Page 39 of The Quarterback
Like right now.Colton’s fingernails scratched down his beer bottle, tearing the soaked label.
“I’ve felt that way for a while. I ignored it, though. I distracted myself with…” Nick sighed. Sat back. “Work. My car. Watching football. When Justin came back from Paris, I thought I could take Cynthia there, since Justin had such a great time. We could work on finding our spark again.” He snorted. “The only spark I ended up wanting to find was a lighter to burn the whole marriage down.”
“I understand Wes and Justin.” Colton flinched so hard after he spoke that his shoulder twanged, a lightning rod of agony knifing down his back. He forced himself to still, to not show the pain. Of course, that was the moment Nick chose to look at him, the first time in hours. He frowned.
“I get why someone would fall in love with a guy, or with their best friend.” Colton shrugged. He was trying to force his shoulder to stop seizing. “Because maybe they get each other, the way sometimes only other guys can?” Finally, his shoulder partially unclenched.
Nick blinked. He didn’t smile.
Colton’s cheeks burned. He felt raw, exposed. Like he’d just sliced himself open and held out his heart for Nick to look at, and all Nick had done was stare at him. But that wasn’t fair to Nick. He didn’t know how Colton felt. And he was deep in his booze, deep in his memories, deep in his pain.I wish I could make you feel better.
“I need to go to bed,” Nick finally grunted. His third drink was only half-finished. “I’m turning into an asshole, and I don’t want that.”
“You’re never an asshole.”
“I’m bitter, and I don’t want to be. I want to sleep this off and get tomorrow over with. And then flush her, and everything about what we were, from my mind. I only want to think about the future. I don’t want to think about her ever again.”
Colton nodded and stood with Nick. Nick wavered, slightly, and then steadied himself. He tossed a hundred on the table for a tip and headed out.
They walked back to the room, Nick uncharacteristically quiet and glum. Colton padded beside him, trying to roll his neck and stretch his back without upsetting his shoulder or his arm. Or letting Nick catch on that he was hurting.
“We need to do your stretches,” Nick said, pushing open their hotel room door. “Let me get some water and we can sit down. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”
Colton brushed his teeth and stripped to his boxers, gingerly, as Nick took his time in the other bathroom. He couldn’t hear anything, so he didn’t know if Nick was throwing up or crying silently. He waited on the couch in the sitting room and fiddled with his phone. He’d started a playlist for Nick on the drive, like a lovesick fool, adding songs Nick seemed to like from his own football playlist and others that were similar. Upbeat and happy, like maybe Nick needed to hear.
When Nick finally came out, wearing boxers and an undershirt, his eyes were red, but his face was dry. He sat beside Colton on the couch and held out his hand, palm up. Colton faced him and laid his hand on top of Nick’s. Nick’s hand was shaking.
Colton made it halfway through the first lift before his shoulder cramped. He couldn’t hide it this time, and he doubled over, gritting his teeth as he groaned.
Nick flew back, his eyes wide. “What did I do? Did I hurt you?”
“No. It wasn’t you. My shoulder is spasming. I clenched up in the bar.” He tried to reach behind him, tried to rub out his seizing back muscle. He couldn’t reach where the pain began. He squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in the floral fabric of the couch. “Oh my God…”
Cool hands landed on his shoulder and slid down his spine, all the way to where his back was trembling. “Here?”
Colton whimpered. Nick worked his back slowly, fingers digging into the trembling muscles until they released. Colton was left with an ache that felt like he’d been punched, but at least he could breathe again. He melted, pushing his cheek into the fabric next to Nick’s boxer-clad thigh. Colton could see each hair on Nick’s leg, trace the lines left behind on his skin from the jeans he’d worn that evening. They were so close Colton could have kissed him if he’d puckered his lips and leaned forward.
“Better?” Nick’s voice was thick, dark like the whisky he’d been drinking.
Colton nodded.
Nick’s massage tapered off, his hands lifting from Colton’s back like rainwater or sweat evaporating off him at practice. “I’m sorry,” Nick said. “I know you said I didn’t do anything, but… if you were tense down at the bar, I’m sure that was because of me.”
“I get it. Tonight is a shitty night for you.”
“It’s better with you here.”
He rolled his cheek against the sofa and looked up at Nick. Nick’s words would fuel a dozen more nights of dreams, more fantasies in their make-believe love story. God, he was so fucked.
Double fucked, actually, because he’d popped a boner when Nick’s hands landed on him, and if he sat up, his secret was going to be out. He stared up at Nick, not moving, as Nick looked at him.
“Want to go to bed?”
Oh, that didn’t help. Not at all. Colton took a deep breath. Held it. “Yeah. I’m just going to stretch for a few minutes out here. Go on without me. I’ll be in in a minute.”
“You sure?” Nick looked like he was willing to stay, to help Colton stretch his muscles. Every single one except the one Colton desperately wanted him to put his hands on, stretch it and stroke it until he shivered and shook and came apart.
“Yeah, totally. I’ll be fine.”
