Page 33 of The Quarterback
“I started going last year, after Justin came home from Paris. When he got back, it was the most out and open he’d ever been with us—with me—and I loved it. I thought if I could figure out how to be a better dad to him, he might keep being open like that. I was traveling down to Houston constantly, and one time I was down here, I decided to go to the gayborhood. I found a quirky little bar that I fell in love with. And I keep going, every time I’m down.”
They were still raising and lowering Colton’s arm, five seconds of lift, five seconds of drop. He felt his palm go clammy against Nick’s, cold sweat prickling on the fractional spaces where they weren’t touching.
“I know you have to maintain your public image.”Hold. And lower. Last set. Five… four…“No one cares ifIgo to a gay bar. ESPN might make a story out of you going, though.” Nick lowered their hands all the way to the bed. He slid his palm out from beneath Colton’s and then perched beside him on the mattress. “If you want to stay and relax in the room while I go, that’s fine.”
“No,” he blurted out. “No, I’ll come with you.”
“You sure?”
It was like a repeat of when Nick had asked him to dance at the gala. Jesus, the Nick from back then felt like a stranger now, like he and Nick had only been acquaintances who knew the same people. Six months, and so much had changed between them.
What can a year do to a man?
Well, it could for damn sure make him not care about the haters, or the rumormongers, or any fucking news reporter writing bullshit articles. He’d learned that, and so had the rest of the team. “Yeah, I’m sure. It doesn’t matter if anyone sees or writes about it. I don’t care about that crap anymore.” He shrugged. “Once was a thorough lesson.”
He looked down at himself, at his bandana-blue suit pants and his pecan-brown dress shoes. His white button-down was partially unbuttoned, and he’d ditched his tie and jacket, like Nick. “Do I need to change?”
“Nope, it’s casual there. You’re great. Which sling do you want to wear?”
Bars meant crowds. People who could run into him. “Terminator sling.” He pulled it back over his head, and Nick helped him with the straps. Five minutes later, they were off, walking down the sidewalk in the slowly cooling summer night. It was more humid than he was used to, and his sling turned sticky, the straps clinging to his shoulder and the back of his neck and making a sweat ring around his waist. When Nick pulled open the rainbow-painted door of a hole-in-the-wall bar, Colton was ready to dive inside and park himself beneath an air conditioner vent.
Nick led him to the bar and pulled out a stool for him. The place wasn’t super packed, but it had a healthy crowd. Conversations rose in waves, laughs and murmurs and the vibrant tones of stories being shared. Groups of men clustered around high tops and bar tables and booths along the back wall. Some were friends, and some were obviously on dates, holding hands and sitting snuggled together.
Eyes followed them, tracing the lines of their shoulders and the path they walked from the door to the bar.
The bartender hurried toward Nick. He was a mountain of a man, as tall as Colton, broad shouldered and muscled, but with a hefty beer belly, too. He wore a plaid shirt and had a rainbow bandana folded and tied around his shaved-bald head, and his dark beard was thick and wiry. “Nick!” he said, holding out his hand. Nick took it, and the bartender leaned over and kissed Nick’s knuckles. “Welcome back. I’ve missed you!” His eyes shot to Colton. “And who didyoubring tonight?”
“This is my friend Colton.”
“Friend?” The bartender’s eyebrows rose. He smirked. Leaned forward and braced an elbow on the bar top. “Or…friend?” His eyebrows wagged up and down.
“Just a friend.”
The bartender pouted, then held out his hand for Colton. “I’m Brad. And I’dloveto be your friend, too.”
Colton laughed as he shook Brad’s hand. “I’m down with that. I like friends.”
“Oh, honey, every guy in here wants to be your friend.” Brad winked and started pouring beers, two drafts of Shiner. Nick must go there enough that Brad knew his order. Though pouring a Shiner in Texas was like throwing a dart at the side of a barn. It was almost a guaranteed win. He slid the beers across to Nick and then Colton. “Enjoy, hot stuff. If you need anything, just whisper my name. I’ll be right back.” He walked away, waving his fingertips.
“Normally, Brad is butteringmeup.” Nick shook his head as he sipped his beer. Brad was pouring drinks for another couple at the other end of the bar, but he glanced back toward Colton. When their eyes met, he winked and blew a kiss.
Colton’s cheeks burned. He looked away, focused on Nick.
“You uncomfortable?” Nick asked.
“No, no. Not at all. I’m not uncomfortable around gay guys.” He sipped his beer and wiped off his foam mustache. “Wes and I have played together for almost four years. We’ve showered together, changed together. Stood around naked together and shot the shit. I’ve hung out with him while the trainer worked on his groin muscles or when he was full-on Donald Ducking it around the training rooms. Shirt and nothing else.”
“Images of my future son-in-law I don’t need.” He laughed. “Wes has a different personality than Brad, though. And there’s a difference between being friends with someone who is gay and being hit on.”
“It doesn’t bother me. None of that bothers me.” He took another sip of his beer, then frowned. “Actually, you know whatdoesbother me? How come Wes never hit on me? Aren’t I a catch?”
Again, Nick laughed. “I don’t think you’re Wes’s type.”
“Okay, that’s true. Wes only has one type: Justin.”
“That makes me happy to hear.”
“I’ve never seen Wes look at anyone—anyone—like he looks at Justin. They’re the definition of soul mates.”
