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headmaster’s secretary, called after Christy one day and Michael just happened to be nearby, he wouldn’t even know Christy’s first name.
    Michael wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts and was surprised to find that his usual confidence had fled him. He looked around and flexed his fingers as he wavered in indecision, carefully weighing his options. There was no one left on the field. Man up, Michael. Get your ass in gear. Sometimes Michael wanted to choke the little voice in his head. Blowing a long, nervous breath, he climbed the bleachers, watching the placement of his feet as he headed in Christy’s direction.

CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    “H EY ,” Michael greeted as he reached the top bleacher.
    Christy sat perfectly poised, almost majestic, as he looked up at Michael. His large, crystal, cyan eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, and Michael knew, without a doubt, he’d never seen eyes so pretty. He set his bag aside and sat down. Not too close to Christy, but close enough to send his mind on a high-speed tour of his dreams. He slammed the door on his imagination and looked out over the field in an effort to calm his jangled nerves. Normally he could talk to anyone, but now…. Christy was so damn pretty…. He’d never been so tongue-tied, so nervous, so damn… scared. Oh my God, Michael, knock it off. The guy’s probably as straight as an arrow. That’s right, stupid little voice, bash all my hopes and dreams. Shut up and tell me how to start a conversation with someone who doesn’t speak.
    After several moments, Christy’s soft touch on Michael’s arm gave him a start and sent heat coursing through his veins. His body did awkward things. Exciting things. Embarrassing things. He pulled the sweatshirt from his neck and shoved it into his lap.
    Christy offered Michael a small notepad with a paint-spattered hand. Michael saw crimson, cerulean, and something that might have been lemon. He took the pad from Christy’s outstretched hand. There, written in nearly perfect print, was Thank you for saying I’m pretty .
    Christy had overheard their conversation. Worse yet, now Christy knew Michael was gay. Crap! Nothing like accidentally outing myself. Michael’s pulse raced, his heart pounded in his throat, and he didn’t dare look at Christy. Be easy, Michael. It isn’t the end of the world. Who was the stupid little voice kidding?
    Michael reread Christy’s words, and understanding slowly dawned on him. No way is the guy gay. No way could I be so lucky. Michael had no idea how to tell and silently cursed his gaydar for being so freakin’ lame. He couldn’t even tell his own kind. Bleak. Michael breathed deeply and fought to organize his addled mind. “You aren’t….” His voice cracked. So much for cool. He cleared his throat. “You aren’t freaked that I’m gay?”
    Christy reached over and scribbled No .
    Drawing on his flagging courage, Michael lifted his gaze. Thick, white-gold ringlets framed Christy’s saintly face and cascaded down his back. Michael took in the high cheekbones, the perfect, Cupid’s-bow lips, and the smooth golden skin. Christy had a face that would make an angel weep. Propriety aside, Michael wanted to ravish him. Damn, Michael, get a freakin’ grip.
    As if he’d read Michael’s thoughts, Christy’s eyes twinkled with knowledge. He took the pad from Michael and scribbled You are hot .
    Michael flushed crimson, his throat went dry, and he turned away. Oh. My. God. He thinks I’m hot! Mustering what was left of his feeble courage, Michael turned back to Christy, his eyes drifting to Christy’s perfect lips. Lips he’d dreamed of kissing a thousand times over. He rubbed a sweaty palm on a thigh and dared to say, “You’re gay.” He made it a statement, not a question, hoping to sound more confident than he felt.
    Christy nodded once.
    Yes! A grin hijacked Michael’s mouth, and he felt positively giddy. “Cool.”
    Christy’s expressive eyes twinkled again.
    “Do you