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asks.
    “It means that I bet if you flexed a little more, you might not be killing yourself running.”
    “Uh…” Cam folds his towel over his arm, not really sure where he’s supposed to go with this conversation. Is Nate implying that he needs to… take care of things more often? How would he know how much Cam does? If he did, he’d probably know that lately, things really have kind of… ramped up. Cam’s not precisely sure why, other than the fact that that itch—that something that’s been driving him to run more, to push himself, to work it out—has been getting worse lately.
    “Get laid, dude,” Nate leans forward to spell it out. Cam feels his face heat up and looks away. While they’ve talked about how Cam’s never had a girlfriend before, he’s never admitted to Nate that he’s a virgin. He’s not ashamed of it, but neither is it something he’s ever wanted to talk to someone about.
    “I have to shower,” is all Cam says, toeing on his shower shoes.
    “Flex it, dude,” Nate shouts after him, laughing as Cam shuts the door with a little more force than is necessary.
    * * *
    “When are you going to talk to him?” Nora asks one night, curled next to Wren on the couch while they watch a rerun of Law and Order: SVU . She’s painting her nails a lovely peach color. Wren shrugs.
    “I’ll probably wait until the end of the semester,” he muses. “I won’t have to worry about seeing him every day, then.”
    “What is this going to be, another one-time thing?” Nora caps the bottle and sets it on the table carefully, propping her feet up so that the nail polish won’t smudge.
    “You said you weren’t going to judge.”
    “I’m not,” she says. “I’m just trying to understand why you’d spend months teasing each other for one night.”
    “I don’t know.”
    Nora sighs and squirms, and he can feel her irritation washing over him.
    “Stop that,” he says sharply.
    “I can’t help it. I’m feeling what I’m feeling,” she snaps.
    “Well, feel it less strongly, please,” he says. He knows he’s being irrational and also knows—though he’s loath to acknowledge it—that her irritation stems from concern. What she wants for him are things he doesn’t need—a companion, love, something steady and affirming. Wren closes his eyes and breathes and tries to find a way, again, to explain why those things just aren’t on the list.
    “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and lays her hand on his arm. “I didn’t mean to judge. I just worry.”
    “I know.” He leans his head against the couch and looks at the ceiling. His eyes feel tired and fuzzy; it’s late and they’ve been marathoning this show for a while now. Wren has work to do and, while he knows that watching “just one” episode of SVU somehow sucks them into watching a whole run of shows, he hasn’t wanted to leave the couch and the warmth of Nora’s familiar body next to him. “It’s not that I plan on it being a one-time thing, you know.”
    “Oh?”
    “I mean, it could be. We’ll see. I just want to be sure I have an out if things don’t go the way I want.”
    Nora laughs a little. “Which rule is that?”
    “Number two.” He smiles wryly.
    “How many rules are on this list now, anyway? Wren’s ‘how not to get burned’ list, I mean.”
    He pokes her. “That’s not what it’s called, and it’s none of your business.”
    Nora picks up the remote and begins to flip mindlessly through channels. It’s late, and if one of them doesn’t find a way to break free, they’ll be stuck ‘til midnight. Finding nothing, she puts down the remote.
    “I think I’m gonna go to bed, honey,” she says.
    “All right.” He catches her hand as she stands and gives it a squeeze. It’s a small apology, but she understands him.
    “I love you, Wren.” She puts her hand lightly on his head.
    “You too.”
    “Enjoy your chase,” she adds quietly in parting.
    “Oh,” he says a moment later, to no one in the