Page 15 of The Quarterback
Justin plucked a box of lo mein and a set of chopsticks from the bag and passed them to Wes. Wes dropped the PS4 controller and grabbed the food, then tugged Justin in to give him a kiss. “Thanks, mon amour. I’m starving.”
Justin cupped his cheek. “There’s tons more.” Then he backed off as Wes tore open the top and dove in. Justin pulled another box and chopsticks out and passed them to Colton. Colton looked left and right before setting the takeout on the arm of the couch as a makeshift table, since he couldn’t hold it and eat at the same time. “Crispy beef,” Justin said. “And there’s orange chicken, sesame beef, smoked tea duck—”
“Dibs on the duck,” Wes grunted around a mouthful of lo mein.
“Man…” Colton kneed Wes in the thigh.
“Dad, do you want some? I can pick you out a plate before these animals devour everything.”
“No, thanks. I’ll head home. I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to catch up on from today.”
Colton froze, chopsticks poised over his lap, and shot Nick a guilty look.
“I’ve got to put together the specs and info for you, too.”
His smile reappeared. “Thanks. I’m looking forward to diving in.”
Nick squeezed Justin’s shoulder as he passed. “And Justin? Colton needs your help. He needs a wardrobe upgrade for his internship.”
Justin’s grin turned wolfish as he peered around Wes, eyeballing Colton. “Really?” Somehow, he made the word five full seconds long, with as much incredulity as he could stuff inside the elongated syllables.
“No, no, no!” Colton sputtered, his mouth full of crispy beef. “I’m going to show you on my own! You’ll see. I’m going to impress you.” He waved his chopsticks at Justin. “I’m not gonna cheat.”
“Cheat?” Justin’s eyebrows shot straight up.
“Use an expert, like Nick did.” Colton stabbed another piece of beef and shoved it in his mouth. “I knew about plaid shorts.” He winked at Justin.
“Dad, not those again,” Justin groaned. “We talked about those.”
He held up his hands. “I learned my lesson. I’m not shopping without you. Hey,” he said. “What about Wes? How come he escapes the fashion critique?”
Wes turned huge, round eyes to him, chopsticks frozen in his mouth, cheeks bulging. The container of lo mein was almost empty.
“Dad, Wes has perfect fashion sense. He’s a cowboy, and he’s got authentic ranch style.”
“Jeans and a T-shirt?”
“And boots and a hat.” Justin wrapped one arm around Wes’s waist and leaned into his lover.
Nick laughed. He wasn’t going to come between Justin and Wes, not even in a joke. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He held out his hand toward Justin. Justin reached back, and they squeezed each other’s fingers for a moment. It was their version of a hug, something more than just words that spoke louder than a simple goodbye. It hadn’t felt like enough to walk away and say “See you later” when they’d first started hanging out again, but Justin wasn’t comfortable with a hug, either, so he started a simple, brief hand squeeze, and that had quickly become one of their things.
Justin gave him another squeeze before letting go, and for a second, it was like they were back in time and Justin was five and they were playing the good night game. “I love you,” he used to tell Justin. “I love you more,” Justin would say back, and he’d protest, saying no, he loved Justin more. And on and on, repeating until Justin descended into giggles and Nick bent over to kiss his son’s forehead and give his blankets an extra tuck. Was that really sixteen years ago?
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled away, nodded to Wes, waved to Colton. Wes smiled as he pawed through the bag for another container of food, and Colton returned the wave.
“Night, Nick!” Colton called after him.
He trundled through the house, waving to the guys clustered in the living room. One called out to him, “Yo, Justin’s dad!” and three others threw backward waves over the couch.
It was a short drive across town to his condo. He parked in his spot in the garage and then made his way up the elevator, spinning his keys as his thoughts yo-yoed between work and Colton and the internship and the afternoon he’d spent lounging in Colton’s ratty bedroom. Colton had the house’s master suite, which was larger than the others and had an attached bathroom, but Colton was still a college kid. There were still clothes on the floor, free weights piled in a corner, textbooks mixed with messy papers on his desk. Dirty dishes on almost every surface. The funky smell of college athlete mixed with spray deodorant.
A far cry from the ordered, modern neatness of his place. He stopped in the entranceway, gazing over the open-floor-plan condo he and Justin had picked. Mottled gray concrete walls, stainless steel in the kitchen. His oversized bedroom and bathroom were on one side of the living room, Justin and Wes’s guest bedroom and his office on the other. He could see all of the city, and their campus, lit up outside the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors along the back wall.
A far cry from his old life, too. Cynthia had liked the country clutter look, pieces from antique shops and Americana knickknacks. She’d been in charge of the décor for twenty years, and he’d never thought much about it. The house was pleasant, and it was home. He had his recliner and his remote control, and really, the backyard was where he chose to relax. His pool, his patio, his outdoor grill. Memories of playing with Justin in the water, teaching Justin how to swim, how to cannonball.
Now he had sleek leather furniture, minimal décor, modern end tables. The one nod to personalization was the digital picture frame he’d set on the kitchen island, where Justin emailed photos of him and Wes, and sometimes the rest of the team—and Colton—to play on a loop.
There was an appeal to the lived-in warmth of Colton’s bedroom.
