The Friend Scheme

by Cale Dietrich

  “Whoa, calm down, I won’t.” He leans against the open door of the fridge. “It’s about time you started sneaking out; I’ve been doing it for years. Dad’s a heavy sleeper, he won’t hear the car. You want some beers?”

  “Huh?”

  “For the party? I could be convinced to give you a six-pack. You’ll need to pay me back, though.”

  “Er, yeah, sure. That’d be amazing, actually.”

  Drinking was already part of the plan. Jason said he was bringing some beers, and he asked me to Uber to the stadium instead of driving, so I could drink. Luke opens the fridge and hands me a six-pack.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “No sweat. Just remember, condoms if you hook up. Every time, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “And don’t you dare drink and drive. If you get wasted, call an Uber, or me, and I’ll come pick you up. Anytime, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks. Well, see ya.”

  “Have fun.”

  I carry the beer outside, where the car I ordered is already waiting. The window slides down.

  “Matt, right?” asks the driver.

  I nod and get in the car.

  * * *

  Jason is waiting for me in the parking lot of the stadium.

  He’s leaning against a fence. Beside him is a six-pack of beer, a baseball bat, a black mesh bag filled with baseballs, and a tee.

  I want to take a snapshot of him. American boy, in his element. I know there’s a lot more than that going on with him, but that’s what he looks like right now. A corn-fed golden boy.

  I thank the driver, then grab the beers and climb out.

  “Hey,” he says. “You brought refreshments?”

  I kick the door shut. “Luke gave ’em to me.”

  “Nice.”

  I point at the stuff. “We’re going to play baseball?”

  “Not exactly. We’re just going to hit a few balls. It’ll be fun, trust me.”

  “Those sound like famous last words.”

  He laughs. “They sure do.”

  We talk up to the front gate. The entire area is surrounded by a chain-link fence. It probably wouldn’t be that hard to climb over, so I wonder if that’s what he’s got in mind. But he pulls a key from his pocket and opens up the padlock. He pushes on the gate, and it swings open, the metal screeching.

  “You have a key?” I ask.

  “Yeah, man.”

  “How?”

  “Coach gave it to me. He wanted me to practice here whenever I have free time.”

  “You come here?”

  “I do, yeah.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Isn’t that lonely?”

  He shrugs. “Tonight it’s not.”

  We reach the diamond, and he puts the tee down. It’s nearly a full moon, so the stadium is pretty bright, even though the spotlights are dark. The stars glow. It feels kind of epic for the two of us to be alone in such a massive space.

  I hand Jason a beer, and then I take one. We crack them open.

  I watch as Jason drinks his, finishing it quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he drinks. He lowers the can and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, then he throws away the empty can. It skitters across the ground.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll pick them up after.”

  I finish mine, and throw it away, too. I’ve never drunk beer that fast before. He takes a ball from the mesh bag and puts it on the tee. Then he picks up the bat, twirls it around a couple of times, and offers it to me. I take it.

  “Have you ever done this?” he asks.

  “Not since middle school.”

  “Just do what your instincts tell you. I’ll correct from there.”

  “All right.”

  I move up to the position and do a practice swing. It feels good, so I pull back, and hit the ball as hard as I can.

  It flies a couple of yards, and then drops down onto the dirt.

  “Good, right?” I say.

  “You’re very cute, but dude, no. First things first, you’re holding the bat wrong. Two hands on the handle, like this.”

  He stands behind me, looping his arms around me, so his hands are also on the bat.

  “Like this.”

  He corrects my grip on the bat. Next, he puts his hand on my chest, straightening me up. Then he nudges my front foot forward. God, these little touches are enough to overwhelm me.

  “You want to stride out a little and keep your hands back. That’s steps one and two.”

  “Sure.”

  He moves his hand down to my hip. I stand very still. “Now, when you go to hit, you explode this out, toward the ball. When you do it, your hands should follow.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Sorry, all right. Like, this.”

  He gets into position in front of me, and then swings his hip forward. He does it so fast I know there’s no way I’m going to be able to do it.

  “What’s next?”

  “Step four is throwing your hands toward the ball. Like this.”

  Again, it’s deceptively complicated for such a small movement, but maybe that’s because I’m so freaking untalented at sports. Still, I want to at least try.

  “Then swing. That’s five. And six is extension through the ball. That’s how you get lift.”

  “Okay.”

  “And step seven is follow through.” He finishes his swing, then pokes me in the chest with the end of the bat. “And that, my friend, is how you hit a baseball.”

  “Got it. I think.”

  He puts a ball on the tee.

  “You ready for this?” I ask.

  “So ready.”

  I get into position, moving my foot forward. And then I swing. The baseball makes a really nice sound, and it lifts off. It doesn’t go much farther than last time, but it felt a lot better.

  “You’re a natural,” he says.

  “Don’t be condescending.”

  “I’m not.”

  I give him my best death stare.

  “Okay,” he says. “Maybe I was, just a little.”

  I laugh. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done, if you’re such a pro?”

  “I can do that. Prepare to eat your words, Miller.”

  I hand him the bat, and he walks up to the tee. I put down a ball and then stand behind him. His stare fixes, and he goes through the motions once. Then he gets into position, and swings.

  Thwack.

  The ball goes flying, up and into the darkness. If it were a real game it’d have to be a home run. He’s so good, it’s hot as hell.

  I whistle. “How do you do that?”

  “Practice.” He strides up to me. “Lots and lots of practice. You impressed?”

  “I am, actually.”

  We take turns hitting for a while, breaking the hits up by drinking beer. It honestly feels like another perfect night. I’m starting to like the taste. Soon, I’m pretty drunk, and am barely focused on hitting the ball. I’m concentrating on Jason, and how cute and hot he is. He loves baseball so much, it’s infectious. And his shirt fits snuggly against him. His muscles … I must say, they’re so great. He’s sweaty now, making his shirt slightly transparent, and it’s stuck to his back. I find myself staring at his lower back, at the muscles around his spine.

  So hot.

  Once we’ve hit all the balls in the bag, I go to retrieve them. I collect them all and then make my way up to him.

  He smiles. “I’m just going to go grab something, give me a second?”

  “Okay?”

  He goes back to his car. I sit down on the first row of the bleachers and pull out my phone. Cassidy has sent me a link to a cat-fails video she thinks I should watch. I know I’ll like it, but later.

  Jason returns, and he’s holding a picnic rug.

  “Is this weird?” he asks. “I was thinking we might lie down on it or something? I thought it could be fun, but we don’t have to.�
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  “I love it,” I say. “I mean, it’s not weird at all. Same wavelengths, remember?”

  “Right.”

  He throws the rug down in the middle of the diamond. And then we both just stand there.

  It’s not very big.

  “I guess we should just lie down?” he says.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  So we do.

  We’re both on our backs, looking up at the night sky. Our bodies are sort of angled, so we’re leaning in toward each other. Our hands are inches apart.

  “Want another beer?” I ask.

  “Obviously, yeah.”

  I hand one to him, then crack mine open and take a sip. I focus on the sky. There aren’t many stars visible, but still, it’s pretty cool. It’s so massive. We drink our beers and finish them at about the same time.

  Then we both lie down.

  I put my hands behind my head and get really comfortable.

  I’m hoping for a shooting star.

  “I really like this,” says Jason.

  “Me too.”

  He reaches out to touch my side. It feels like crackling electricity. His hand runs up my side, then across to my chest. Static, all over. He shifts, until he’s propped upright, with his hand resting on me, looking into my eyes.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  His lips look so soft and pink. He’s bound to taste like beer right now. His hair is as messy as his can get, and there’s this sort of dazed look in his eyes. He’s drunk.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve just always had this fantasy of kissing a guy here. Of doing exactly this. I…”

  I stop listening.

  I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but …

  Fuck it.

  I sit up and kiss him.

  I don’t even care about anything. He repositions so we can properly kiss. Our mouths open at the same time, and my tongue goes into his mouth. It feels so wet but weirdly so nice. I sit properly up, and we try out this sort of kissing. I feel like I know his rhythm now. I know how to respond when he moves, and I know what to do with my tongue. It all just works.

  We break apart, and I open my eyes.

  “Like this?” I ask.

  “Exactly like this.”

  He pushes my chest, and I fall back down. Then he moves across …

  He sits on top of me.

  And I’m really hard. I’m sure he can feel it. I just wasn’t expecting him to do this.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I…”

  “Don’t be,” he says, and he cups my face with both hands, and kisses me. “You’re fine, dude.”

  He does taste a little like beer, but it’s definitely not bad. It’s actually great. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth, which tells me going for it is okay.

  We crash together, frantically kissing. I scratch down his back, and his eyelids flutter. His shoulders are so bulky, and I love how they feel. But mostly I just like how he kisses me. He does it so intently, like this is the only thing on earth he wants to be doing.

  “I have a serious question for you,” he says.

  “Anything.”

  He touches my tank, lifting it up a little.

  “Why is this still on?”

  “Because you haven’t taken it off me.”

  I’m not sure it’s the safest decision, because we are out in the open. But I still pull off his shirt, and then he takes mine off me. I explore his chest and arms with my fingertips. Then he leans down again, and kisses me deeply.

  It very quickly becomes apparent that I need to stop, like, right now.

  I break away and press my head against the blanket. It smells earthy, like grass.

  “Fuck,” I say. “Don’t move.”

  He laughs a throaty laugh. It’s so hot. He doesn’t move, though, and the feelings pass.

  “Hey,” he says. “I need to tell you something.” His voice is thick.

  “What? You want me to take my pants off?”

  “I mean, yes. But before that, you need to know something.”

  I sit up. “Oh, okay. What?”

  He looks nervous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him nervous. It’s painfully endearing.

  “This, um, it’s more than a friends-with-benefits thing for me. I think it always has been.”

  Oh. Wow.

  I mean, it is for me, too. But there’s a big difference between feeling it and saying it.

  “But…,” I start.

  “You don’t need to say if you like me back,” he says. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

  “Dude,” I say, and then I gesture at my current predicament. I’m shirtless in the middle of a baseball field, and he’s sitting on top of me. How can he doubt how I feel about him? “I obviously like you as more than a normal friend.”

  “But we’re on opposite sides,” he says. “You said that, remember?”

  I want to tell him everything I’m feeling.

  But I can’t.

  He’s a Donovan.

  Things between us have to end at some point. There’s no future where we’ll be allowed to be together. We’re always going to be who we are, and our families are always going to be our families.

  But I’m not strong enough to turn down this wonderful boy.

  And I owe him the truth. That’s always been our thing.

  “I know what I said before. But it’s more than a friends-with-benefits thing for me, too.”

  He smiles. “Sweet.”

  It makes me so happy I think maybe it’s too late. I don’t know how it works. But I might already kind of love him.

  Oh boy.

  This is bad.

  So freaking bad.

  “How about we go on a date, then?” he asks. “I have something in mind, actually.”

  “Do you, now?”

  He nods and then kisses me in the middle of my forehead. “Next time we hang out, it’ll be a date, if that’s okay with you?”

  “It’s more than okay,” I say. “It’s, like … so exciting.”

  “I’m glad you think that.”

  He puts his hand on my face, and rubs my cheek with his thumb. I need to shave, because it feels a little prickly.

  “What made you decide?” he asks.

  “I guess … I can’t help myself around you.”

  “I can’t help myself around you, either.”

  It feels so perfect. Maybe too perfect.

  What about the Friend Scheme? And why we met in the first place?

  What if he’s still manipulating me?

  It’s as if he knows what I’m thinking, because he leans down and kisses me hard.

  My doubts fade away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I’m in a shipping container, shirtless, cuffed to a metal chair.

  It’s cold. My arms and legs are bound to it with thick leather straps, so I can’t really move. I pull against my bonds, but they’re too tight.

  I can’t move. I’m helpless. Utterly at the mercy of …

  Vince.

  He’s standing in front of me, with a too-big grin on his face. He’s holding his switchblade, and he keeps opening and closing it. The container is dark, so the paleness of his skin really stands out.

  He’s my uncle.

  And he’s about to torture me.

  I doubt he’s going to show me any mercy. Actually, he might even be more vicious with me, because I betrayed my family.

  His family.

  I need to outsmart him. What he wants is for me to give up Jason. To tell him his identity, and for me to tell him everything we’ve been doing. I can’t do that, though. I know what’ll happen if I do.

  He’ll kill me, and then Jason.

  “I won’t talk,” I say, trying to sound as stoic as I can. I splay my hands, as they’re starting to cramp.

  “You will,” he says as he circles me. “Everyone knows how weak you are, Little Matty.”

  “That’s just a rumor. You’ll see.”

  “I almost
hope that’s true.” He leans in close, so he’s whispering in my ear. “You might be a traitor, but I hope you aren’t a coward as well.”

  I straighten up and stare him down.

  “Just get on with it, then.”

  I don’t know where this bravery is coming from.

  I guess it’s because Jason’s life is on the line. I can’t let anyone hurt him.

  “Okay, then,” he says. “Let’s start. Tell me who you’ve been spending time with.”

  Vince runs the blade along my skin, walking in a circle around me. There’s not enough pressure on it to cut, but I know that’s coming very soon.

  I start hyperventilating.

  As much as I want to be brave and not give him any satisfaction, I know he’s about to badly hurt me. Right now he’s just playing with me. But soon, I’ll feel the real thing.

  “Just a friend,” I say. “That’s all we are, I swear.”

  I only just manage to say it, because I’m shaking so much.

  “You’re lying,” he says.

  “I’m not, I promise I’m not. Please don’t hurt me. Dad will kill you if you do.”

  “Who do you think asked me to do this?”

  He slowly moves the blade down, closer and closer, until it’s touching me. I struggle, but I can’t move, and then I feel the cold of metal on my skin, and I go totally still. My heart is pounding, and I want to scream, but it’s trapped in my throat.

  “Last chance,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

  I shake my head.

  He tilts the blade slightly so the edge is touching me …

  And then he presses down.

  A thumping on my door pulls me from my dream.

  I sit bolt upright and touch my chest.

  I can still feel his knife cutting into me. I pull my blankets away and see that my skin is fine. I’m wearing a white tank and my boxers.

  It was just a dream. I’m okay.

  The knock sounds again, a fist pounding against my door.

  I slide out of bed and walk over to my door. Moonlight streams in through my window, and my curtains flutter gently. I unlock my door and swing it open. Luke is standing outside, wearing a black suit.

  He’s holding his mask.

  “Good news,” he says. “They found him.”

  I rub my eyes. “Found who?”

  “The man who shot Dad. How fast can you get ready?”