Eligible Receiver: A First Time Gay Romance (Bareback University)

by Angel Lovecox

  “Hi?”

  “Hi. I'm Carli. Can I join you?”

  “Sure,” Carter agreed readily. “Why not?” he blinked. He wondered where Isaiah was, why he hadn't come back yet. It was going to be awkward sharing their time with Carli. But then, he didn't have any reason not to. He smiled. “I'm Carter.”

  He was going to shake her hand, but she lifted her drink and took a sip, forestalling him. He let his hand rest at his side, feeling uneasy.

  “You seem to know Isaiah,” she said directly.

  “I...yes,” Carter said, feeling uncomfortable. Why had she come to join them? She didn't seem friendly.

  “You known him long?”

  “I...not long, no,” Carter admitted. Why not? She was probably just being polite, making conversation. He was being unfair. He looked up to see her glare at him, blue eyes slitted.

  “Well, I have. Two years. And I don't like you.”

  What? Carter stared at her. “I'm sorry?”

  “I don't like...this,” she waved at where he was sitting, then at where Isaiah sat. “You're not good for him. What will people think? Isaiah's got a great career and a guy like you could screw it all up.”

  “Like me?” Carter stared at her. Then, when she looked scornful, he understood. She meant she had guessed. That other people might. That Isaiah couldn't look gay, not in front of teammates. He swallowed hard. He had never faced discrimination in his life before, never felt shamed for who he was. Now he had.

  “You know what I mean,” she said carelessly. “I don't like it. And no one else will either.”

  Carter swallowed. He felt wounded. He also felt offended.

  “You can't know that,” he said angrily. “And I find you offensive, too. Why do you think you can just...just say that? How can you be so rude?”

  She laughed. “No point getting like that with me, boy,” she said cruelly. “I just said it like it is.”

  She glared at him once more and then, seeming to notice something across the hall, walked away.

  Carter sat there, stunned.

  Like you. Guys like you.

  He rested his chin in his hands, looking at the table. He wished he could disappear.

  “Carter?”

  “Yes?” He turned around and looked up at Isaiah. He swallowed. He could feel his eyes damp with tears but he didn't want to let them fall. Didn't want Isaiah to see how sad he was. He would ask what happened. He couldn't tell.

  “What's up?” Isaiah had noticed. The concern was obvious.

  Carter blinked, feeling the tears stop. “Nothing,” he said angrily. “I'm fine.”

  “Okay,” Isaiah said slowly. “I didn't do anything, no offense meant. Now, how about something to eat?”

  “I'm okay,” Carter said carefully. “I should go and say something to Mike.”

  “Carter?”

  Isaiah frowned. But Carter had already stood. He couldn't hurt Isaiah. She was right. He was only going to hurt him. He should leave.

  “Mike?”

  He found Mike, sitting on the chair with a girl beside him and a vast football player on the other side. He tapped his shoulder.

  “Carter! Hi!” Mike grinned at him. His expression changed slightly, brow rising, as he took in his miserable appearance, but he didn't let on that he noticed. “Join us!”

  He indicated a stool at the end of the table. Carter nodded, lowered himself into it.

  “Guys, this is my brother, Carter,” he said, introducing Carter to them all. Carter smiled.

  “Jaylen,” the girl said, stretching out a hand. Carter took it, smiling. Like most of the women there, she was blonde, but Jaylen wore dark lipstick and a white dress, a necklace around her long neck. She had sparkly brown eyes and she looked friendly.

  “Hi,” Carter said.

  The others introduced themselves and Carter felt himself relax. Perhaps the girl had been needlessly horrible. She was a bit extreme, just jumping to conclusions and acting on that. He shook his head, feeling relaxed. In this company he could almost forget Isaiah and his hurt—for a while.

  “Hello?”

  He whipped around, hearing a familiar voice behind him. He looked up at Isaiah.

  “Can I join?”

  Carter felt desperate. He had moved for Isaiah, now he was here! What if the girl was right, and he damaged himself? He had a great career. He shouldn't risk it.

  “I...should get some air,” he stuttered. Isaiah frowned.

  “I guess I should, too,” he said, sounding bemused. “Can I join?”

  Carter nodded, not wanting to risk speaking. They headed to the terrace together.

  “Hey, Carter,” Isaiah said as they stood on the balcony, looking over the sparking city. The balcony was lit with diffuse orange light and it glowed around Isaiah faintly, blurring and hazing everything. “What’s up?”

  Carter closed his eyes. “I...I didn't want to shame you.”

  “Shame me?” Isaiah stared at him. “What d'you mean..?”

  Carter sighed. “What will people think?”

  “They'll think we're friends,” Isaiah said. He let out a shuddering breath. “I don't want to hide you. I want to tell everyone. But I don't think...” he shook his head.

  “I know,” Carter sighed. “You can't. Which is why I shouldn't have come.” He turned around, striding to the door.

  “No!” Isaiah said, worried. “No, Carter. Wait...”

  “Hey, you two!” A cheery voice drifted onto the balcony. “What are you doin' out here? Anyone would think you were lovers or something.”

  Carter had frozen in the doorway. One of Isaiah's teammates had come out to join them, and he blocked the way.

  Behind Carter, Isaiah froze.

  “Say that again?”

  “Hey, lover-man...anyone'd think this was your butt-buddy.”

  Isaiah hit him. Hard. Carter yelled.

  The other player stared at Isaiah, then grabbed his arm.

  “You hit me, man!” he shouted. “You hit me!”

  He drew back his fist to punch Isaiah, and Carter drew in a breath, about to yell again.

  Someone gripped the man's arm.

  “Alex, stop it.”

  He whipped around. “He hit me, man!” he sounded strained. “Now I'm gonna bust him up.”

  “No, you're not,” the other man, a tall, leaner-looking man, repeated firmly.

  “Oh, really?” Alex was angry. “You gonna stop me?” He surged from the doorway into the club room, taking a swing at the tall man who interfered.

  Isaiah stepped out behind him.

  “Alex. No. Stop it! What're you thinking...?”

  Alex threw a punch, but Carter had stepped in front of Isaiah and the blow hit his arm, throwing him back. Isaiah shouted in alarm and grabbed him.

  The team had all joined in, now: Men grabbed Alex, others had grabbed the tall man. Both were fighting to reach each other. Three men each kept them apart and the shouting, rage and discord were everywhere.

  Isaiah gripped Carter's arm and together they walked around the margin of the room to the door.

  “Come on,” Isaiah whispered. They passed the doorman, who was hurrying into the club, and went to the street.

  “Carter,” Isaiah said, when they were alone in the fresh air. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Carter blinked up at him. He really was about to cry, the sadness, fear and the pain of his arm all conspired to make him feel suddenly weak and miserable. “What ever for?” He spat the words.

  Isaiah stared at him. “I shouldn't have exposed you to...” he trailed off. “This.”

  “You shouldn't have invited me here,” Carter mumbled. “I shouldn't be seen with you.”

  “No!” Isaiah shouted, making Carter blink. “No,” he said again, more gently. He laid a hand on his shoulder. They started walking. They headed around the side of the club, where Carter's car was parked some distance away along the street.

  “It's true, though,” Carter said. They st
opped. He looked into his eyes, blinking so he didn't let loose tears.

  “No,” Isaiah said again, more softly this time. “It isn't. I wanted you hear. I like you. You mean something to me. But this place is...not good.” He sighed. “This lifestyle, this way of being...I shouldn't have brought you here, it upset you.”

  Carter shook his head. “I want to be where you are. I just...can't be.” His throat hurt, as if saying it burned the surface of the skin. He shook his head, swallowing hard.

  “I always want you around, Carter,” Isaiah whispered. “But it's better if it's not here.”

  “I understand,” Carter said stiffly. “I should go.”

  “No, Carter, wait!”

  This time, Carter stopped. He turned back to him.

  “We can't see each other in public, no. But that doesn't mean I don't care. It's for your good.”

  Carter snorted. “My good? No, Isaiah. Your good. You're the one whose career is jeopardized.”

  He shook his head. He heard Isaiah clear his throat, about to say something more, but he walked away. He turned away, hating himself for it, and walked along the street, wet from the evening rainfall, and toward the street where his car was parked.

  As he reached it, the tears started to fall. He sniffed, hating himself for them.

  I met him two days ago, he chided himself. Why is this so hard?

  It was. They might have only been two days, but they had changed everything. And now, so soon, the doors of that place were closing, shutting him out for good.

  10

  Carter looked up at the ceiling.

  It was morning, the light white on the paintwork. He shut his eyes, then opened them again. He felt broken.

  How could you be so stupid?

  He should never have gone when Isaiah invited him. Never have got involved. Mike had been right. It was stupid. It wasn't possible. Why had he even tried? Why had he thought he could do this?

  He bit his lip. The term tests were all coming up at once, the last year of his studies half-finished, the most important year. And he had been distracting himself with a football player? Someone from another world?

  What did you think would happen?

  He sat up, head pounding. He had slept badly and woken early and his heart hurt. Probably from crying the night before. He bit his lip. He was a mess. He should never, ever have been so stupid.

  “Come on. Breakfast.”

  He said it aloud to himself, willing himself to slide out of bed, pull the covers into place and go downstairs. He glanced at the clock on the windowsill, which said eight am.

  He showered and went down to the kitchen, glad the others were still sleeping. At least he could have breakfast alone. He didn't want to face anyone.

  He went to his room, feeling miserable, and packed for class. He dressed, taking out the first two things that appeared in the closet, not caring if he liked it or not.

  He checked his watch on the way down to the door: it was eight-fifty. He still had an hour before his first class.

  Might as well go to the library. Study something for a change.

  He bit his lip hard. He had been wasting hours when he should have been concentrating on studies. What was he thinking? Mike would be ashamed of him.

  Mike. He hadn't heard from his brother except for a call the previous night, to check he was okay. He was sure he was upset.

  He told me not to do this.

  Mike had warned him, said that he should be careful, that there was no way forward in this. Now Mike was proved right and he was wrong and he should fix his messes.

  “First up, study for the mid-term test on systems of governance.”

  Feeling like something inside him had shattered, he found himself a desk somewhere in the mostly-empty library, and opened his books.

  The field of world politics, also called international relations, seeks to understand how the peoples and countries of the world get along...

  He sighed. If only all people did get along.

  He sat reading the text and notes for what felt like ages. It was hard to make sense of it, his mind swimming.

  No matter how hard he tried, all he could think of was guys like you. The phrase, the anger with which she had said it, the hate on her face, swam in his mind. He felt himself start to cry again and sniffed, furious.

  What did you think would happen? Imagine, thinking he could openly date a professional athlete who wasn’t even out yet.

  He bit his lip angrily. This mess was his own fault. He was sure everyone was relieved he had gone. Isaiah would even have been glad: he didn't want to see him...he asked him to leave.

  I will never hear from him again.

  The thought was too painful. He shut his eyes. He wished he could forget he had ever known Isaiah. All the memories now were wounds, barbs that drove into him cruelly. Every happy moment, every laugh, was like a knife.

  The day passed slowly, the last day of the term before exams started. Some of the students had left earlier, and the place was quiet, the hallways less crowded, the rooms emptier. The campus had an air of desolateness that mirrored how he felt.

  He went back to the library after class, desperate to lose himself in his studies. He settled at the same desk by the window and tried to work.

  He managed to concentrate for a while and found himself unaware of how much time had passed. When he heard someone, he was surprised to see it was getting dark.

  “Carter?”

  “What?”

  Carter hadn't meant to snap, but he had. He looked up to see Bradford looking at him with a surprised face.

  “Hell, bro. I didn't do it, whatever it was. I just wanted to ask if you were studying the section on democratic structures yet?”

  “No,” Carter said listlessly. “I'll do that next week.”

  “Oh.” Bradford looked upset. “Only, I had some questions for Prof. Benson. I'll go and find him.”

  “Okay.”

  Bradford left, looking hurt. Carter felt bad, but he didn't know how he could change it.

  When he reached home, he checked his study timetable. The first big test was in a week. He really had to work harder. And his adviser had demands of him.

  The whole week, Carter spent his time between the Government classrooms and the library, walking from one to the other with questions for the Prof or work to be done for his paper or tips for different books to check. He sat at the desk, poring over the text. But where he used to enjoy it, now it was just upsetting.

  He read through the most recent of the recommended reads, taking notes as he went. He leaned back.

  I am so tired.

  He looked up at the ceiling a moment, and decided he really should just do what he had been wanting to do for the last week. He took out his phone and checked the football times.

  There was a match coming up for Isaiah. He scrolled down idly, finding an article.

  “Will they make the playoffs?” he read aloud. “The test of a lifetime.”

  It was an important game.

  He sighed. He had never been a sports person, but now everything the football players did interested him. He had wanted to forget about everything but he couldn't. Every time he saw anything to do with football, he thought of Isaiah. The images of him filled his mind: playing on the field, the day they met in the club. At the stadium, where he played for him alone.

  He scrolled down, reading the article with a feverish interest he had never before displayed in any kind of sport. There were pictures of the team at the end of the picture. He saw one of Isaiah, running on the field, about to kick the ball, and he smiled. It hurt.

  That smile had played through his dreams and his mind a hundred times, but still he had not remembered the softness of it, the way his eyes wrinkled in the corner.

  There were other pictures there, too – some of the team together, some on the side of the field, and another in a club.

  His heart ached. In the last picture, wearing a suit and grinning, was Isaiah.


  Next to him was Carli.

  11

  Carter sighed. It was a few days after the last days of term. Some uncounted number of days and three exams after seeing that picture. But he could not think.

  He wanted her. Not me. He lied to me.

  Carter sighed. This was ridiculous. He should have forgotten the whole thing. He had three more tests coming up and he had to prepare for all of them. He couldn't do this to himself. The last few days had been demanding; with tests every day, he had not had time to think. Now, with a few days in between, he had time.

  He wished he didn't.

  The last thing Carter wanted was time to think. Time to remember. To torment himself with memories.

  At that moment, his phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, bro,” Mike's voice said gently. “How are you doing?”

  Carter sighed. “I'm okay.”

  “I was just thinking about you...I haven't heard from you for a week. You okay?”

  “I'm fine.” Carter said it thinly. He didn't want to share anything with his brother. Didn't want him to know how foolish he had been. How naive.

  “You sure?”

  Carter bit his lip. He didn't want to lose his temper. But Mike pushing his buttons was the last thing he needed right now.

  “I am fine. If I wasn't, I would say so.”

  “No need to fry me. I didn't mean it...”

  Carter sighed. “No. You didn't.”

  Mike whistled. “Okay. I know I'm being a busybody.”

  “No, you're not,” Carter said sadly. “You're trying to be nice.”

  “No, I'm not. I was worried. It's not like you to say nothing to me.”

  “Mike. I'm fine.”

  “Okay. Okay. Bye,” Mike said gently.

  When he had hung up, Carter felt, if anything, worse than he had before. He didn't want to be so angry. Didn't want to feel this constant sense of annoyance. But he did.

  The thought of Isaiah, with his ready grin, his dark eyes kindling as they looked at each other, was a wound to him. He could barely think of it.

  And now, with the football game coming up, he couldn't get away from him. Everywhere he looked, from the street to the news to TV, he saw Isaiah. He had to read the news, had to stay informed; it was part of being a Government student, really necessary. But the more informed he was the more he couldn't help catching some article about the football.