The Quarterback

by Mackenzie Blair

  Matt cursed, dread settling in his stomach. He knew that was going to bite him in the ass. “Not yet,” he gritted out.

  Trevor shook his head, disgusted. This time he yanked open the door and wouldn’t look at Matt as he said flatly, “Get out. Now.”

  Matt knew he should apologize, knew he hadn’t been fair, but damn it, he was pissed. He’d gone out on a limb by staying overnight, inviting Trevor to the game, and he’d been denied. Matt was risking everything, and Trevor nothing. Screw him.

  Matt stalked out of the room and barreled into the stairwell without a backward glance. When the hell had everything gotten so messed up?

  The week passed in a blur. Coach was hard on them in practice after their loss on Saturday. He didn’t want any more mistakes. The Championships were on the line. And Matt was grateful for the grueling practices. It kept his mind off Trevor.

  Matt was also early to all his classes, attended an extra study session, and turned in his problem set days before it was due. He cleaned his room, washed all of his laundry, washed all of Connor’s laundry, and played a lot of zombie-killing video games.

  His roommates were starting to get worried. Matt swore everything was fine and then went for a five-mile run. In the rain.

  By Friday night, he was about ready to lose it. Trevor hadn’t texted or called. Matt had skipped both their usual “tutoring” sessions, but that hadn’t gotten a reaction out of him. It was brutal. He’d rather be cursed and yelled at than given the silent treatment. But he sure as fuck wasn’t going to make the first move. This was why he’d never dated. Who wanted to feel this crappy?

  Clicking away from his paper on water permits, Matt checked his email and phone again. Absolutely nothing from his boyfriend. He threw his pen across the room in frustration. If Trevor even still was his boyfriend. Had they broken up? He had no idea how this shit worked.

  “Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Connor said from his top bunk.

  Matt had actually forgotten he was even in the room. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Connor placed his textbook aside. “Come on, Danielle says something’s up with you. And she’s right. You’ve been a bitch to be around.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Matt bit back.

  “Come on, what’s up? Tell Connor your troubles,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  Matt sighed at his annoying best friend. But maybe Connor could actually help. He knew about dating, right? What the hell? It wasn’t like Matt had anyone else he could confide to. Plus, Matt would finally be righting one wrong. He should’ve told Connor about Trevor a long time ago. Trevor did have a right to be pissed about that. So this was one thing Matt could fix.

  Matt swiveled his chair around to face Connor, and then leaned forward on his elbows, trying to find the courage to admit everything aloud.

  “Shit,” Connor said. “How bad is it? Do you have cancer?”

  “What? No,” Matt said with a small laugh. “It’s not that tragic. It’s just . . .” Damn it, why was this so hard? He needed to grow the fuck up. “It’s just my boyfriend won’t talk to me.” There, he’d said it. He’d even looked at Connor directly as he’d done so.

  Connor’s eyes widened, and he almost seemed to swallow his tongue. He coughed, sputtering on his own saliva. He reached for his glass of water, trying to gain back control. It would have been funny if it weren’t so terrifying for Matt, laying the truth out there.

  After Connor had gotten his lungs to work again, he managed to croak out, “You have a boyfriend? Since when?”

  Matt shrugged. “A while now.”

  “Jesus, I have been spending way too much time at Danielle’s. Well, at least you’ve had this room to yourself to get it on with him.”

  It was Matt’s turn to look surprised. He’d never even thought about inviting Trevor over, not with Ryan and Damian around. Not when everyone would know a gay guy was going into Matt Lancaster’s room. But, damn, a room to themselves all night. That would’ve been hot.

  “I’ve never brought him here,” Matt admitted.

  “Dude, you’re an idiot.” Connor shook his head. “So, who is this guy?”

  “Remember at the frat party, the hot Asian guy who punched Fischer?”

  “No shit,” Connor said, leaning back against his pillow. “I’m impressed. Where’d you meet?”

  Matt hesitated, but figured it was time to come clean. About everything. So he told Connor about the massage parlor and the tutoring sessions and everything that had gone down the morning after the frat party. The shit he’d said to Trevor.

  “So, he’s giving you the silent treatment?” Connor asked when he was done.

  Matt nodded. “I think he genuinely hates me now.”

  “Nah, you’re too pretty,” Connor joked. Matt glared at him, but Connor rolled his eyes. “Look, how many times have you texted him?”

  Matt stared at Connor in confusion. “None, we’re in a fight.”

  “You called him a prostitute, asshole.”

  “He rejected me first!” Matt protested.

  “Yeah, because he doesn’t want to watch you escort Jocelyn to Homecoming,” Connor pointed out, as if Matt was a moron.

  “Oh.” Matt hadn’t really thought of it that way.

  “Dude, Danielle would be so impressed with my insight right now. I’m killing this, aren’t I?” Connor picked up his phone as if to text his girlfriend, but Matt yanked it out of his hand.

  “Well, now you’re ruining it. Help me,” Matt snapped.

  “Oh, right. Just text him that you’re sorry.”

  “That’s it?” Matt asked, genuinely surprised this was Connor’s impressive advice.

  “Yup,” Connor replied with a smug grin. “Maybe grovel a little.”

  Matt picked up his phone, hesitated, then finally typed the two little words that he hoped would change everything. Because he really, really missed his boyfriend.

  Trevor waved good-bye to his boss, who’d hooked him up with some extra shifts at the coffeehouse. He’d been worried all week that Matt might try to track him down at work. But nope. He’d clearly been far too optimistic. The bastard hadn’t even called or texted once.

  Trevor pushed out into the cold night air and headed down the main street. Okay, so maybe he felt a little bad for rejecting Matt on the whole football-game invitation. But he figured he was giving Matt an out. It had clearly been temporary insanity. Matt couldn’t really want him there.

  Then again, it wasn’t like Trevor would be wearing a T-shirt declaring himself Lancaster’s Boyfriend to make him standout from the thousands of other fans. So it wasn’t really that big of a risk. But the thought of Matt with Jocelyn . . . made his skin crawl.

  And saying he couldn’t take care of himself without hustling? Asshole.

  As Trevor passed the fountain shaped like a tiger claw in the middle of the quad, his phone dinged. He pulled it out and stopped. A stupid smile appeared on his face.

  Matt had written: I’m sorry.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a hell of a lot more than a noncommittal hey that he’d certainly gotten from guys in the past. Trevor bit his lip, debating what to type back, when another text appeared: i freaked out . . .

  Trevor gave a small laugh. He knew Matt had freaked out; hell, the guy had a lot on the line. At least he was owning up to it. So Trevor typed back: yeah u did.

  And then, as if he could sense Matt’s sadness at that reply, he added: I’m sorry too. He hit Send and wondered if he was a huge idiot for giving in so easily.

  A second later his phone rang. Trevor smiled as he answered it, feeling relief, despite his misgivings, that somehow they’d gone from radio silence to a phone call in mere seconds.

  Matt opened with, “I was a dick. I really am sorry. I kinda lost my shit when O’Donnell saw me. And . . . Never mind.”

  But Trevor didn’t want to let it go. “And you invited me to the game and I said no.”

  “Um, yeah, that t
oo,” Matt replied in a quiet voice.

  “I want to go,” Trevor said firmly. “I just freaked a bit too.”

  “Yeah? You sure?” Matt said. “I mean, you probably won’t see as much as you do watching the game at home.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get to see you walk in the super-awesome Homecoming ceremony,” Trevor said smoothly, somehow making it sound sexy. “You gonna wear a corsage?”

  “Uh-huh, and a tiara,” Matt replied.

  “Jesus, don’t lean in too hard on being gay. You’re so not a queen.”

  “How do you know?” Matt asked in mock offense. “Maybe my inner drag queen is dying to be set free.”

  “If you can define ‘cutlets’ to me, I’ll believe you.”

  “What? Like chicken?” Matt asked, sounding confused as hell.

  “Nope, like fake boob cups.”

  “Grooosss,” Matt replied with such disgust that Trevor laughed out loud.

  “You’re gonna need to hide that reaction to boobs if you wanna keep up this straight-boy act. So, do they, like, retire your jersey or something at this Senior Send-off?” Trevor asked.

  “Only if I win Nationals.” Matt laughed. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow at the game. Don’t pussy out, okay?”

  “I never do anything with pussies,” Trevor cracked back. They hung up, but by the time Trevor reached his dorm, he realized he was going to attend an actual Bodine sporting event. He’d managed to avoid it for almost four years, but that streak was about to end. And he was stupidly, annoyingly happy about it.

  By the following morning, however, he was second-guessing his decision. He’d googled the Homecoming, and Matt was listed on the football page with a photo of Jocelyn beside him as his “date.” There was even a stupid bio on both of them. It was pretty much propaganda, creating a perfect all-American couple. Hell, from the way it read, Matt planned to change his mind, go pro, and marry Jocelyn to take care of his two-point-five babies in their perfect million-dollar home. They were even trending on the Bodine Twitter page. They had a celebrity couple hashtag: #Mattlyn. Trevor wanted to puke.

  When Emily knocked on his door, Trevor was glad for the distraction. Maybe she was having some crisis that he could use as an excuse to bail. But then she bounced in, all bubbly enthusiasm, waving around an envelope. “This was taped to my door,” she squealed. “Guess who it’s from?” She pulled out two football tickets and did a little happy dance.

  “Wait, let me guess,” Drew said from his bed. “Matt Lancaster.”

  “Yes!” Emily said with another squeal. “And they’re really good seats. Matt wrote a note saying he was sorry for what went down at the frat house. He wants me to bring you. You know, to make it up to you.”

  Drew started laughing. “Damn, he sent Emily to make sure you wouldn’t bail. I like this guy!”

  Trevor gritted his teeth. “If you like him so much, you go to the game. I don’t want to have to chant out stupid cheers with drunken freshmen.” He flopped back on his bed.

  What Trevor really didn’t want was to see his boyfriend with some chick. No, not some chick, Jocelyn, one half of #Mattlyn. He didn’t want to have to pretend that Matt and him were just casual friends. Tutor and tutee. Okay, and maybe he also hated cheerleaders. They were way too bubbly and perky. Annoying as hell.

  Like his best friend, Emily, who was bouncing on the balls of her feet with pleading eyes. Trevor tried looking away from her. It usually worked to avoid her guilt trips.

  “But Trev . . .” Emily bemoaned. “I need my best friend to come with me. You have to like Matt if I’m going to date him.”

  Trevor’s head shot up. “What?”

  “Hello? He was all over me at the frat party,” Emily said with a flick of her hair, as if he were obtusely oblivious. “And now he’s sucking up to my best friend. Please, I really want you to like him.”

  “Oh shit.” Drew busted out with laughter. Emily threw him an annoyed glare, then turned her attention back to Trevor.

  “This is so fucked up,” Trevor cursed, his head falling back to hit the wall behind him.

  “What are you talking about?” Emily sighed. “You’ve been in a crap mood all week. So you got called a fag at a party. It sucked, get over it.”

  “How can you be so clueless right now?” Trevor growled.

  Drew tried to stop laughing. “I guess you haven’t told her?” he managed to get out. Trevor seriously considered punching him in the face.

  “You’re not helping,” he snapped, then slid forward on his bed and took Emily’s upper arms in his hands. He tried to break the news gently. “Em, you’re not hooking up with Matt.”

  “Why not? He totally likes me,” she said defensively.

  “He doesn’t. Your boobs are just fatty tissue to him,” Trevor replied dryly, wondering how in the hell Emily could be missing all the clues. He even cocked his pierced eyebrow at her.

  But, apparently, she was in serious denial, because she punched him in the shoulder for the insult. “My boobs are fantastic!”

  “No, he’s right,” Drew said a bit too gleefully from the peanut gallery. “Your boobs mean nothing to Matt. Whereas Trevor’s man-meat is all yum-yummy. Has he fucked you, by the way?”

  “No,” Trevor said, distracted by Emily’s sudden stillness and gaping mouth. “Not yet.”

  “Talk about torture. But you would bottom for him?” Drew asked.

  Trevor shrugged. “You know I’m versatile.” Emily continued to stand there mutely, as if refusing to believe him. It was amusing but also annoying. “And the idea of Matt Lancaster pounding into me . . .” Trevor said with a wicked smirk. Maybe the crudeness would snap her out of it.

  “Stop, I’m already having wet dreams.” Drew sighed.

  That comment did it, but not in the way Trevor was hoping for. Emily crossed her arms and glared at them. “This isn’t funny. You two are sick.”

  With that, Trevor reached his limit. So much for tact. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Emily. Matt’s gay, he’s my boyfriend, I have his dick down my throat regularly, so stop going after my man.”

  “Seriously?” she said, this time with actual confusion rather than snark.

  “Seriously,” he said firmly, his jaw clenching. This was not that unbelievable.

  “Right, sure, got it. Well, I’m an asshole,” she said, tightening her ponytail with a vicious yank. “Tequila. I need tequila.”

  She went over and grabbed the bottle of tequila off the shelf, taking a long swig. “My gaydar is so busted,” she rasped out, the tequila clearly burning down her throat.

  “Hey, I didn’t see it either if that helps,” Drew consoled.

  Emily nodded. “It does, thanks.” Then she looked over at Trevor. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Matt’s so deep in the closet it’s not even funny,” Trevor replied.

  “And yet he invited you to the game,” Emily cooed. “That’s adorable.”

  “Look on his chair,” Drew said to her. Trevor wanted to die. On his desk chair was a bright-orange sweatshirt with the school mascot on the front. He’d bought it at the bookstore in a moment of insanity earlier this morning.

  “Oh my god, you’re in love,” Emily gasped as she hurried over to hug the new sweatshirt.

  “Lust,” Trevor quickly corrected.

  “Dude, that sweatshirt is ugly as fuck,” Drew said with raised eyebrows. “It has to be love, or I’m revoking your gay card.”

  Emily flicked Drew off for his douche bag comment (as a loyal best friend ought) and then tossed the sweatshirt to Trevor (as an annoying, pain-in-the-ass best friend would). There was no way he was getting out of going to this game.

  And, if he was being really honest with himself, he didn’t want to bail. Trevor wanted to see Matt play in person.

  Forty minutes later, Trevor found himself heading into the school stadium wearing the hideous orange sweatshirt. He’d added his usual leather bracelets so he didn’t feel like a complete sellout. E
ven Drew had joined in, donning a horrid Bodine scarf from a care package sent by his mom. Stupid Matt had slipped him a ticket too.

  The stadium was packed, the expensive seats filled with alums and parents coming in from all over for the Homecoming game that doubled as reunion weekend. The students were wearing war paint and chugging cheap beer. Trevor, Emily, and Drew headed to the top of the student section amid the raucous football fans. The band was revving up the crowd. Drew and Emily started singing along with the fight song, embracing the entire ritual with gusto.

  Trevor slumped his shoulders, shaking his head. He stared down at his worn high-tops. What the hell was he doing at a football game?

  The bleachers started to tremble as students jumped up and down at the fight song chorus. The excitement was everywhere. So why the hell was he being so miserable? Sure, he’d avoided school spirit shit like this for years. But why? It wasn’t like Bodine had ever thrown him out. If anything, it had accepted him when he needed it most.

  He felt Emily yanking on his arm, urging him to stand with them. And, this time, he did. He even started pumping his hand in the air and singing along. And it felt pretty damn good. When the senior football players rushed onto the field to the roar of the crowd, Trevor yelled along with everyone else. Hooting, hollering, stomping. Craning to see Matt. Nervous flutters in his stomach. He wondered if this was what those teenage girls had felt like in high school. With their hopeless crushes on the unattainable quarterback.

  And then Matt burst out onto the field, and the crowd went crazy. Jesus, that was his boyfriend? Somehow, the golden-haired football god below seemed almost like a stranger. How could that tall, athletic, seemingly-oh-so-straight guy be his?

  Trevor watched Matt run out with the rest of the seniors to form a line. In the center of the football field, there was a small stage with a massive balloon archway in orange and white. The band marched into formation, the dancers performed impressive high-kicks, and the mascot nailed a backflip, even in his furry costume. The president of Bodine and various deans entered in cheesy convertible cars decorated for the occasion, taking their places for the pomp and circumstance.