Page 18 of The Jock
I’ve got you.
What would Colton think if he knew Wes was making love to Justin? If he knew that Wes was gay? How fast would he recoil? How far would he pull back?
How could they ever share those half seconds again if Colton decided he couldn’t trust Wes? Trust was an all-or-nothing thing, Wes had found. He trusted the linemen to protect Colton, to open the holes for his rushing or his passing route. If he couldn’t trust one of the linemen, the quarter, even the half, could go down the drain. Colton trusted Wes. That’s why they were called the nation’s best duo, why newspapers called them the next Brady-Gronkowski duo. They were magic on the field. Unbeatable. Unstoppable.
Unless Colton found out the truth, and that trust, that bond, shattered.
“I can’t come out while I’m on the team. I can’t upset the dynamics.”
“Is that fair to you?”
“It doesn’t matter if it is. I’m part of the team. I choose to play. If I don’t want to, I can quit.” Well, not really, because then he’d lose his scholarship and every dream of his future. Justin would hardly fall for a college dropout with no prospects. No, he knew where his bread was buttered and how he had to play the game. Literally. “While I’m on the team, who I am isn’t important. I’m part of a bigger whole. And I’m okay with that.”
At least, he had been. Before he’d met Justin. Before he’d known what it was to be with a man, to know and to crave what had only been a formless desire.
“You’re saying if we keep this up, we’ll have to hide?”
He nodded. “I have to hide, yes.” For now, at least. Maybe only two more years. His throat clenched hard, and he tried to clear it, tried to push past the sudden blockage. “If that’s not what you want, I understand. You’re a lot braver than me and you don’t hide anything—”
“I’m not brave. I’m stubborn. I didn’t come out to my parents because I was proud or because I was trying to make a statement. I came out because I was sick of their fantasies about my future. Who knows, maybe I would have been a good lawyer, or a good VP of whatever sales, but I’ll never know. That’s stubborn. Maybe stupid. Not brave.”
“I think you’re brave. It doesn’t matter why you wanted to come out. You did. That’s more than I’ve been able to do.”
“Till here, at least.” Justin’s smile was sad. “How does it feel? Being out, here?”
“Awesome,” Wes breathed instantly. “Like a dream. I’ve imagined holding hands with a guy so many times. Walking down the street with him, kissing him in public. I didn’t know if it would ever happen. I didn’t know if I could find a guy who wanted me like that.”
“Why do you say that? Why do you think no one would want you? Have you looked at yourself?”
“I know what people see when they look at me. I’m big, I’m intimidating, I’m scary. I learned to stay away from everyone, especially at night, and especially girls. They call the police if I get too close. Or, worse, pull their mace out. Guys want to try and fight me to prove something to themselves or to their bros. My professors usually discount me. They figure I’m just a jock and I won’t have much to contribute anyway. Or they’re starstruck. And I’m a hick from West Texas. I knew how to ride and shoot before I learned how to read, and I’m still more comfortable out on the ranch than I ever am around people. That’s what people see when they look at me: big, scary, dumb hick in a cowboy hat.”
“Jesus, Wes, that’s not at all what I think when I look at you. Not even close. I mean, yes, you’re big, but you worked hard to put on that strength. And yes, you’re a cowboy, and I can’t even tell you how much I don’t usually like cowboys, but…” Justin was babbling, his words running together, gesturing with his champagne flute. He shook his head. “You’re not dumb. Not at all. You have a full athletic scholarship, and you’re not a general studies major. I bet your GPA isn’t anywhere close to 2.5.”
“3.8,” Wes said softly.
“See? That’s a lot better than my GPA. And you’re not scary. Not at all. Not in any way. You’re the gentlest man I’ve ever met.”
Wes shifted. He rolled his champagne flute between his palms. Watched the bubbles rise and burst.
“Hey.” Justin’s fingers landed on his wrist, squeezing softly over his pulse. “Fuck anyone who thinks that about you.”
He set down his glass and grabbed Justin’s hand, kissed his fingertips. Laced their fingers together. “I’d rather only do that with you.”
“Well, I’d rather that, too.” Justin grinned, but there was a shadow in his gaze again, something that flitted across his features before vanishing as he downed a gulp of champagne. He set the flute on the patio table and stood, holding out his hand. “Take me home, cowboy. I need you to ravish me. Make love to me all night long.”
Wes dumped a handful of euros on the table as a tip and took Justin’s hand, looping it around his elbow. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
Later,Justin lay sprawled across Wes’s chest as the Paris night breeze dried their sweat. He tangled his fingers in the fur on Wes’s chest, dragging his fingernails across his pecs, dipping into the valleys of his muscles as they caught their breath. Wes had one hand in Justin’s hair, the other stroking over Justin’s thigh, hiked up and thrown across his hip.
“I meant it,” Justin said. He spoke to Wes’s neck, his words tickling the sweat that lingered on Wes’s stubble. “About how I’d rather you only fuck me.”
Wes pulled back enough to peer down at Justin. Gold glittered in Justin’s gaze, Paris’s eternal reflection.
“I know maybe I’m reading into things, and maybe this isn’t more than what it is. Maybe this is just Paris, just a summer fling. And if that’s all it is, I get it. I mean, I’ll accept it. I’m not going to chase you at school. But—”
“Justin.”
