Page 64 of The Quarterback
Chapter Nineteen
Got any plans tonight?Nick was one closed door away when Colton texted him. Nick had disappeared into his office after lunch, telling Colton he needed to focus and seeing Colton shattered his concentration.
Colton watched the three little dots bounce and stop. Bounce and stop.My social life centers entirely on you. A better question would be, do you have plans tonight?
Colton bit his lip. He swiveled left and right in his chair, trying not to grin.I’d like to take you out on a date.
Silence. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and waited. Refreshed the screen when it started to dim. Waited some more.
What did you have in mind?Nick finally texted.
He couldn’t take Nick to a restaurant that could compare to Kimbrough’s steak house. He didn’t want to take Nick to a movie and spend two hours not interacting with him. He wanted… something that was them. Something that would make Nick smile. Something that was fun but heartfelt, too. Something that had little bits of things Nick loved, brought to him by Colton.
Two counties away, he’d discovered, the local high school held an exhibition game near the end of their county fair. Alumni came back to face off against the current team of freshmen to juniors. It was a scramble, flag football instead of tackle, with music piped over the loudspeakers in a stadium that was a rodeo ring the rest of the year. The fairgrounds surrounded the stadium, stuffed to the brim with bright carnival games and glittering midway rides, 4-H animals, craft exhibitions, and fair food. Sugar and neon and summer, and Texas high school football beneath the sodium lights.
It’s a surprise. :) Can I pick you up at five? In the kitchen at home?
LOL. Sure. This will be my first date in twenty-one years. ;)
I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait.
He saw the text bubble appear, saw those three little dots bounce, then fade. He waited, but Nick never texted back. Maybe he was on a call, or Jim had buzzed him, or an email had come in. Colton set his phone down and turned back to his own work.
He was a live wire for the rest of the day, humming to himself as he proofed slide decks and checked Kimbrough Oil Mobile network traffic coming out of the Permian Basin.
Nick had said yes. They were going on a date.
* * *
At exactly five p.m.,he held out his hand to Nick over the kitchen island. They’d slipped out early and headed home, and Nick had changed into jeans and a T-shirt when Colton had told him to dress casual. “Ready?”
“I hope so.”
Colton walked him down to the street, bypassing the turnoff to the condo’s parking garage and leading Nick to his truck. He’d ducked out for coffee that afternoon, taken an Uber to the jock house, and driven his truck back across town. Taking the Porsche tonight would have been fun, but for how he wanted things to go later on, he wanted more room. Unlike Wes, he had the extended cab in his pickup and a full second row of bench seats where he and Nick could—hopefully—stretch out.
He opened the passenger door for Nick. Nick grinned.
They talked on the drive out of town, Colton seemingly heading toward nowhere on a two-lane farm-to-market road. As soon as they hit the city limit, he reached across the dash and took Nick’s hand. He brought it to his lips, then laced their fingers together and laid their hands over his thigh.
The summer sun was still up when he pulled off the highway at the county fairgrounds. Dust billowed around the truck and caliche crunched beneath his tires as he wound the truck into a parking spot beneath an oak tree, a thick branch over the windshield providing a tiny hint of privacy. Before he climbed out, Colton leaned across the console and kissed Nick. “We’re here,” he whispered.
“A fair?”
“A football game.” He pointed to the stadium lights. “The Summer Alumni Annual Classic for…” He forgot the name of the high school and shrugged. Grinned. “We’ve never watched a game together.”
“Every game I’ve been to this past year, you were playing in.”
“Tonight, we get to watch a gametogether.”
Their shoulders and arms brushed as they walked, elbows and forearms swaying together and apart. Carnival games clattered and chimed and whirled, electronic clings and clangs and cymbals mixed with digital piano riffs and penny-whistle slides. Garish neon light warred with the pastel watercolors of the sunset. A Ferris wheel rose over the rodeo-grounds-turned-football-field, the blinking lights like falling stars in primary colors. One of those towering swing rides spun in front of the Ferris wheel, hurling riders in chairs over the midway. Buttered popcorn and spun sugar soaked the air and filled their lungs. Kids ran screaming from carnival game to ride to their parents, sticky fingers clutching impossibly huge stuffed animals.
Colton paid for their wristbands and, at the rodeo booth, their football tickets, then escorted Nick into the stands. They sat in the bleachers over the fifty-yard line, and they were early enough to see the cheerleaders and the drill team perform. Then they laughed with the rest of the crowd as a rodeo clown did a routine with a dalmatian dressed up in stuffed Texas longhorn horns. In the end, the dog jumped into the clown’s arms and licked his face, smearing his white-and-red makeup.
During the game, Colton leaned back and spread his arms across the backrest like he was getting comfortable. He was, but a bonus—or maybe the real reason—was that he could wrap his arm around Nick without anyone thinking twice. He let his hand hang down and his fingers trail over the curve of Nick’s shoulder blade, out of sight. Nick pressed his knee against Colton’s and left it there through the second half.
Watching a game with Nick was ten times as fun as he’d thought it would be. Nick watched football like players did: he watched the defense, not the ball, and they traded commentary through the sometimes serious, sometimes silly plays on the field.
The alumni, a team of fourteen men ranging in age from nineteen to sixty-three, rallied and beat the current high school team by a two-point conversion. Nick and all the other men over thirty leaped to their feet, cheering and roaring and screaming for “the old guys.” Four of the alumni had played with their cowboy hats on, and they waved their Stetsons to the crowd as they jogged in front of the bleachers. Colton was on his feet beside Nick, cheering and clapping, and then they both doubled over laughing when the dalmatian ran onto the field and stole the football.
