After rushing home on my bike, I could have easily taken another shower. Due to time constraints, I just spray on my favorite deodorant. What should I wear? Finding pants is easy; a simple pair of jeans will do. But I'm unsure about what to wear on top. I spend a while looking at myself in the mirror. I know I'm attractive. My dark eyes are accentuated by slightly wild, bushy eyebrows, and my full lips are topped by a narrow mustache. Plus, the almost daily workouts have given me well-defined muscles in the right places.

I turn from side to side, examining myself thoroughly. Why don't I have a boyfriend yet? I wonder, then laugh at my own thoughts. I'm starting to sound like my mother.

Focus, Ethan, I tell myself, snapping back to reality and checking my wardrobe. White complements my natural complexion, but black is always a safe bet, I think. 'Something with color?' I ponder, when suddenly I hear a honk from outside.

"Damn," I mutter, grabbing the shirt closest to me and rushing downstairs. Before I open the door, I quickly throw on the shirt and slip into my Nikes. A black leather jacket, keys, and I'm out the door, closing it behind me.

It takes me a few seconds to spot him. Instead of a car, a red Kawasaki is parked in our driveway. "Wow," I can't help but compliment. And that wasn't just about the motorcycle. The tall Panther's football player stands next to the machine like a god, helmet in one hand, running his other hand through his blond hair. He's wearing a blue shirt under his black leather jacket, and I can't help but grin as we're basically matching. I approach him slowly.

"Is this yours?" I inquire, letting my fingers graze the sleek surface of the bike. A motorcycle with the right guy beside it? That's a potent combination.

"Do you like it?" Conner asks, flashing a grin my way.

"It's impressive," I reply.

"Well, since I don't have a car, you'll have to settle for this," he quips, handing me a helmet.

"Still an upgrade from my ride," I gesture towards my old bicycle. "That would've been quite the uncomfortable journey. Do you know the way?" I query, securing the helmet in place as he guides the Kawasaki onto the road."Sort of. I've been there once before. Nice shirt, by the way," he suddenly grins as I start to climb onto the Kawasaki behind him. With a sinking feeling, I look down at myself. In my rush, I hadn't really paid attention to what I was wearing. I'm just grateful Conner can't see my bright red face under the helmet.

It takes us barely ten minutes to arrive at Kyle's villa, forcing me to relinquish my comfortable spot behind the handsome man. Although I hadn't dared to press myself close behind him, I had cautiously wrapped my arms around him, holding on to him securely. Since he didn't seem to mind, I assume he was okay with it as well.

Conner parks the motorcycle on the opposite side of the street, and we stow away our helmets in the seat compartment. Before heading to the house, I quickly zip up my jacket enough to obscure the white Ghostbusters emblem on my black shirt. Then I follow the tall blonde up the wide gravel path to the entrance.

"Hey, Hawkins!" a voice calls out to us after just a few steps. A massive guy, whom I immediately identify as Kyle, approaches Conner and they greet each other with a hearty shoulder bump. I stand to the side, feeling somewhat out of place. It seems Kyle feels the same way.

"What are you doing here?" Kyle asks disdainfully, and I instantly regret coming along.

"Well, I think you two might recognize each other," my companion says with a smile. "Ethan is a cheerleader. I picked him up because he doesn't have a car."

"I know who he is," Kyle replies with a forced smile. "But I didn't know he'd be coming."

"Oh, my mistake," Conner says. "I thought you said the cheerleaders were also coming." Kyle's eye twitches momentarily. I bite my lip to stifle a grin.

"Well then," he says tersely, "enjoy yourselves."

Conner briefly touches my hand, signaling for me to follow him. The party is already in full swing, and I spot a few of my girls having a blast. On our way to the kitchen, I catch Chelsee's gaze. She looks past me, incredulously staring at the wide receiver. In a few steps, she's beside me, grabbing my arm.

"What the hell?" she blurts out, half offended, half amused.

"It's not what you think," I whisper. "We just met."

"But is he...?" she whispers back.

"No idea," I shrug. "But he's really nice!"

"Yeah, I can see that," she says, almost snarkily.

"No, seriously, he's really chill. Let me go, or he might think we're hooking up."

Chelsee grimaces, plants a kiss on my cheek, and then disappears into the crowd, tossing her long black hair, dancing away.

When I turn around a bit too energetically, I bump into my new acquaintance, causing him to accidentally spill half of his red cup's contents onto my leather jacket.

"Oh, shit," he exclaims, and I quickly wipe the drops off the smooth leather. "I didn't mean to do that," he says apologetically, looking at me sheepishly.

"It's okay, it'll dry," I assure him, about to take off my jacket when I remember my embarrassing shirt. I freeze mid-motion.

"What's wrong?" Conner asks, noticing my hesitation.

"The shirt," I say, embarrassed, and he grins.

"I actually think it's pretty cool," he remarks.

"You can wear it then!" I retort a bit too sharply. "You're not the gay black cheerleader who's now also outing himself as a nerd!" I snap.

"Okay," Conner simply says, grabbing my arm. He then pulls me along with him.

"Hey, what's this about?" I protest, but he doesn't stop until we reach a door at the end of the hallway. A girl is waiting in front of it, and as the door opens, Conner boldly cuts in front of her, pulling me along into the small room.

"Hey!" the girl protests, but he just calls out, "Sorry, emergency," and then closes the door behind us.

Here we stand in the bathroom, staring at each other. "What are you doing here?" I ask, bewildered.

"Wanted you to get undressed," Conner says, laughing. His white teeth gleam, and a few small dimples appear on his cheeks.

"Excuse me?" I gasp, completely caught off guard. I can't possibly strip down here and now.

"Your jacket is wet," he says, now reaching for my zipper without hesitation. I stand there, frozen, watching as his large hands slowly pull the zipper down. Carefully, he slides the jacket off my shoulders and takes it from me, placing it on the edge of the bathtub.

"Now your shirt," he says, and I blush.

"No," I firmly say. What is this going to turn into? Conner looks at me and then shrugs.

"Okay, my turn," he says, removing his jacket and then, in slow motion, his blue shirt. I can't help but watch. His skin is smooth and white, and the muscles on his chest and abdomen are well-defined and impressive. He must surely also frequent the gym alongside his football training.

A moment later, he stands shirtless in front of me, grinning. "Now you," he says.

Nervously, I inhale and grab the hem of my Ghostbusters shirt. With a fluid motion, I pull it over my head.

"Here," Conner says, his gaze briefly scanning my upper body, and he hands me his shirt. Finally, I understand! I give him mine, and we start to dress again. My shirt looks slightly tight on him, but fortunately, it's only noticeable upon close inspection. His shirt fits me perfectly, which might also be due to the fact that I feel incredibly comfortable in it. The scent it emits pleasantly fills my nostrils.

"Better?" he asks, seeing my blissful grin.

"Much better," I smile. "Thanks, man."