Jalen sighed. Back to fake boyfriend land. Might as well make the most of it, and stomp on any hope of it being anything other than good acting.
Trevor had spent all his time lately feeling like he was walking out on the high dive, jittery and excited and no escape from those feelings bouncing around inside him. Having a pretend boyfriend was awful. Miserable. And, actually, kind of wonderful. Said boyfriend was currently standing much too close while they waited for Kaitlyn and the camera crew to finish setting up the same studio they’d had their first interview in. Jalen flipped through something on his phone while occasionally brushing Trevor’s arm. Today’s wardrobe was colorful polo shirts, and the nubby fabric of Jalen’s shirt sent little sparks all down his arm.
It was like torture via puppies. Imaginary puppies that were going to be yanked away as soon as Trevor got attached. While he had an ill-advised penchant for encounters he tried not to dwell on, he wasn’t the type of guy to crave a boyfriend. He’d had a brief crush on his best friend last summer, but it was one of those harmless fixations—he’d known that Lucas wasn’t really interested back and, more importantly, he’d known that a relationship wasn’t for him. It was like dreaming of being six-foot-two or of having liberal parents. The mere thought of walking around campus holding hands with someone gave him hives—no, dark, anonymous encounters were much safer. Even the self-loathing that followed was comfortingly familiar.
He knew it was stupid, but he felt unworthy of niceness. After a lifetime of being told there was something wrong with him—his height, his mannerisms, his voice, his sexuality, even his appetite—niceness, sweetness felt like being wrapped in a burlap blanket. However, far from Iowa, where the worst had already happened, his mind might be changing. He didn’t feel like spiders were crawling up his back when Jalen touched him tenderly. But then, a large part of that might be that every touch, every lingering look, every caring gesture was fake. Scripted. Orchestrated for the camera. They’d make nicey-nice all day in front of the cameras, then as soon as the camera guys left, they were back to sarcastic insults and long silences and awkward nights. That weird moment when they’d been at the piano together had been a fluke, nothing more. A figment of his imagination. Jalen hadn’t been about to kiss him and he hadn’t been about to let him.
He almost wished the directors would ask them to kiss again. It had been days, and still Trevor hadn’t been able to shake the memory of that kiss. And God, the way Jalen had looked at him afterward, same as he had after their impromptu duet, like Trevor had done something really, really right. Trevor was used to screwing things up—falling over things, being late, singing in the wrong key, and the myriad of other ways he tripped the light dorktastic, and Jalen’s approval felt like a plate of the double fudge brownies he could no longer eat.
That look had been in short supply, though, as they’d suffered the weird pace of filming—a lot of hurry up and wait. They’d rush to get to a filming only to have to watch the other two groups do their thing for five hours. The unpredictable hours and carb-laden meals were wreaking havoc on Trevor’s blood sugar, and he was running low on energy bars. And Trevor knew his own picky eating habits weren’t helping matters any. He wasn’t doing the best job at forcing himself to eat what was available. Not liking sauces or mixed-together foods like casseroles was hard when options were limited.
The meals were like super low-budget dorm food—lots of filler carbs like rice and pasta, some protein, a vegetable, and a dessert. High-budget Hollywood-blockbuster craft service department this was not—the catering folks all seemed to mean well, but they were working with limited funds and limited space to feed the large group of guys three times a day.
The jocks like the Keg Stand guys and Jalen were starting to grumble about the food, too. Catering had responded with more raw vegetable and fruit trays, but the Keg Stand guys tended to decimate those before Trevor even got to that part of the table. Some guys had walked to a store on Fourth after dinner last night, but he’d been subjected to a long Carter lecture on effort.
A lecture Carter looked more than willing to repeat as they waited for Kaitlyn to start some sort of Q&A they’d been summoned for. The air-conditioning in the room was set to January in Fargo, and Trevor rubbed his arms, waiting for the signal to sit on the stools where at least they would be under lights.
“At least we’re not trying singing again.” Carter shook his head, like Trevor and Jalen were naughty kindergartners incapable of taking basic directions. He lounged against the wall, idly kicking the backpacks at their feet.
Great, more squashed energy bars.
“Hey! My phone’s in there.” Jalen yanked his bag away from Carter’s foot.
“Did you guys post on social media?” While nicer, Carson had his own agenda, and that was the single-minded acquisition of followers. “I posted a picture of the sub from lunch.”
After discovering that lunch was a king-size bed pillow of a roll wrapped around a single slice of ham, Trevor had been too busy sneaking off to the bathroom to check his blood sugar to care about posting. Nothing about him was interesting enough to share. Jalen had pictures of himself doing one-armed push-ups, and Carson and Carter had about two dozen kissing pics, but Trevor mainly posted when the studio told him to—the promo pictures and canned questions and whatnot.
“That’s a great idea! Selfie time before we start!” Kaitlyn looked up from talking to the camerawoman. She walked over to where they stood and produced a glittery pink phone. “Let’s all lean in now!”
And thus, Trevor found himself squished against Jalen for the umpteenth time in two days. Even when he was silent, Jalen radiated presence. It wasn’t just the jacked muscles or the deep voice; it was the confident attitude and the air of authority. And when he was behind Trevor, an arm casually draped around him, it took every bit of willpower Trevor possessed not to sink into the embrace.
He wanted Jalen to push him into the wall and lean his full weight into Trevor, until Trevor had to shift his face to the side, until he was forced to push back with his ass . . .
“Smile!” Kaitlyn put an end to his daydream with her chirped order.
Once they were on their stools in front of the cameras, Kaitlyn graced them with another smile—this one less duck face and more feline.
“Now we’re doing a fun segment where you’re going to confess something no one else knows about you—not your fellow group members or your boyfriend or your friends.” Her voice always put this little emphasis on boyfriends—like the verbal equivalent of a winking emoticon. “And naughty is fine!”
Carter coughed. “Trevor doesn’t have anything naughty to confess. He’s our little choirboy.”
Carson laughed uncomfortably, but Kaitlyn nodded enthusiastically, like this type of not-quite-benign ribbing was exactly what she wanted for the camera.
“Hey. There’s plenty about me you don’t know.”
“Yes, tell us.” Kaitlyn leaned forward.
With the camera pointed at Kaitlyn and Trevor, Carter took the opportunity to roll his eyes. In that moment, Trevor was sick of being the good guy—the bland, wholesome guy his college churned out in droves, the type one could count on not to make waves. If only they knew . . .
“I’m not a virgin,” he blurted. It was his deepest secret, the one not even his best friend knew, but Kaitlyn and Carter simply sighed heavily in unison.
“Cut,” she said. “Hell-oo. You have a boyfriend.” She motioned at Jalen, who sat next to Trevor, totally impassive in his expression. “We know that. Or at least we should. Try again.”
No way was Trevor confessing to his club outings or his predilection for mixed drinks after that. “I eat spray cheese right from the can,” he mumbled instead.
“Oh whatever,” Carter said before launching into an R-rated story about a Mexico trip.
Whatever indeed. He could give a flying fig about Carter’s story. He needed Jalen’s confession—needed it as much as he dreaded it. Maybe that was why he’d
blurted out his own. He’d needed Jalen to know the truth about him, and he refused to analyze exactly why that was.
Chapter Six
@NextDirectionShow We’re learning *all* the secrets from our guys! Can’t wait to share on this week’s Web episode! Be sure to subscribe!
@StandOutJalen Man I need to get a workout in. #longdays
Jalen was pissed. The stupid confessions bit was only the latest thing to make him feel trapped—like his shirt was three sizes too small with an itchy tag. He couldn’t express his real opinion about any of this shit, not without getting Dawn in trouble. Grinning and bearing it, however, was getting harder by the minute.
“So Jalen, what’s your confession?” Kaitlyn turned her attention to him after they’d had to suffer through Carson and Carter’s matching stories of hijinks on vacation.
“I touched my first dead body when I was seven.”
“Oh. My. God. Could either of you guys take this seriously?” A muscle leaped in Carter’s jaw. Was he for real? Most days Jalen felt like the only one taking this seriously.
“Cut,” Kaitlyn chirped. “How about let’s not go all morbid, m’kay?”
“Or gross,” Carson added, for once abandoning his stance as the neutral leash holder of Carter. “We want to be known as the group of nice.”
“Remember—cute guys in love.” Kaitlyn made a little calm-down gesture that showed off her nail art.
“I snuck out to Wreck Beach when we had downtime a few days ago. Worked on my tan.” Jalen flexed, careful to keep his voice absolutely disinterested. It was the truth. He had gone to the nude beach that wasn’t too far from the group house, but it was out of desire to escape the fish bowl of the other groups and the constant presence of the cameras. Mama Ivy had raved about visiting it back in the day, about how peaceful and centering it was. He’d needed a good run, and fulfilling his curiosity was as good a motivation as any. Of course he could bake all summer and not get any darker, but the tanning-bed twins wouldn’t get that.
“That’s perfect,” Kaitlyn crowed. “Now let’s roll tape and you tell us all about your little adventure.”
“Unless you hooked up in the woods,” Carson interrupted nervously. “I think we should at least give the appearance of committed monogamy. Our target audience wants to believe in the promise of love.”
Oh for crying out loud. Really? Really? First he had Trevor insisting at every turn that Jalen was straight, now he had Carson and Carter assuming he was some sort of thug ass man ho, as likely to swipe their wallets as to grab the nearest warm body and hump away.
“I think I can handle this.” He gave the rest of them a look. The kind Mama Kern used when she was done putting up with excuses and wanted something done now.
He shared his stupid story, then beat feet to get the hell out of the studio the second Kaitlyn dismissed them to catch a van back to the group house.
“You know, we need something provocative for our next video,” Carter said in the parking lot. “We need to amp up the sexy to make up for our vocal shortcomings.” He gave Trevor a nasty look.
“But not too sexy,” Carson added. “Wholesome naughtiness.”
“Is there any other kind?” Carter joined Carson in a musical laugh, heavy on the affect.
“How about more dancing? Like twerking?” Jalen spoke fast, before Trevor could try to defend himself against Carter’s constant sniping. Moving would be good, would get him out of his head a bit. “Vocals aren’t the problem, but we could work it a bit more.”
“Excellent idea. How about you in hot pants while we—”
“Excuse me.” Jalen turned on Carter, getting all up in his face. “Do I look like your trained monkey? I meant all of us dancing.”
Carter made a dismissive gesture. “It’s not like you’re adding much to the music. You providing the visual interest—”
“Yeah? You want me to show you interesting?” The angry part of Jalen, the part he worked so hard not to let out, was in charge now, as raw and uncontrolled as he’d been in eighth grade, with a mouth that got him in nonstop trouble until Mama Kern and Mama Ivy came along and taught him that his fists were not the answer. Right then, though, all Jalen could think about was how nice his fist would feel connecting with Carter’s nose.
“Van’s here!” Trevor squeaked, cutting through Jalen’s angry fog and reminding him of all the reasons why he couldn’t knock Carter around.
“Fine.” Jalen pushed past the rest of them, claiming the backseat to sprawl in, faking sleep until they were back at the house. In reality, his body wasn’t anywhere close to sleep. He needed a workout like right this fucking moment.
“I’m going to walk to the store,” Trevor announced, his tone a bit uncertain. Hell. Jalen couldn’t tell if it was an invitation to join him or more of a warning to not.
“Oh, I need more sparkling water!” Carson said, a bit too heartily. “I’ll come with.”
Well, that settled it. “I’m going to work out.”
Jalen didn’t even spare a glance for the others as he headed for the home gym. But he found all four Keg Stand guys already in the small room, all three machines and the exercise ball claimed by the overgrown frat guys. And a cameraman. Fuck.
“Hey, Stand Out! Dude. You wanna see who can burn out first?” the largest of the Keg Stand guys, who was doing biceps curls, shouted at Jalen.
Fuck no.
“That would make a fun segment,” the camera guy said.
“I . . . uh . . . just remembered something I left upstairs,” Jalen said lamely. He was done with cameras for the day. Done. No more optional segments. No more fun. Once he arrived back at the room, he stripped off his wardrobe-provided yellow polo shirt and skinny jeans and traded them for exercise shorts. And fuck a shirt. Or shoes. He put on his armband phone holder and pumped his most upbeat workout mix up to max volume on his phone, pulled on his headphones, and got to work launching into his favorite bodyweight routine.
Space was tight, but he found his zone with burpees and mountain climbers and push-up intervals pretty quickly. He worked up a good sweat and was humming along to RuPaul when he noticed feet to his left.
“What the fuck?” Jalen said. He stopped his latest round of dragon push-ups and glared at Trevor, who lounged against the door, sipping a diet soda like he might have been there a while.
Jalen pulled off his headphones and let them dangle around his neck. “Well?”
“Sorry. I’ll let you finish.” Trevor’s cheeks were as pink as the roses in the front of the house.
“Never mind.” Jalen grabbed a towel from his drawer. “Done anyway. I’m gonna shower.”
He turned to find Trevor way too close behind him, blocking his path to the bathroom, still studying him like he’d never seen a dude get his CrossFit on before. Trevor’s almost academic gaze shifted to something far hungrier, something Jalen could readily identify. Want. Somehow that I-want-to-devour-you gaze made Jalen way more uncomfortable than all the disdain Trevor usually tossed his way.
“Fuck you and your staring. Either blow me or get the hell out of my way.” It had been a day, and he couldn’t keep the hostility out of his voice.
He expected Trevor to recoil, expected him to call Jalen on his rudeness, but instead Trevor licked his lips. “You’d like that?”
Trevor’s heart thumped against his chest, a drum line of nerves tapping out a set worthy of a halftime show. He hadn’t had a plan when watching Jalen—enjoying the free jock workout porn had kind of short-circuited his reasoning. But then Jalen—nice, affable, best-fake-boyfriend Jalen—turned mean. Hostile.
Not unlike the jocks at Mount Monticello, who had only found Trevor good for one thing. And then he’d made the same rude suggestion as those guys and boom, the rest of Trevor’s logic burned up in an electrical storm of lust. He might not know how to handle a nice fake boyfriend, but he knew what to do when alone with an angry jock.
Jalen didn’t answer but moved slightly, so that he was leaning
against the bunk bed. He still held the towel, but his movements were unhurried, his expression full of heated curiosity—full lips slightly parted, eyes darker and more hooded than usual, and, best of all, they were intent on Trevor. None of Jalen’s usual casual disinterest.
Taking a calculated risk, Trevor glanced down, and sure enough, Jalen’s gym shorts were tented. Holy fuck, Jalen was packing. Trevor was well-acquainted with exactly how little gym shorts hid, but he’d never wanted to salute the manufacturers of athletic wear quite this much. However he’d intended his rude suggestion, Jalen liked the idea. A lot.
Trevor took a step closer, inhaled sharply. Man, he smelled so good. Earthy. And he didn’t shove Trevor away. Instead, the impressive-looking erection straining against the silky fabric made Trevor just bold enough to go through with this. “Want to taste you,” he whispered against Jalen’s ear.
“Not a terrible idea.” Jalen lifted one eyebrow, exactly the amount of smug Trevor preferred. Didn’t matter what Jalen’s usual flavor was, he wasn’t going to turn down getting his dick sucked, and Trevor had it on very good authority that his mouth was better than most girls’.
Or maybe he had a knack for finding hard-up jock boys. Whatever. Didn’t matter how Jalen rated him, as long as he let Trevor at the impressive bulge already tenting his shorts.
“Me working out turn you on that much?” Jalen’s voice kept up that indifference, but a vein twitched in his neck.
“Maybe. You going to let me?” he asked, trying to sound as sure as if he had two vodka sodas in his system and the thrum of club music running through him.
Wait. He wasn’t imagining the sound of a club mix. From the headphones around Jalen’s neck, a rough, thrumpy beat softly filtered out. The heavy bass line was perfect for what Trevor wanted to do to Jalen.
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