The Quarterback by Tal Bauer

Chapter Ten

“The man with the plan!”Riley Kimbrough didn’t speak. He boomed, his deep Texas twang filling up his entire penthouse office. Unlike Nick, Kimbrough didn’t share the top floor of his skyscraper with anyone. He was the top floor.

He wore Wranglers, a pearl-button cowboy shirt, a bolo tie with a miniature bull-skull slide, and the biggest cowboy hat Colton had ever seen. It nearly went from shoulder to shoulder. Kimbrough was a big man, too. Colton had to look up at him, and he could count on one hand the number of men he’d had to look up to since he’d shot skyward during puberty. Riley Kimbrough was taller, wider, and heavier than he was, with a belly that said he liked fine food and better booze.

Kimbrough grabbed Nick’s hand and squeezed. His grip engulfed Nick, and he tugged him close, slapped one hand on Nick’s back, grasped his shoulder. It was supposed to be affectionate, but Colton tried not to wince.

“Riley, good to see you.” Nick held the handshake as long as Kimbrough did. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Colton Hall. He’s my intern this summer.”

Kimbrough’s massive body shifted to face Colton. His gaze was like a lion’s, studying Colton all the way down to his bones, cataloging him. “Oh, I know all about Colton Hall.” He held out his left hand for Colton to shake, the same as Jim, Nick’s boss, had. He wasn’t awkward about it, either. “Hell of a bad break, son. Hell of a bad break. How long are you strapped in this contraption?”

He’d put on his Terminator sling for the drive, since, though he was healing, three hours in a Porsche was still three hours with a whip-tight suspension. He’d braced his arm with a pillow for the drive, and that had helped. So had the predrive painkiller.

“Another two weeks before I can raise my arm on my own. Then it’s six weeks of physical therapy to get on my feet.” Six weeks, at a minimum.

He saw Kimbrough calculating it, running the dates. Doing the math Colton was refusing to do. “Damn, son. Football camp starts about that time. You’re going to have to push hard on that timeline, aren’t you?”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“You’ll get it done. You’re a damn fine quarterback. Texas ain’t my team, but I have loved watching you play.” He turned his attention back to Nick, sliding him a conspiratorial grin. “Now, how’d you manage to get Colton Hall here to intern for you this summer? You’re good, but you ain’t that good, Nick!”

Nick laughed before Colton could protest. “We know each other outside of football. Off the field.”

“Oh, yeah? And you saw an opportunity, didn’t you?” He winked at Colton. “Nick here taking you to see all his top football-loving clients? You dazzling everyone with stories from the gridiron?”

His jaw dropped. “Uh…”

“Colton is working very hard,” Nick said, rescuing him. “He’s doing a phenomenal job with everything. This is his first trip with me. I wanted him to see how smoothly a big rollout can go.”

Kimbrough laughed again, tipping his head back as he hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “Nick, you are one smooth son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. You ever get tired of slinging cell phones and mobile networks, you come work with me. You could sell Jesus to the pope.”

After that, Nick and Kimbrough settled in at the conference table in his massive office, in front of a view that overlooked all of Houston. Colton could pick out landmarks from his youth, even see all the way to Sugar Land if he squinted. Hi, Mom.

At three, Kimbrough’s assistant came in with a delivery from Starbucks—including his and Nick’s regular orders, right down to the extra caramel on Colton’s macchiato.

They broke for dinner a little after five. Colton’s head was spinning, and he’d taken so many notes he’d filled up two yellow legal pads and was working on a third.

Kimbrough took them to a steak house that felt like it was too expensive to even look at. Tuxedo-clad waiters took their suit jackets as they walked in, greeting Kimbrough and even Nick by name. They were escorted to a huge private dining room, and then a flurry of servers came and went with glasses of champagne for each of them, a bottle of wine for Kimbrough—something they already knew was his favorite—and a bourbon on the rocks for Nick. Appetizers appeared without anyone ordering. One server leaned in close to Colton as Nick and Kimbrough were talking about oil leases and production levels and asked him how he wanted his dry-aged steak prepared. That was the extent of the menu.

It was the best food he’d had in his entire life. He had to struggle not to groan as he chewed, not to let his eyes roll back with every bite. After they’d cleared their plates, coffee and after-dinner drinks arrived. Nick and Kimbrough were still talking, though they’d moved on from business to family. Kimbrough had gobs of children and what sounded like herds of grandchildren, and he had stories to tell of each and every one. Then he asked about Justin.

“He’s wonderful,” Nick gushed. “He’s doing great. He and his boyfriend are out at his boyfriend’s ranch all summer, and they look like they are having the time of their lives. More fun than I’ve ever had, that’s for sure.”

Kimbrough held up his wineglass for a cheers with Nick. “To our children’s happiness. There is nothing in the whole world better than seeing your child smile.” He turned to Colton. “No kids for you yet, son?”

“No, sir.” Colton flushed. He hadn’t had this much to drink in a while. And it was different drinking fancy stuff than it was pounding Bud Lights in the backyard with the guys. Champagne, two glasses of wine, a whiskey on the rocks with Nick. His head was starting to feel like it could float away. “I don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“What?” Kimbrough squawked. “Damn, son, we need to get you out more. Man like you should have them lining up.”

He flushed again and looked down as Kimbrough and Nick laughed. “I mean—” He stumbled around, looking for the right words as both older men turned teasing eyes on him. “There’s plenty of girls who will hook up with me. Or go out with me,” he said quickly. He was with classy men. They probably didn’t do hookups. Nick certainly didn’t. “I haven’t found a girl who will stay.” He shrugged. “Or who I wanted to stay.”

“You will,” Kimbrough said. He chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “You’ll find someone who knocks your socks off. It will be like a freight train slamming right into you. Bam!” He slapped his palm on the table. Colton jumped. “The day I met my wife, I thought I had been shot. No damn reason to think anyone was shooting at me. It’s just my heart stopped and I couldn’t breathe, and all I could think about was how I never wanted to let this woman go. I wanted to be her mister for the rest of my days. I was a praying fool for the next two weeks, begging God to let her think I was a decent kind of guy. He must have put in a good word for me, ’cause I couldn’t do a damn thing right in front of her for the first year we were together. She turned me into a damn fool, I was so struck with love for her. She still can make me stupid with just a look.”

They both laughed, but Nick quieted first. He stared into his own whiskey glass, at the ice melt and the dregs, and he swirled both around with a twirl of his wrist.

“You’ll find that again, Nick.” Kimbrough squeezed Nick’s shoulder, a slightly softer version of his violent hello from that afternoon. “You had a beautiful boy with her, but your future lies with someone else. Your hearts didn’t beat together. That’s the hardest damn thing about growing with someone: you gotta make sure you keep your hearts beating together and that you really know each other. It’s too damn easy to go spinning off on your own and leave each other behind.”

“That’s exactly what happened. We grew so far apart—”

Another squeeze. “You’re gonna find someone, Nick. Guy like you? I’m surprised someone hasn’t found you already.”

They wandered out a few minutes later, and Kimbrough was picked up by his limo while a private car and driver waited at the curb for Nick and Colton. Nick and Kimbrough hugged, Nick thanked Kimbrough, and Kimbrough waved him off. “Don’t thank me. You’re gonna save lives out on my rigs with your network, so I should be thanking you. See you in a few weeks, Nick. Bring Colton back with you when you come down.”

He and Nick sank into the back seat of the car, enjoying the peace and quiet for the first time in eight hours. The driver pulled away as if he already knew where to go, and, since everything had been meticulously arranged so far that day, Colton figured he probably did. Eight minutes later, they pulled up to their hotel, a quaint bed-and-breakfast-style converted mansion in Houston’s Midtown neighborhood.

“I was sick of Marriotts and Sheratons and Holiday Inns,” Nick had said when they checked in. “I wanted to go places with more character. More substance. I started looking for smaller, local places. B and Bs. This is my favorite, out of all the places I travel.”

It was a gorgeous hotel. Old World luxury mixed with southern class. Houston had more cultural synchronicity with New Orleans than it did with Dallas or Odessa or West Texas, where their cowboys were. The hotel was awash in Gulf Coast Gothic. Magnolia-strewn iron verandas and French doors opened to an interior courtyard full of vines and night-blooming lilies. They were sharing a suite: a bedroom with two queen beds and a sitting room.

Nick dropped his jacket on his bed and pulled off his tie. “What did you think?”

How did he answer that? In one day, he’d experienced more than he thought could be possible in the whole internship. Kimbrough, larger than life. Nick’s private mobile networks, which he’d helped invent, deployed at oil fields and drill rigs across the state.

He’d thought, when he was younger, that business guys were only about making money. That they sold shit to sell shit and get rich. He, in the infinite wisdom of youth, was going to break free from that cycle and do what he loved. He was going to follow his heart. He was going to play football.

He felt like a giant pile of selfish asshole about that now. Nick wasn’t selling his mobile networks to get rich. He was trying to help people. Kimbrough said Nick was going to save lives, bring greater safety to the rigs. Jesus, that was way more than Colton could ever imagine doing. Football seemed small, suddenly, compared to Nick’s job.

“I’m still taking it all in,” he finally said, undoing his own tie and pulling it free before starting on the straps of his sling. “Kimbrough is wild. He’s an experience.”

“He is.” Nick grinned. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows and unbuttoned the top two buttons. He came over to Colton’s bed and helped him unwind the Terminator sling from around his waist and over his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Drained,” he said. “But not tired. My brain is in overtime.”

“I know what you mean. I can get that way after a day of meetings. Thinking of potential opportunities and ways to expand.” Nick held out his hand, and Colton laid his palm over Nick’s for his arm lifts. One… two… three… “If you’re interested, you could come with me to this little bar I go to when I’m down here.” Hold for one. And lower… five… four… three. “It’s a few blocks away. In Montrose.”

Colton’s eyebrows shot up.

“You recognize the neighborhood.”

“Yeah.”

“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 if I go 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 did you bring 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’d love to 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 buttering me up.” 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 what does bother 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.”

“I hope they’re doing okay out there.” Nick spun his pint glass on the bar top. That morning, Justin and Wes had texted and said they were heading out on a multiday trail ride with the herd and likely wouldn’t be able to text for a few days, so not to worry. Colton had texted from Nick’s phone for him while he drove, typing what Nick dictated. For them to be safe and careful and have a good time, and that he’d miss their photos and looked forward to seeing pics from the ride. Then Colton texted from his own phone, a simple Cool, bro. Kick ass out there. Have a blast.

Neither of them mentioned their trip to Houston. Or that they were sitting right next to each other. Again.

“I’m sure they’re having a great time. They’re probably camping out under the stars. Probably being ridiculously romantic, too. I’m sure Wes is laying on that thick cowboy seduction. Under the stars, on top of a mesa, no one around for miles?” He made a face like it was obvious to everyone what Justin and Wes were up to.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. “That’s my son!”

“Yeah, but he’s grown! They’re basically engaged, I mean—”

“Still my son!”

“It’s a good thing you never spent the night at the jock house, that’s all I’m gonna say.”

Nick groaned and buried his forehead against his arm on the bar top. “I mean, I know,” he said after Colton finished giggling himself silly. “But Justin will always be my little boy.”

They stayed until after midnight, until they looked at their phones and realized how late it was. Shocked, Nick paid their tab, much to Brad’s dismay, and they made the trek back to the hotel. “We didn’t need to stay down here tonight,” Nick confessed. “We’re just driving back in the morning. But I like seeing Brad. I like the hotel. When I was setting up the account with Kimbrough, I was down here all the time. Brad was very kind to me when I first wandered in.”

“Does he know about Justin?”

“Oh, of course. I’ve told him all the stories. And he’s a huge sports fan. He probably recognized you, but he’s too polite to say anything. He keeps a lot of secrets.”

“So he’ll just flirt with me instead?” Colton grinned.

“Exactly. Brad’s an outrageous flirt. He’s also a great guy. He owns that bar. Having a safe place for his community to have fun was his lifelong dream, he said.” Nick shrugged. “We’ve talked a lot. He’s listened to a lot of my heartaches over this past year, and he’s been a good friend.”

“Thanks for taking me. And introducing me to him.” This wasn’t just a casual night out, Colton realized. Wasn’t just a stop for a few beers after a long day. Nick had shown him something that mattered to him, something—and someone—important to him. He felt like he’d glimpsed buried treasure inside Nick, something no one else knew existed.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

They were quiet at the hotel, taking turns getting ready in the bathroom before climbing into their beds. Nick checked his phone again, likely scrolling up and down through the message thread with Justin and Wes. There’d been nothing since the morning. He set it facedown on the nightstand. “Sleep in as late as you want. We’ll have breakfast and then hit the road when we feel like it. And if you want, we can drive out to Sugar Land.”

“I don’t want,” he said softly. “Really, we shouldn’t go there. It would just be a hassle. For her and for us.”

Nick stared at the ceiling. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Colton shrugged and picked up his phone. “I’m cool with it. It is what it is. I’m going to play a little bit before falling asleep. I won’t keep you up, will I?”

Nick rolled to his side, facing away from Colton. “No, I’ll be out like a light in a few minutes. Good night, Colton. See you in the morning.”

* * *

Lips tickledthe skin behind his ear. Ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck. He felt an exhale. Heard someone whisper, Colton.

Hands roamed up his arms—his unslung arm, his fully functioning arm—from behind, before a pair of arms wrapped around his chest and hugged him. Colton, the voice said again, right before a mouth pressed against his pulse, sucked on his skin—

He was on the field, and he’d just sent a pass sailing over the defense, soaring forty yards to land in the basket of Wes’s arms. Wes took one, two, three steps, and then he was in the end zone. A game-winning touchdown. The crowd was screaming, the fans going wild. He was screaming, too, hands over his head, arms pumping, He turned to the stands, searching for the one face he was desperate to see—

He was driving up a Texas highway, miles of pavement unfurling between two ribbons of the Piney Woods and an unending sea of grass. Blue sky, blue like his suit; green woods, like cascading emeralds; waving grasses in a hundred shades of gold. He was in the passenger seat, laughing, smiling, his head tipped back. The engine was growling, and the car leaped ahead, tires chewing up the asphalt like they had the whole world to drive. He reached across the center console and took the driver’s hand—

He was on Nick’s patio, and they were sharing a bottle of wine as they sat side by side. Nick was turned toward— No, he was setting his wineglass down on the table. He took Colton’s glass, too, and then took Colton’s hand. Laced their fingers together. Colton’s heart pounded, a summer thunderstorm unleashed on the plains, as Nick tilted his head, smiled—

They were inside, in Nick’s kitchen. Palms together, Colton’s right arm rising and falling as Nick counted. Another five seconds, and Nick lifted his arm, then stepped close, set Colton’s hand on his shoulder like they were dancing. Nick wrapped his arms around Colton’s waist. Colton, he breathed, brushing his nose against Colton’s.

Colton gasped, and his eyes fluttered closed, right as Nick leaned in—

He was back on the field, and confetti was falling, the stands emptying. Everyone had their loved ones with them. Wes and Justin and Graham, Dante and his mom, Art and his mom and dad, Josh, Patrick and Orlando with their girlfriends and their parents. Everyone had someone, so many people who loved them, but he was picking through the crowd, searching, first left, then right, trying to find—

Colton.

He turned, and there was Nick. Waiting for him. Smiling at him. Smiling because of him.

He tore off his helmet and let it go. It never hit the grass, just disappeared. So did the crowds, the people clogging the field between him and Nick. Everyone faded until there was only Nick standing on the fifty-yard line and Colton, sprinting toward him, heart going wild.

He skidded to a stop. He reached for Nick, his hands trembling. Nick reached back, his own touch landing on Colton’s sweat-soaked face. His fingers were cool, ten points of heaven that brushed over his jawline. Colton laid his hands on Nick’s hips. Tugged. Pulled him close, until Nick’s body was against his—finally, fucking finally, oh my God—and he could feel every inch of Nick’s legs, his hips, his stomach, his shoulders, fitting perfectly against his own.

Nick cradled his cheek. Stared into his eyes. Colton, he whispered. He didn’t have to say anything else. It was all there in his eyes, in the way he looked at Colton. Pride and joy, and even…

Even in his dream, Colton didn’t dare think the word.

Colton’s fingers squeezed Nick’s hips. He leaned in, and in, their faces close together, so close he could count Nick’s eyelashes. See faded freckles on his nose. Feel his breath against Colton’s lips, his cheeks.

“Nick,” he breathed. “I want you so badly.”

He crushed their lips together as if Nick had Colton’s heart hidden inside him. He pulled Nick closer, wrapped his arms around him—

He jerked awake.

Gasping, Colton hurled himself backward, scrambling to the far side of the bed. He’d been hugging a pillow like it was a person. Jesus, he’d been on top of the pillow, humping it, and he was so fucking hard it hurt. He curled forward, hissing as he pushed his palm on his raging cock.

The hotel room was dark, only the alarm clock and a slight gap in the closed curtains casting any light. It was enough to trace the outline of Nick’s body. He was snoring softly in his own bed. He’d rolled and was facing Colton, one hand tucked under his pillow and the other grabbing the edge of the sheet.

What the fuck was that? He’d been dreaming… about Nick?

No no no no no—

Something opened inside him, like a drain plug pulling loose. He tried to breathe, clawing at the bed as he gulped for oxygen that wasn’t there. It was like he’d been sacked, like he’d taken a linebacker to the center of his pads. He was free-falling, about to slam into the grass.

He wasn’t attracted to men. He wasn’t. He knew that. He’d been in locker rooms for half his life, had been naked around more men than he could count. He’d never looked at a guy and thought, Yep, that’s what I like. Never trailed his eyes over a strong back and tight ass and long legs and wanted to put his hands on the guy or bury his face in the cleft of his cheeks. Never looked at another man’s cock and desired. He knew, in ways other guys might not, that he wasn’t attracted to men. He’d had ample opportunity to find out.

He’d never had a sex dream about a guy before.

Nick setting his wineglass down, taking Colton’s hand. Their fingers sliding together—

Nick’s breath on his lips as he stepped into Colton’s arms, Colton’s hand resting on Nick’s shoulder.

Nick’s body against his own, pressed so close, head to toe, Colton’s arms wrapped around him—

He groaned as his cock jerked. Fuck, he was going to come. He was going to come from just thinking about Nick, never mind touching himself. He pawed at his shorts, yanked the drawstring, and managed to get the waistband of his boxers down before he came. He shuddered, biting his lip, and fell to his side before rolling to his belly as he soaked the comforter with his come.

Nick’s face filled his mind. The curve of his smile. The imagined taste of his kiss—

He squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in the sheets. His hips moved on their own, humping the mattress, chasing the last of his orgasm. Nick. Nick’s kiss, Nick’s body. Nick’s arms around him.

The way Nick looked at him.

No no no no no—

He wasn’t attracted to men, but he’d just come to the imagined feel of Nick in his arms and the dream memories of Nick loving him, of the two of them taking a wildly different turn in their friendship. He clenched the sheets in his fists.

Didn’t Reddit memes and Twitter retweets joke about things like this? I’m not gay, but twenty bucks is twenty bucks. I’m not gay, but I was drunk. Colton had had two beers with Nick at Brad’s bar. The walk over there had sobered him after dinner with Kimbrough, and two beers over four hours was never going to touch a guy his size. He couldn’t even blame alcohol.

I’m not gay, but if the right guy comes along…

Nick.

He rolled his face against the sheets and stared across the divide between their beds. Nick was still snoring, oblivious to the earthquake that had ruptured Colton’s world. The hurricane bearing down on him.

I’m not gay.

But Nick.

He licked his lips and let himself feel it. Let himself feel the dreams he’d had, replaying the moments that had flown through him like photographs fluttering in the air. Taking Nick’s hand in the car. Holding Nick’s hand on the patio. Holding Nick to him as they did his shoulder stretches.

His cock, still half out of his boxers, twitched.

Kissing Nick. Wrapping him in his arms. Their bodies pressed together, clothes and football pads between them but still so close he could feel Nick’s body against his own. Feel, maybe, a hardness that answered his. He’d never felt a man hard against him, and he didn’t really know what it was he was dreaming about.

He knew what he thought it was. What he wanted that feeling in the dream to be.

Nick wanting him, like he wanted Nick.

Running to Nick after the game. Searching for Nick in the stands. Searching, hoping, wanting, craving—

How had this happened? How had he fallen for Nick Swanscott?

Well… nonstop togetherness probably had something to do with it. His weakness, too, for a man to turn to him with a smile and a word of praise and a teaspoon’s worth of attention. But he’d had hundreds of coaches and Boy Scout leaders and even teachers and professors he’d spent more time with than he had with Nick, men he’d looked up to, men he’d bloomed for when they fed his parched soul. Why had this never happened before? Why now?

Because he liked Nick. Goddamn, he liked Nick. He liked who he was. Nick was the best person he knew, and he’d had more impact on Colton’s life in six months than anyone else ever had.

Did he have father issues? Objectively, yes. But was that what was happening here? Were wires getting crossed between his admiration and affection for Nick and the empty places where a dad should have been in his life? No, he didn’t think so. Nick wasn’t his dad, and he didn’t want Nick to be his dad. Nick was a great father, and Colton idolized how Nick loved Justin with everything he was. But if he let himself think it, what he wanted from Nick was nothing close to fatherly.

Nothing close at all.

He wanted Nick to crave him like he craved Nick. He wanted Nick to kiss him, run his hands over Colton’s body. Wrap his arms around Colton’s waist, bury his face in Colton’s chest or the center of his back. He wanted Nick’s world to be full of Colton, like Colton’s world was full to the brim with Nick.

He wanted Nick to fall for him, because Colton had already fallen for Nick.

He stayed facedown on the bed as the truth settled inside him like a new set of bones, a new network of muscles and veins and ligaments laid over the old, facing a truth he should have recognized long before. How much of a fool was he that he hadn’t realized what he was feeling for the man until right now?

Eventually he peeled himself off the bed, wincing as the cool air of the room hit his exposed cock. He ran his hands over the mattress, the comforter. Wet spots. Fuck. He fumbled in the dark, heading for the bathroom, and stubbed his toe on the way. Nick snorted but didn’t wake. Colton didn’t dare turn on any lights, and he wet a washcloth, rinsed his crotch and belly, wiped down his shorts, and then scrubbed at the blankets and mattress by feel. He slid back into bed just after four a.m. Nick was still sleeping and had rolled to his back, one arm thrown over his head.

He could go to Nick, crawl into his bed. Straddle him, gently lower himself until he was on Nick’s lap. Pull the sheet down. Lean in and brush his nose along Nick’s jaw. Over his nose, too, smiling as Nick’s eyes fluttered open and he saw Colton was there. Nick would reach for him, slide his hand into Colton’s hair. Say Colton and then wrap his hand around the back of Colton’s neck, tug him down until their lips met—

No, Jesus. Nick wouldn’t do that at all. Never in a million years.

His eyes blurred until he couldn’t see Nick through the kaleidoscope of his tears. He stayed on his side, facing Nick, catching watery glimpses of the man every time he blinked.

It wouldn’t happen. It would never happen. Nick was the worst possible man in the world for him to have fallen for. Not only was there no chance, there wasn’t even a sliver of hope. Nick was straight. Nick was older and more experienced than him. More refined. Nick had the world in the palm of his hand.

Nick was Justin’s dad.

Kimbrough’s twang came back to him, the words he’d casually thrown across the table after dinner. My heart stopped, and I couldn’t breathe, and all I could think about was how I never wanted to let this woman go. I wanted to be her mister for the rest of my days.

His own heart ached, and his lungs burned, still trying to drag in nonexistent air. He wanted this summer to last forever. Wanted to always start his mornings with Nick’s smile and shared cups of coffee, for every hour to be filled with Nick’s voice and his laugh and the crinkle of his eyes when he turned Colton’s way. Wanted Nick’s face to be the last thing he saw each night. I want to be your quarterback for the rest of my days.

His tears fell in slow drips until the sun rose and spilled rose-and-gold-flecked light across their bedroom. Then he dried his eyes on the pillowcase and turned his back on Nick. Maybe he could get an hour of sleep if he stopped staring at the man.

Of course, when he fell asleep again, Nick was waiting in his dreams.