Clay showed up at my house the morning after the game, his skin slick and shiny with sweat, his shirt damp down the front and under the arms. Despite the chill in the air last night, today had turned hot again.

"Can we talk?" Clay wiped his hand across his sweaty upper lip as he stepped inside, slightly panting.

I closed the door and raised a questioning brow. "Did you run here?"

"Kinda. I was actually on my way back home." Clay placed his hands on his hips. "I run two miles almost every day."

"Agh! Why?" I didn't mean to sound so disgusted.

"It helps with my anxiety disorder."

A jolt shot through my chest and my jaw dropped. I quickly regained my composure to ask, "Since when do you have an anxiety disorder?"

"I've had issues ever since I was a kid. I've been on pills and gone to therapy. It's why I'm seeing Dr. Singh." He spoke so casually. It was kind of frustrating me. "But exercise seems to help me the most."

I just couldn't let this go without a discussion. "You said you were in therapy because you came out. Why did you lie?"

Clay took a deep breath, blowing it out between his lips. "I didn't exactly lie. I just didn't tell you the whole truth. That is why my mom made me go back."

"We promised we wouldn't lie to each other again. Especially not about big stuff."

"I'm sorry. I don't like to burden people with my problems."

"I'm not people, Clay. I'm your boyfriend."

Clay's lips stretched into a huge grin. "I love hearing you say that."

I placed my hands on my hips, mimicking his posture as I shook my head. "Don't try to be cute. I'm mad at you."

Clay's smile melted away, his face turning serious. "My dad's death really messed me up. I've had panic attacks and really bad anxiety ever since. My mom worried the stress of coming out would make it worse. That's the whole truth."

I jabbed a finger at his chest. "No more lies!"

"No more lies." Clay repeated. "As far as I'm aware, you know everything there is to know about me now."

I nodded. "We're supposed to share the hard stuff so we don't have to carry it by ourselves."

"I really love you, y'know."

My frustration faded, and I couldn't help but smile. "I love you, too."

Clay took a step closer, then paused. "I'd kiss you right now if I wasn't all sweaty."

I raised my arms to hook them around Clay's neck. "Maybe we should do something to get me sweaty and it won't matter."

Clay looked around the empty living room. "Is your mom home?"

I shook my head. "Nope. She's at work till six."

"Then, I think that can be arranged." Clay's arms encircled my waist, pulling me tight against his body as our lips met.

I tugged at Clay's shirt until he got the hint. He broke away and reached over his shoulder, grabbing the back to pull it over his head, leaving his hair a mess, sticking up all over the place. He tossed the shirt aside as I used my fingers as a comb to lay his hair flat.

As Clay returned to kiss me, I ran my hands over his torso, over his muscular chest and shoulders, digging my fingers into his back, feeling the muscles stretch and contract as his hands searched my body.

We stumbled our way over to the stairs. I nearly tripped over the bottom step, but Clay kept me steady. I laughed at the fumble. "I've already got one cast. I'd rather not have another. How about we pause until we get to my room?"

"Deal." Clay gave me a quick peck before releasing me.

I grabbed his hand and raced up the stairs.

As usual—except that once, the morning after our first time—Clay handed me the condom after a rousing round of foreplay. I was very glad my mother wasn't home for this one, because Clay had suddenly become quite vocal. He yelled out God's name as often as he said mine, and he seemed really fond of saying, "Fuck," a lot.

"So what did you want to talk about?" I asked afterwards, drawing meaningless lines across Clay's smooth skin.

Clay filled me in on his visit from Alfie last night. I shook my head, baffled by the story. "I can't believe you fell for that. It's all an act."

"You didn't see him." Clay stared at me, his face solemn. "He was really upset. Crying even. I've never seen Duke cry before."

I'd seen Alfie cry plenty, but they were always crocodile tears. I rubbed Clay's arm and kissed his cheek. It was scratchy where he hadn't shaved for a few days. "I love you for having such a big heart, but he doesn't deserve your sympathy."

"I disagree." Clay said.

Before I could interject, Clay raised a hand to stop me. "Look, I won't be his friend or anything, but I won't dwell on this either. I just want to put it behind me. It all worked out for the best in the end."

"If you say so." I mumbled.

"I do, in fact, say so." Clay turned onto his side to face me, propping up on his arm. "You have every right to stay mad at him for everything he's done. I just can't live like that. I have too much of my own baggage to carry that around with me too."

"Well, you're much nicer than me." I said. If Clay wanted to move on, I would support that. It was probably a healthier option than letting the resentment fester.

Clay brushed his fingers through my hair, an impish smirk twisting the corner of his mouth. "No offense, baby, but I don't think anyone is debating that."

"Hmph. And I thought I was bitchy."

"Oh, you definitely are." Clay said, snickering. His fingers traced a line down my arm that sent chills racing across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and raised hairs along the way. "And I love every bitchy bit of you."

I kissed his shoulder. "You know, we're wasting a lot of valuable time talking that we could spend on much funner activities?"

"I'm pretty sure 'funner' isn't a word, smarty-pants. But I agree."

Clay kissed me, leaning forward until I laid back on the bed. As he rolled on top of me, I slipped my arms around him. He broke away to look me in the eye. "Ready to go again?"

"When am I not ready for you?"