Page 41 of The Quarterback
It was perfect. A day out of a fairy tale. He cut the engine.
Nick stared. His jaw had fallen open as Colton drove up, and he hadn’t breathed once.
“You said you wanted to go,” Colton said softly. “You said you never got a chance.” He shrugged. “Why not now? It can be something you can remember well, not something you have to throw away.”
Nick turned to him slowly, like his head wasn’t attached to his neck. He was still taking everything in, his gaze bouncing over the winery, the vineyards, back to the tasting room, out to the patio clustered with couples. Finally, looked Colton dead in the eyes. “Colton…”
Hehatesit. This was stupid. He was thinking about taking a woman here when he starts to date again. This is obviously a date, obviously romantic, and I fucked up.
He fiddled with the keys. Turned them over in his lap. “We can leave, if you don’t want to do this.”
“No,” Nick breathed. “This is perfect.” He reached across the console—like his dreams, like his fucking dreams, just like this, one of them reaching for the other—and squeezed Colton’s hand. “You do know me.”
He wanted to turn his hand over, tangle their fingers together. Wanted to tug Nick to him, press their lips together like they did in his dreams when they drove out to the edge of a lake and watched the sunset. He’d kissed Nick across his center console—like this, just like this—so many times he knew how the leather would sound when he shifted, when Nick shifted, when they leaned in.
But he didn’t, and Nick didn’t. Nick, instead, climbed out of the car. The door slammed behind him, leaving Colton alone, staring at the empty space Nick had left behind.
He hauled himself out and followed Nick to the tasting room, fixing a smile across his face. He was happy, really. He was with Nick, and that was the only place he wanted to be.
They sat at the bar, shoulder touching shoulder, and ordered three different wine flights and two cheese boards. Nick talked nonstop, telling him about this vintage or that, what grapes went into what wine, how long each took to make. What was a blend, what was a varietal. He taught Colton how to swirl each glass, how to let the wine breathe. How to describe the bouquet and the flavors. Told him which wines were full of tannins and which were fruit forward. Which ones were bitter and which were sweet. Which were thick and heavy on the tongue and which were light as a kiss.
One of the attendants came to check on them after an hour. “Teaching your son about wine?” he asked Nick.
“Nah,” Nick said. He knocked back the last of one of the tastings, swallowing it in one gulp rather than dumping it into the reservoir he’d told Colton was there specifically to pour old tastings into. “He’s not my son.” He rested his hand on Colton’s lower back.
“Oh!” The attendant’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry. My mistake.” He launched into his sales pitch, stumbling through describing the wine Nick had just downed like a shot. He disappeared and reappeared with a split of sweet summer red for them and popped it open, saying, “On the house. Enjoy.” And then he vanished, walking away so fast Colton almost saw colors bend behind him.
Nick bumped Colton’s uninjured shoulder with his own. He chuckled into another small taster, then reached for the complimentary bottle. It was one of the wines Colton had really liked. He’d liked Nick’s description of it, too, and how his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright and he talked with his hands. How his shoulder had become a comfortable weight against Colton, and how they kept looking into each other’s eyes as the afternoon bled on.
He’s not my son.That was true, but was it also… true? Was Nick saying something else?
Nick poured a glass and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed. Colton held his stare as he took a sip.Take his hand. It’s so close. It’s right there, on the counter. You could touch his fingers if you barely reached out.He was building his courage incrementally, fortified by summer red, as Nick popped honey-smothered brie and fresh peach slices into his mouth, when their phones buzzed. Nick whipped his out like it was in a quick-draw holster, beaming down at the screen as he chewed.
Colton loved his best friend, and he loved Justin, too, butdamn. They had the worst fucking timing.
They sent awesome photos, though. This time, Wes had snapped a picture of Justin practicing his dance moves. Justin was shirtless and in profile in Wes’s truck bed, and Wes must have taken the photo while sitting on the ground and looking up, nothing but big blue sky behind Justin. Justin was up on one foot, his other leg straight out behind him, arms outstretched, all of him looking long and lean and hard. His muscles were carved from granite, as firm as Wes had ever looked, though not as bulky. His jeans were low on his hips, showing off his defined hip bones and what looked like a new, ripped six-pack. He was tan, too, burnished bronze from weeks in the West Texas sun. His hair was pulled back in a messy French braid, loose strands blowing in the wind.
He looked like a work of art.
Nick’s jaw fell. His eyes boggled, and he looked from the screen to Colton and then back. “Holy shit.”
“Wow. He looks great.”
Nick hearted the photo right away. He seemed to struggle, though, with what to text.Stunning,he finally typed.You look amazing. That’s a gorgeous photo.
Thanks, Justin texted. He sent a heart.Ballet in the truck is different than ballet at the barre.Laughing emoji.
You look perfect doing both. Wes, dive-bombing the conversation with love for Justin. Colton grinned. He should pull out his phone. Text back. Pretend he and Nick weren’t side by side in a winery, of all places.
But then Nick pulled up his camera and said, “Smile,” and he snapped a photo of him and Colton together doing exactly what Colton had just thought they shouldn’t admit they were doing. In the photo, Colton had tipped his head toward Nick’s like he was with his damn girlfriend—boyfriend—and both of their faces were flushed, smiles stretching their cheeks as wide as they would go.
Nick sent the photo to the group chat before Colton could say, “Wait, let’s redo that.”
The response was immediate. Justin textedYou guys are together right now??? Where are you??
At a winery, Nick texted.We’re having a great time.
You know wine, bro?Wes sent the laughing emoji this time.
