“There’s no guarantee it will result in anything,” I admitted. Hopeful. Too hopeful.
But every attempt at putting him off only sealed my fate further. “I like ambition. I respect it. Right on, man.”
“Erm, right…on,” I said, blowing the delivery so spectacularly that he grinned.
The waiter came around and set down a cup of steaming wildberry tea.
Patrick winked. “There. This one isn’t cold.”
And what was an easily impressed virgin boy supposed to do if not threaten the entire research project with a sudden burst of deadly attraction?
Patrick took my notebook and my pen without asking, scribbled something down, and pushed it back across. “My number. Let’s keep talking about this. I’m feeling real good about it.”
I blinked, and he was up, taking his jacket off, saying his friend was in some trouble, and he was gone.
The chatter and laughter faded into dull silence as the sound of my heartbeat swelled. He was a lot more than I had expected. Handsome, beautiful, cocky as fuck, but genuinely interested and with a sense of humor I almost understood and found funny. God, I hated it.
But as I sipped my hot tea, I also felt a deep tingle of excitement that he so willingly put himself under my lens for close inspection. And I knew, even then, just how thin the ethical line I walked was.
May the stars have mercy on my soul.
TWO
PATRICK
I watchedmy friends sit in the booth in Lumière for a midweek beer after practice. I’d gotten them to go ahead, pulling an excuse out of my ass so that they could sit alone for a minute or two. My two best buddies, my two boys, finally burying the hatchet one beer at a time.
We’d had a tumultuous few months as a team and as human beings. Between an asshole teammate and deeply hidden secrets, the Steel Saints had nearly split into two. Easton Harper captained the team, except an extortionate little fuck had been stressing him out to the breaking point over an attempted kiss and a truth inevitably coming to light. Easton’s focus had wavered, giving that little shit a chance to push Easton out. But a coach saw our friend’s talents, putting Elio into the mix. To cut a long story short, the shit named Kyle had been ratted out for drug use, suspended, expelled, and all but forgotten about. But the events he’d put in motion continued, driving the team to choose between a distracted captain and a sharp, focused alternative, even if the two had been friends for years.
But Elio stepped down in Easton’s favor, mending the team and their friendship.
And, at long last, I could have a cold beer with my friends again.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit that my heart did a little dance as I stepped inside. I glanced around, thinking I’d run into my shadow-to-be at one of the tables, but I hadn’t seen him since the tea party.
Before joining my friends, I got a tall glass of cold, pale ale. Easton and Elio were sharing a quiet moment of reflection, which wasn’t too unlike how they had been acting since mending the rift a few days ago. In that silence, they acknowledged the weight of their secrets while keeping in mind just how utterly silly it had all been. Easton was gay, outed to the entire team for the shock effect; Elio was gay, too, yet so deeply closeted until so recently that he still looked over his shoulder when saying the word despite making a grand show last weekend and kissing a cute football player in front of the entire bar.
Heads close together, they talked about the trials of coming out. I’d overheard them more than once. It was a big part of their lives, one I wasn’t completely welcome to. Not that they excluded me; it simply didn’t relate, and both guys felt like they would bore me if they shared these things with me. I didn’t begrudge them, although it wouldn’t have bored me in a million years to listen to what my friends were going through.
I carried my beer over to the table, set it down, and dropped into my chair. “Still talking about how awesome dick is?” I asked.
Easton choked on a mouthful of beer before bellowing a laugh, and Elio blushed furiously. They exchanged a look before Easton gave a little. “It’s pretty awesome.”
“Mm. I’ve got one of my own. It’s provides endless fun.” I lifted my beer. “To the ole musketeers,” I proclaimed.
Both my friends brought their glasses to mine.
“Aren’t we missing D’Artagnan?” Elio mused.
I wasn’t so well-read to think through each of my metaphors and similes. And as I tried to think of a retort, my gaze swept over the opening door. An out-of-place geek with black-rimmed glasses cautiously stepped into the bar. “I think I found our D’Artagnan,” I said, lifting my arm and waving at Shane.
He spotted me and looked like he regretted all his life choices, something waning in him. He’d had the exact same look when I’d stepped into the bar the first time we’d met. He lifted his hand in a little wave and nodded.
“Another friend?” Easton teased. “How many does a guy need?”
“How many can I have?” I asked.
“I’m not sure there’s a universal limit,” Elio offered.
