I reached down and pulled him to his feet. Whoops! He was lighter than I guessed, and he just kept coming until I had two arms full of a cute hedgehog. “Uh sorry. Don’t know my own strength.”
“It is considerable.” He wriggled until he got back to his feet and then said, “Any other tips on pulling your flag?”
I cleared my throat. Strange how Sean’s wiggles had left me, uh, kind of stiff in my sweats. Note from me to me. Call one of the girls who likes me and set up a date.
“Nah. Let’s just keep trying.” Over the next half hour, I constantly had to hold back on laughing as I taught him how to grab the flag, pulling straight down, and how it was best to try to get a hold of two flags at the same time. Then if you missed one, you had a chance of getting the other.
After he’d gotten my flags a few times, he stopped and planted his hands on his hips. “I think I’ve got it. But in order to grab someone’s flags, I have to catch them first. You’re letting me catch you.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes, you most certainly are. If you were moving at full speed, I’d never come close. Admit it.”
I stepped over to him. “First, most players aren’t as fast as I am, and second, that’s why you need to practice running. Being fast is one of the big flag-football skills, so run every chance you have. Next practice, we’ll work on running and catching the ball.”
He nodded, but his shoulders sagged. “I’m so far behind I’ll never get where I need to be.”
“Come on, you just started. You’re doing fine.”
Suddenly, he squatted down, propped his elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his hands, looking defeated.
I didn’t have much choice, so I hunkered down next to him.
Sean sighed. “It’s not just flag. Obviously, I don’t want to suck for the tournament, and competition starts in just two weeks. That’s problematic. But I’m also failing on my other quest—finding a sexual partner. I talked to Dustin, and he says it takes more than muscles. He says I need a makeover, whatever that is. I looked it up online, and it seems to involve makeup, which, frankly, I don’t get at all. Dobbs and Jax don’t wear makeup, and they’re inarguably attractive.” He ran a hand through his hair that stuck out every which way. “But getting fit and learning flag are taking so much time, I can’t imagine when I’ll be able to focus on other areas of improvement.” He shook his head. “I’m conflicted. I’m not one to go back on a promise, and I’m quite motivated by receiving my room for free and your training without charge as well. But it’s clear that no one on the team wants me there and—”
I held up a hand. “Hold on. Who gives a shit if they want you there? You’re going to get fit, learn the rules, and be a great flag player.” I shrugged. “Or at least good enough to satisfy the dean and not embarrass your house or yourself.”
“But—”
“Wait.” I took a breath. “As for a, um, makeover, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have to involve makeup.”
“Then what does it involve?” He looked up at me owlishly. Or maybe hedgehogly.
“Uh… not sure, but I can look into it. You’ll succeed there too. I’m your personal trainer, and it’s my job to see you get what you want.” I stood and extended my hand to him. He still looked miserable, but he took my hand, his totally disappearing in my big paw. I pulled him up, not quite so hard this time, although I hadn’t really minded catching him. When he was on his feet, I said, “I’ll do some research and text you later, okay?”
“I didn’t mean to suggest it was your problem. Helping me with a makeover is above and beyond the call of duty, surely.”
“Don’t worry about it. Personal trainers do all kinds of stuff.” Although I didn’t have a great idea what would go into a total makeover for a gay guy. Still, I was determined my first client ever would be a success and going above and beyond for Sean didn’t sound so bad. Also, boosting his confidence might make him better on the field too. It sure couldn’t hurt. “I’ve got to get to class. Text you later.”
I was restless all the way through the next hour, so much so that my professor asked me a question, and I had to get her to repeat it before I could answer. Shit, not good. I was dumb enough as it was, without losing focus and screwing up in class. But finally I was out and started jogging toward my house. Somewhere in the middle of class, I’d realized that I didn’t know a lot of gay guys. The one I did know was Rand. Hell, he was so perfect I was pretty sure he’d never needed a makeover, but maybe he’d know somebody who had or knew how.
When I ran into the house, Rand was sitting at the dining room table engrossed in his laptop. I walked past him into the kitchen. He glanced up. “Hey, Bubba.”
“Hi, Rand.” I got a power drink from my shelf in the refrigerator and tried to form a question as I walked back into the dining room. “Uh, Rand, could I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He kind of dragged his attention from the screen, but as chapter president, he got interrupted a lot with questions. Probably not with this question. “Do you know anything about doing a makeover for a gay guy?”
“What?” He smiled like I was pulling his leg.
I slid into a chair across from him. “I know it’s weird, but one of my clients is, uh gay, and he wants to, you know, be more social, but he’s not very good at stuff like that. Dressing good and stuff. Do you know what I should tell him?” He was just staring at me, so I kept going. “I mean, you always look so good. Where do you shop, for example?”
Apparently, the secret was asking specific questions because he said, “I have a favorite store downtown that has primo clothes.”
I had no clue what primo would be like, but if they looked like Rand, they’d be good. I said, “Is it pricey?” If Sean was excited about getting his room and my training for free, price probably mattered.
“Uh no. That’s one of the reasons I like it.”
I leaned forward. “Okay, I’d like that address. What else?”
“Else?”
“In a makeover. Do you wear any kind, of, like, makeup?”
“Fuck no!” He looked at me like I’d gone off the rails. “Some guys do wear makeup, but not me. I don’t know where you’d get that kind of advice.”
“Sorry, I just heard—never mind. What else?”
He scrunched his pale eyebrows over his eyes that were dark blue like Wisconsin lakes. “Grooming. He might want to consider a good hair stylist if he doesn’t already have one.”
“Oh yeah. That makes sense.”
He sat back in his chair. “I’m assuming this is the Poin?”
“Uh, yeah. Don’t tell anybody, okay? Client confidentiality.” I puffed out my chest. Then something occurred to me. “I mean, unless you know a guy to fix him up with.”
“Jesus. Hedgehog? Hell no.”
I didn’t like his tone. As if Sean wasn’t worth liking that way. I shrugged. “He’s a pretty nice guy. Crazy smart and he tries hard.”