Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 6

effort that must go into honing that strength. It was doubtful one sugary drink would have any effect on such dedication.
    The petite waitress turned to Brad, not a hint of recognition in her eyes. "For you, señor?" she asked politely.
    "Ah, yeah, give me a sec," Brad said, reaching for the menu propped between the hot sauce and the metal napkin dispenser. Scanning it quickly, he said, "I'll have the carne asada burrito with guacamole and a Modelo." He glanced at Cam to see if he'd say anything about the beer order, but the other man kept his own counsel. "Oh, and I'll try one of those sour cream chicken enchiladas, too." With a nod, Rosa went to put in their orders.
    Returning the menu to its spot by the bottle of green Tomatillo sauce, Brad looked up and caught Cam's eye. "Cam, really, thanks a lot for asking me. I really appreciate it."
    Cam appeared surprised by the sincerity in Brad's voice. "Hey, don't mention it." Cam tapped Brad's hand with a finger, causing the hair on the back to tingle. He met Brad's gaze, and Cam's full lips lifted in a lopsided smile as he added, "You can get the next one."
    Brad was surprised by how easy it was to agree to that idea.
    ****
    And that was how it started. The de-rivaling and you're-a-dick-reversal of the relationship between sports media's favorite terrible twosome, Brad Jameson and Cam Hunter, began with a pile of hole-in-the-wall Mexican food and a live performance by the Boss himself, Bruce Springsteen.
    Unexpectedly, the "next one" that Cam had so casually mentioned came pretty quickly after that. Shortly after the Thanksgiving holiday, Brad's friend from California was launching an upscale Mexican-influenced eatery in the Gramercy area and had invited him to try out the place during the soft open. The second the word "Mexican" had hit Katja's ears, she had shuddered. So, of course, Brad couldn't help but remember his last Mexican meal, which was shared with Cam Hunter, his unlikely fellow Mexican enthusiast. With thoughts of that surprisingly enjoyable night out in Philly, Brad had barely hesitated a second before texting Cam, who had promptly responded with enthusiasm.
    Soon, dinner at La Rosa Amarilla morphed into hanging out a couple nights a week to shoot the shit and emailing and texting to rib on each other and share funny pictures and thoughts while on the road. It was a strange turn of events, Brad admitted, but he slid into it like an old glove. Once he realized the idiocy in always acting the way he was expected to act– by the media, by his team, by himself, even by Cam himself– he realized he should just go ahead, be authentic, and act the way he wanted to act.
    Since becoming a starter as a rookie, Brad had concentrated so much on his game– and, he supposed, New York's "scene – that he hadn't made any connections with male friends outside of the casual locker room exchanges and team outings. Sure, besides the models-and-bottles that had filled his evenings, he had the usual acquaintances and "people," but nobody who really understood where he was coming from– or who didn't seem to want something else from him in return. It was like Cam Hunter filled a hole that Brad hadn't realized was even there in the first place.
    Of course, the media had picked up on their growing bromance immediately. Although the paparazzis compulsion for stirring up trouble meant one outlandish headline after another, Brad acknowledged that he had finally– finally – grown past the need to rile them up. Coming out of college and the NFL draft, he'd been a cocky hot head, eager to make an impression. He'd spent three years feeding into their portrayal of his and Cam's intense rivalry that he hadn't taken the time to evaluate how he actually felt– until now. And he'd been stupid. He admitted it. Or, as Cam himself might say, he'd been a dick.
    Now that he'd admitted it, he realized that Cam Hunter really was a decent guy. Sure, his saint-like personality and choirboy optimism made the rest of them all look like complete delinquents in comparison, but was it fair to hold it against the man for being so damn good ? It's not like being a Boy Scout was necessarily a bad thing.
    In those weeks following that fateful rivalry game, their two teams continued to jockey neck-and-neck for position at the top spot in the divisional standings as the league's regular season moved towards what would likely be a nail-biting finish. Brad had to admit that, since he and Cam had