Gym was one of the classes in the curriculum I loved. Except when it involved an activity I was no good at. I would be lying if I said I could touch a volleyball without having it slip between my hands, like it had somehow gone through a metamorphosis and turned to sand.

And right now, I was in the middle of a game of volleyball.

Unlike the other activities, like yoga, where I could ogle at Parker---since we had the same gym class---volleyball had me too busy trying not to hit, or miss, or generally involve myself in the game, while also trying as hard as I could to participate because the coach had her eyes on my every move.

It was a struggle to try to process my thoughts from the confusing yells that came, the constant reminders to keep my hands up when I was in the front, the harsher alerts to keep them close together when I was in the back.

I was deep into one of those internal struggles that I didn't see the ball come right at me. I didn't see Parker dive for it, hands clasped together in an attempt to save it from hitting me or the floor. I didn't even see if he succeeded or not. But I felt.

Fuck, I felt when he crashed right into me and we both tumbled to the floor. I felt his back press against my chest, nostrils filling with the scent of sweat and whatever cologne he used. His scent. Eau de Parker Thompson.

In the few seconds before Parker rolled off me, his body heat seeped through his top to mingle with mine. It was my undoing.

Holding my breath, I prayed for the fire that spread through me to die, quenched before it could set me ablaze. It didn't. And I'm sure Parker felt the evidence poke him in the fraction of the second where he finally stood.

Especially when he froze halfway, looking at me with his face set in an expression I couldn't make out.

Parker knew he felt it. Kill me now.

I remained on the gym floor, a boulder that refused to move even when Coach noticed me in that position, knees pressed to chest, heat in my face hidden beneath layers of perspiration and light brown skin.

She shouted. The game seized. Everyone turned. All eyes on me. Parker's.

And it got worse. I could feel all the blood drain down. Down, down into the light nylon gym shorts until I felt the distinctive presence of an impossibly hard hard-on rub against my thigh. God no.

"---a thing I said, Gonzalez?"

Coach said something?

Oh, right. That I should get my ass off the floor.

But I remained, unflinching, unmoving. She was walking towards me now, pulling along with her the eyes of everyone in the gym. Closer, closer. I still stared from the floor. I couldn't stand. Not if I would risk every one seeing the tent I had probably pitched.

So I cried.

No, not in the way you think. Not full on bawling with blinding tears and a heaving chest. But I cried out in pain, shame, told her I had hurt my leg when the only thing that hurt was my bruised ego.

Her eyebrows turned upwards as she regarded me, disbelief splotched across her features. It took a while before she sighed out, shoulders falling. She probably misplaced the fear in my face for pain.

Not that I wasn't in it. Pain still strained against my leg. Pain still refused to bow to fear. Pain stood proud because Parker was still there, still watching me with the softest brown eyes, full of pity for the lie that I told. Amusement, maybe? For the pretence I hid behind?

Whatever it was, it didn't stop the heat. My hard-on just kept growing. If only Parker would stop looking at me like that, I could actually focus on conjuring up my best Boner-Be-Gone images in my head.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes, Coach."

She stood there, waiting for me to get on my feet. Eventually, I lifted my upper body with my hands, transferring all my weight onto one side of my body in an attempt to block her---or anyone else's---vision of my... problem.

My legs were positioned in a jaunty angle as I began to lift myself, facing away from the game which had started again. I was grateful that someone else had been selected, and I hurried to get the hell out as fast as I could.

A hand caught mine before I could shuffle away. Rubber-like material rubbed against my wrist. Hair ties. I immediately knew who it was.

"You okay?" Parker asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I said, ensuring that my head was the only part of my body which turned with my neck. "Just need to rest my foot."

"Right." He let go, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

That was all I needed to confirm that he knew. I would never live this down.

With a small limp I hoped looked convincing, I moved towards the boys' locker room. It took a lot of effort not to break into a sprint, but I made it without any incident.

And I spent a good amount of time under the cold spray of the showers. Not that I burst into tears or anything.