Your slides better be color-coded
I'm expecting greatness
No pressure tho
I stare at the messages, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Want to type something witty. Something flirty. Something that might tell me if this is real or just him being friendly.
Instead, I write:
Me
They're extremely color-coded
Gavin
KNEW IT
Can't wait to see
Night Doc
Me
Goodnight
I pocket my phone and head back to my apartment, trying to ignore the warmth still sitting in my chest. Thursday can't come fast enough.
This is a terrible idea.
But apparently, I'm doing it anyway.