“Is your pretty nice guy going to single-handedly make us lose the flag-football championship? I’ve heard some seriously bad shit.” Now Rand sounded pissed.
I blew out a long, slow breath. “He made one big mistake because of me, and no one wants to give him a chance after that.”
Rand leaned across the table and grasped my forearm. “We’re counting on you, Bubba, to whip that Poin into shape. Don’t go letting his social life distract you from what’s important. This Hedgehog has to learn to play flag football well enough to at least not wreck our chances, clear?”
I nodded. My chest clutched so tight I couldn’t get a word out. Rand had never asked me to do anything before, and now, our team’s future depended on a guy who couldn’t run through cones more than three times without getting winded. I turned toward the kitchen door.
“Bubba?”
I turned back and tried to look like everything in my gut was okay.
Rand narrowed his eyes a little. “You’re not forgetting who your real friends are, are you?”
My foot caught on the vinyl floor, and I stumbled against the wall. “No. Fuck no!”
“I didn’t think so, but you sure do protect the guy.”
“Hey, someone has to be nice to him. If we’re all mean, he’s gonna get so discouraged he’ll quit, and I heard the Poins don’t have anybody else.”
He sighed. “Imagine not having anybody who can play flag. Hell, the sororities have great flag players.”
“But they’re not Poins. We need a Poin.”
“Yes, Bubba, I know. Thanks for that.”
I walked out of the kitchen. Hell, I was starting to feel like Sean wasn’t the only one the ALAs hated.
I got up to my room, and my phone dinged with a text. It was Sean. Did you discover anything about the nature of makeovers?
Flopping on my bed, I stared at the screen. Even though I hadn’t reminded him—hell, I hadn’t dared—Rand had texted me the address of that store he mentioned. Talk about a storm. It was like there was one in my brain.
No time for makeovers. Rand’s right: have to practice flag.
I’m not forgetting who my real friends are, am I?
But Sean is my first client. And building his confidence has to be good, right?
I pulled a bottle of water out of my mini-fridge, screwed off the top, and took a swig. Like Rand said, I was protective of Sean. More than Sean wanted me to be. Why? Fuck, because I liked him. The way he talked made me smile, and I admired how hard he worked at shit that didn’t come easy for him. And I wish I was that smart. Man, imagine what I could do if I had Sean’s intelligence.
Before I got caught in my brain tornado like Dorothy, I texted back, Yes. Can you go shopping Fri afternoon?
Friday afternoons were clear for me. I’d worked Sean hard in the gym that morning. Hell, he’d worked hard all week. So I didn’t feel conflicted when I picked him up at the SMT house in my old Toyota. We both deserved a few hours off. It was time to get my little friend laid.
Uh, maybe I didn’t want to think too much about that.
He gave me a hopeful look as he crawled in the passenger seat. Honestly, it made me feel good. These days, it seemed like Sean was the only one who had faith in me.
“So we’re going shopping for clothes, you said?” Sean asked.
“Yup. I got the address of a great store that has clothes that are gay approved, okay? We can start there.”
I started driving toward the clothing store, and Sean said, “Are you of the opinion that my clothes are inappropriate to my goals?”
I glanced at him. Like most times, he looked perfectly serious. Okay, be careful. “Uh, I hear that gay guys like butts, right?”
He frowned. “I believe so. From what I’ve seen of gay porn, there is a great deal of focus on that area.”
Whew, why did the idea of Sean watching gay porn make me feel hot in the face? “Yeah, so the clothes you wear don’t really show off your butt. I mean, your khakis are kind of, uh, loose. And you wear your shirts untucked and stuff.”
He seemed to be thinking hard. “I suppose that’s true. I’ve never had a body I felt comfortable showing off.”
“Well now, that’s my job, right?” I grinned at him.
Almost shyly, Sean smiled back.
The store in downtown Madison was on a side street. Even from our parking spot, the place looked too cool for school. Maybe right for Rand, but too much for Sean? Well, we were there. Might as well look.
The store window had great clothes in a kind of street scene like maybe New York. Some of the outfits had a collegey look with jeans that fit great and sweaters over button-down shirts and stuff, Rand style. “See anything you like?”
Sean stared at the window with a crease between his eyebrows. He pushed up his glasses and said, “How do we go about this? I assume my opinion is irrelevant since the nature of a makeover is to change my style. Therefore, by definition, the clothes should be something I wouldn’t select.”
It felt like there was a mistake in that thinking, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. I sure as shit shouldn’t be the one picking out clothes. “Maybe we can ask for help,” I suggested.
“Ah. Good point. One would assume that’s a benefit of shopping in person instead of online.”
I held the door and let him walk through. Inside, Sean went over to a dummy wearing like a track suit with a jacket that had a bunch of ties. He cocked his head.
From behind us, a guy’s voice said, “Stunning, isn’t it? But, if you’ll permit me, I’d say not for you.”
We turned, and there was a man with a short beard and dark hair that kind of flopped over his face. He was pretty nice looking.
Sean gave him that frown that made you want to rethink whatever you’d just said. “If, as you say, it’s stunning, why is it not for me?”
The guy put one hand on his hip and waved the other one. “It’s a bit over-the-top for your look, which I think of more as—” He paused and put a finger on his cheek. “—fashionable intellectual. You’re from the university, aren’t you? Of course you are.”
Sean lifted his brows. “As it happens, yes.”
I said, “My friend is looking for a, uh, makeover.”
The dude spread out his arms like he was greeting the queen or something. “You’ve come to the right place! Put yourself in my hands. I’m Quig, by the way.”
“Sean.” Sean shook Quig’s hand real seriously.
Quig looked at me and blinked his eyelashes. “And you?”
“Bubba.”
He actually patted my chest. “Of course you are.” He turned. “Follow me.”
He flitted around some racks, pulling stuff off, and then walked to a dressing room and hung it in there. “Try those on while I look for more.”
Sean vanished behind a curtain. A few minutes later, he stuck his head out. “Quig, are you sure these are the right size?”
“Well, I guessed, but it’s quite an informed guess considering that I am an ass man.” He laughed at his own joke, and I clenched my hands. Sticking his head behind the curtain, he chuckled some more. “I’d say my estimate was spot-on. Yes, yes, put that on top. Excellent. I’m a genius.” He threw back the curtain. “Ta-da!”