I knew better—somewhat—now. Imperfect starts didn't mean the year was going to be a disaster. It was okay for me and my classes to spend time getting to know each other and finding good vibes. And I didn't have to lock myself in my classroom for sixteen hours each day, reinventing my lesson plans, rearranging desks, and constructing mind-blowing experiments.

  I could spare a minute to hang out with the cute coach…if that sort of thing wasn't triggering the shit out of my anxiety.

  The fucked-up thing about anxiety was I couldn't say yes even when that was exactly what I wanted to do. Avoidance was always my first and most powerful instinct and I couldn't climb over it to let myself explore this connection with him. Avoidance was safe and secure, while exploration was an opportunity to get hurt, to be rejected, to prove anxiety right.

  I didn't want anxiety to be right.

  Irrational fears aside, I didn't want to be in the position of starting something with a new colleague only for it to blow up in my face before the end of the first marking period. I couldn't change schools or teaching assignments again. I could not handle that after several years of teaching in ever-changing grades and content areas.

  The minute I thought I'd figured out physical science and sixth graders, I was switching over to eighth grade and life science. It didn't seem like a big deal but it was rather significant. Understanding the instructional goals and the ways that precise group of kids learned best required practice. Bouncing between grades and contents meant I'd only practiced adapting.

  On top of that, I didn't want to end up in a disciplinary meeting because I'd violated a fraternization policy. It came as a slight relief when the upper school dean Drew Larsen laughed off that issue.

  "That's not a problem here," he said when I'd pulled him aside after a vertical alignment planning meeting for schoolwide science instruction. "If it were, I wouldn't be engaged to Miss Treloff right now."

  "Oh," I replied. "I didn't—I didn't know that. Congratulations."

  I couldn't decide whether I was horribly self-absorbed or everyone in this school was extremely proficient at keeping their personal affairs on the down low because I didn't notice anyone being more than friendly or polite. Yet the deans were engaged and everyone said Clark and Noa had big time feelings for each other.

  Maybe I was self-absorbed. I did spend a lot of time in my head.

  Drew glanced across the library to where Tara Treloff sat with Shay and Jaime, the kindergarten and first grade teachers. "Now you do."

  I nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

  "Make good choices, Hayzer," he added, still watching his fiancée. His gaze was cool, almost unemotional but it lingered long enough to prove it was anything but. How had I missed that before? "Be professional and keep it that way when you’re around kids."

  The green light from Drew got me around part of the anxiety.

  The institutionalized happy hours closed the rest of the loop.

  None of my previous schools maintained a happy hour tradition as robust as Bayside School's. Since I wasn't a big drinker and often found unstructured social events (and structured ones, for that matter) to be unnecessarily stressful, I'd skipped the first gathering. I liked to give my classroom a thorough organization at the end of the week and prep for the coming week anyway.

  This didn't seem like a problem to me…until my colleagues started asking for a blood oath that I'd show up.

  Clark, Noa, and Juliana had gone as far as to individually seek me out and insist the outing was mandatory for middle school team cohesion. A few of the elementary teachers caught me in the halls to ask if they'd see me on Friday afternoon. Max dropped by my classroom at least four times to confirm I was attending and then waited for me in the school parking lot to make sure I had good directions since I was new in town.

  Talk about overwhelming. Part of me felt affronted by the hard sell but the other part percolated with the idea these people were trying to become my friends if I'd just let them. Could it be that easy?

  In the end, I'd followed Max to the beer garden everyone seemed to love and shared a pint with my new coworkers. We had to look like a strange bunch, all of us drinking at four in the afternoon while decked out in jeans and college t-shirts because that was our school spirit custom for Fridays.

  It didn't take long to realize this tradition wasn't about the beer as much as it was about the company. These people liked spending time together and they liked welcoming others into their common law family.

  I had too much of a good time to hear the whispers and shouts of anxiety, and I joined them the next week, no blood oaths required.

  The week after that, Max dropped onto the bench beside me as the September sun dipped into the horizon. I was happy to see him. Happy I'd had a month to get to know him beyond that sudden surge of heat and connection I'd felt the day we met. Happy I'd been able to find my homeostasis after navigating a huge season of change.

  And I was happy to say yes when he asked, "What d'you say, Hayzer? Can I buy you dinner sometime?"

  It took a full month for me to say yes and then another two weeks for us to arrive at a date and time. For once, it wasn't all my brain's fault. Since teachers didn't do weeknight outings—at least, not this teacher—we were limited to weekends and those were in short supply. Max was busy babysitting his sister's kids when she and her husband were away for an anniversary weekend. I was attending a training the next.

  When we finally met up on a postcard perfect October afternoon, I thought I knew what I was getting myself into with Max.

  I had no idea.

  We met outside the gates of Fenway Park with a quick, slightly stiff hug where we lingered just long enough to make breaking apart awkward. I told myself it was awkward because we hadn't shared a minute without students or colleagues watching us and we had to learn how to do it right. I held his hand as I followed him inside the park.

  Our seats were mediocre but it didn't matter because the sun was warm and bright and Max was completely magnetic. He talked nonstop, his opinions of the players and the action on the field wedged in between questions about me, chatter about our school, musings about fun spots we could visit in the city. And he did it all with his arm draped over the back of my seat like it'd always been there.

  I liked that.

  I liked hearing about his childhood Little League victories and his high school triumphs on the football field, going to school to teach phys ed because he'd always wanted to wear shorts and play dodgeball as a profession, his therapist sister Mallori and all the ways she routinely attempted to "shrink" him. And I liked telling him about all my new school year rituals, my decidedly non-athletic youth, how it seemed teaching was predestined for me and my comfortable acceptance of that. And as much as I could like an experience as rough and crumbly as shale, I liked that we both grew up without a father figure in our lives.

  I liked it all so much I didn't object when he carted me to a nearby sports bar after the game. The home team had won and everyone was in such great spirits and he never, ever stopped touching me. No, I had not lodged an objection because I was too busy beaming at him with big, dreamy heart eyes.

  And why did I need to object? I wasn't into the rowdy sports bar scene but I could manage this for a bit. A beer, some wings, whatever. I was with Max and that was all that mattered.

  After an hour filled with mingling and recounting the best plays with the other sports fans packed into the loud, hot bar, Max leaned in close and said, "Let's get out of here."

  I almost grabbed his stubbly face and kissed him.

  I'd expected him to suggest going for a walk on the Esplanade or grabbing an ice cream cone or, hell, just calling it a night and going our separate ways because staying out this late wasn't the norm for my homebody soul. Instead of walking or ice cream, we ended up at the open-air playground for adults, the Lawn on D—and we were just in time for the live music to kick off.

  "This band is killer," Max yelled over the noise.

  He moved his body with the music and there was no denying he loved this. A significant portion of me wanted to tell him this was not killer, not for me, but he looped his arm around my waist and urged me to sway along with him. All the things that chafed and bothered like a clothing tag in a troublesome spot eased—this was different but not necessarily uncomfortable.

  "Yeah," I replied, pushing up on my toes to speak into his ear. "Completely killer."

  Max grinned down at me, his eyes smiling and his sun-bleached hair glowing white under the lights, and I decided I liked this man and his wild, overwhelming, noisy adventures very, very much.

  I rested my hand between his shoulder blades and pressed him closer. "Kiss me," I said, glancing at his lips.

  The music was too loud for Max to make out those words but the combination of my hand on his back and my gaze all over his mouth got the message across.

  He cupped my jaw and swept his thumb over my lips. "I've been thinking about this," he said. "Imagined it a whole bunch of different ways."

  "Did you imagine it like this?"

  He blinked down at my mouth, nodding. For a second, it seemed he was poised to say something else, but then he lowered his head and sealed his lips over mine.

  At first, I went rigid because even if my heart wanted this, my head didn't trust anything new. Never did. Once I overcame that, everything fell into place. I granted myself permission to melt into him, to fall into his kiss like it was the one true place I belonged.

  When Max pulled back, he brought his thumb to my lips. He studied me with his dark brown eyes as if he was contemplating something rather consequential. Then, "I really like you, Jory Hayzer. I like the way you taste and the way you kiss. I like the way you feel up against me."

  Even at this close range, we still had to shout to hear each other, and I wasn't sure I understood everything Max was saying, but that didn't matter because I felt it. I felt the heat of his interest. The tight coil of his undivided attention. The burn of arousal low in my belly.

  For the first time in an age, I was the object of someone's affection, and I enjoyed it more than I thought possible.

  "Same here," I replied.

  Max shifted me to face the stage and positioned himself behind me, his arms wrapped around my torso as he resumed swaying with the music.

  Never in a million years would I have chosen an evening like this one for myself. My feet were sore. My throat was growing raw from all the shouting. There was a curious stain on the elbow of my sweater. And if I slowed down long enough to listen, I'd hear all the fears and worries and avoidance waiting for me on the other side of these good feelings.

  But right now, there was nowhere else I wanted to be.

  After watching the entire concert and lingering at the Lawn for a bit, Max and I hopped on the subway with the intention of finding a taco stand all the way up in Davis Square. Because that made sense.

  "This doesn't make any sense," Max said as we filed onto a Red Line train with—apparently—half the population of Boston. And they were all drunk. "This is crazy. Where's everyone going?"

  He led me to an open square of standing room at the end of the car. It wasn't much, but at least we could tuck ourselves up against the wall rather than jostling for room around one of the poles.

  "Maybe they heard about the tacos too," I said.

  Max wrapped his arms around me as a chime sounded and the train jerked forward. "I'll fight 'em off for you, babe."

  With each stop, more passengers boarded and our corner of the car seemed to shrink. Somewhere between Downtown Crossing and Park Street Station, I found myself pressed into every ridge and groove of Max's body.

  And, my god, that body was hard.

  All at once, I realized my ass was shoved up against one hell of an erection and the sound in my ear was a low, ragged growl and his hands kept fisting and releasing the hem of my shirt.

  And—for no other reason than wanting to—I rocked back against him.

  A grunt snapped out of him, deep and harsh like a warning. "Watch it, Hayzer."

  The chimes sounded again when the train rattled to a stop at Charles Street. Passengers forced their way in, driving us closer together. Tighter. Harder.

  There were people everywhere and they were loud. Rowdy, even. And they were close enough for me to count their eyelashes and taste their beer breath. This was my least favorite part of public transit, though the cattle car anonymity of it all didn't bother me too much. Even if it should've cranked up my anxiety, it didn't. Just another reason brains were weird.

  I squirmed a bit to avoid the person with the foul beer breath and—

  "Hayzer," Max growled.

  Since I loved the irritated pinch in his voice and wanted to see if it looked as sexy as it sounded, I shifted to face him. As I moved, the train lurched and I lost my balance.

  "Seriously, Hayzer." Max caught me around the waist, twisted me away from the beer breath, and hauled me up against his chest.

  That was when I learned two things. One, his cock was unreal. That beast would split me in half and I'd thank him for it.

  And two, I liked Max enough to let him. Maybe not right now, maybe not tonight. But someday.

  "Is that big boy for me or do you have a thing for subways?" Max asked, his fingers splayed on the small of my back.

  "It's not the subway," I said, my forehead dropping to his broad chest.

  "Didn't think it was." He held himself still, leaving the train to stroke my body over his. Another stop—and another and another—came and went, the train jerking and chiming and lurching as if dry humping and depravity were on the the secret menu.

  Max shifted his other hand to my waist, twisting his fingers around my belt. That subtle shift jerked my hips back, just enough for him to shove his thick thigh between my legs.

  "Go ahead," he rasped into my ear. "Ride my leg. Show me how you get it, baby."

  This train was too crowded—and too drunk—to notice anything out of the ordinary. I was certain we looked like any other couple locked in an embrace at the end of an exciting evening. It didn't matter whether every jolt and bump of the train drew a groan from my throat or deepened the flush washing over my face. It didn't matter whether I wanted Max to slip his hand under my clothes and stroke me with the same assertiveness he employed to grip my belt like it was a collar and grind my shaft up his thigh. I knew none of it mattered and I knew we could get away with it too.

  "I have some bad news for you." He dragged his scruffy beard down my neck and I shivered into him. "Very bad news, babe."

  "What's that?" I panted.

  The chimes sounded again. The passengers shuffled toward the doors.

  He bit my earlobe. "This is our stop."

  I felt like I was going to burn from the inside out. Like I was going to turn into a human supernova. Like my body wasn't my own but a swollen bundle of need just waiting to be stroked, sucked, bitten—anything. Anything.

  It made me dizzy and delirious, and I didn't pay any attention to where we were going. Max led the way, ordered the tacos, sat me on a bench with orders to drink a bottle of water while we waited for our food.

  Never in my life had I been reduced down to the demands of my dick. Sure, it had made its desires known but this…this was torture.

  "—and my friend Joseph does this cool thing where he and his partner host these nights, like Spanish night or French night or whatever. They call it ‘Eat the Globe’ and we only speak Spanish or French while we're there and we eat Spanish or French food. It's awesome. You'll meet them soon. They're awesome. They're the best guys. Oh, and trivia nights. I bet you're a boss at trivia. You are going to adore Tom. Maybe we could go next week. What d'you think?"

  I paused, my taco an inch from my mouth. "Wait—what? Where are we going next week?"

  It was after midnight. We'd been together—and having a great though exhausting, sexually frustrating time—since the afternoon. It would be another hour before I was back at my Quincy apartment. And now we were penciling in plans for next weekend? I wasn't sure I'd be fully recovered by then.

  "To trivia." Max glanced over at me from his side of the park bench we'd chosen for this late-night taco supper. "It's at the best little tavern and—"

  I set the taco down, wiped my hands, and stared at the ground as I tuned out the finer points of Max's friend group trivia traditions. I didn't know how to explain to someone I liked and wanted to spend more time with that I'd had fun but this was not my normal. I was willing to step beyond the bounds of my comfort zone—and those avoidant tendencies—but I couldn't do that every single weekend and be a functional teacher during the week. I didn't operate on the same fuel as Coach Maximum—I needed downtime and quiet and a heavy pour of predictability.

  I rubbed my forehead. "Max. Listen."

  "Yeah?" He leaned closer, dipped his head to catch my gaze. "What's up?"

  He looked so sweet. So sweet. And concerned. He peered at me like he truly wanted to hear what I had to say, and I just didn't think I could bear to dim the light in his eyes. Not on my stupid, anxious, fretful account.

  "You're right. I am into trivia," I said. "That sounds incredible and so do your friends. Sign me up for French night. I'll bring the brie en croute."

  "But? Because I heard the but."

  "But…" I trailed off. I wasn't good at articulating my needs. I wasn't good at disagreeing or saying no, even when it was in my best interest. I didn't like making my issues someone else's problem—not being a problem was a core principle of my anxiety—though I had the strange sense Max could handle my problems. That he'd be offended if I didn't share them. "But you should know my bedtime is ten p.m., and on most school nights, I'm tucked in with a book by nine. I had an amazing time, Max, fully amazing, though I'm not sure I'll ever be able to pack a baseball game and a concert, plus stops at a sports bar and a Somerville taco stand into one date again."

  "I went a little overboard, huh?"

  I replied with a shrug-nod. "I had an amazing time," I repeated. "But I'm gonna need some hot tea and a lazy day in bed after all this."

 

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