Trick Play

by Alison Hendricks

  "Nah, man. We just say we're breaking up, or we're going to try something casual. Nobody will care. College relationships never last past college."

  That hits me hard, and it must show on my face.

  "What you and me have isn't a college relationship, dude," he says, punching me lightly in the arm. "And I meant like relationship relationships. Not friendships."

  I do some quick math in my head. It's July now. That gives me the rest of this month, plus five more months to pretend to be into Luke. No problem there, and it also gives me five plus months where Luke has to pretend to be into me.

  That might be a problem, and I'm not sure he's thought it through.

  "Are you even going to be able to do this? Your dad watches your games. He's going to find out."

  Luke's dad is a good man. He is. But he's a product of the rural south and everything around it. He doesn't think before he speaks, and I'm pretty sure he believes most of what comes out of his mouth, in some form or another.

  Luke stops, and I see his shoulders tense. "Yeah..."

  That's it, then. The torpedo that's going to shoot down this crazy dream. Ah, well. It was nice while it lasted.

  He walks off toward the edge of the parking lot. I don't know if he's looking at Erica or the ocean, or just staring off into space, but he gives me a chance to collect my own thoughts while I toss out my trash.

  "It's okay, man," I say, coming to stand beside him. "You tried, but I just don't think this is something you can fix."

  “Hold up. My dad’s not gonna be anywhere near a TV when this breaks.” His eyes brighten and he grins. “Yeah, shit, I almost forgot. He’s going to some prepper camp. No tech allowed.”

  I blink at him. It’s like fate is just trying to fuck with me at this point.

  “But he’ll find out after that…”

  “I’ll tell him what’s up before it gets that far. He’ll understand. He would’ve done anything for his unit in the Army. This is the same sort of thing.”

  I don’t know that I agree with that, but now that Luke’s found a way forward, he isn’t going to let it go. That means this crazy offer is back on the table. And now he's slid it over to my side, and is just waiting on my signature.

  Shit.

  "I really think we can do this, Brandon. I mean if anybody can, it's you and me. And if it doesn't work, we'll have a bomb-ass story to tell our grandkids or something."

  "About the time their grandpas went gay?" I ask, knowing that future for me is going to look a lot different than his.

  "Yeah," he says with a grin. His arm comes around my shoulder, and he gives it a bro-squeeze. "So, you in?"

  I should say no. Every logical part of my brain is screaming at me to end this now. But my heart is louder, and for once, I can't help but listen to it.

  "How often do you get to be in a pretend relationship with your best friend, right?"

  Luke grins like crazy, jostles me around with a half-hug, and says, "Hell yeah!"

  Who knew I'd make him so happy by agreeing to go out with him? My teenage self is over the moon at the idea. Truth be told, I'm pretty okay with it, too.

  "We should start figuring it out," he says, heading toward his truck. "We have to make it seem like an accident when it slips out, you know? People will buy it since we spend like 24/7 together anyway."

  He opens up the door, and I glance back at the beach. We can't leave Erica here. Even if she'd done something to piss us off, that wouldn't be cool. And she hasn't. She's the only person acting rationally here. If she doesn't come along with us, Luke and I might end up married or something.

  Then again...

  "Yo, Erica," Luke calls. "You coming?"

  "I'll go get her," I say, already dreading the conversation I know is coming.

  I head down the path and onto the beach. I can feel the sand shift beneath the soles of my shoes, and I almost wish I'd gone barefoot. This isn't a barefoot kind of conversation, though.

  Erica's standing by the shore, right at the edge of the darker sand where the tide keeps lapping in. Her arms are around her, and I know it's not because she's cold. It's still stupidly hot out here, even with the sea breeze.

  A part of me wonders if this has just totally killed our three-way friendship. Maybe Luke was right. Maybe some part of her is jealous. But I feel like I know Erica well enough to know that's not the case.

  "You're an idiot," she says mildly as I approach.

  "Hey to you, too."

  I walk up beside her and stuff my hands into my pockets. The tide rolls toward us, threatening to trash both our shoes, but it stops just shy of us.

  "You said yes."

  It isn't a question. I look down, draw in a breath through my nose, and then answer. "Yeah."

  She turns to me, finally, and her brow is creased in concern. Just like I figured, it isn't anger or jealousy I see written on her face. It's worry. For me.

  "Why, Brandon?"

  It's a damn good question, and now that the adrenaline rush of Luke asking me is gone, I'm having a hard time coming up with a reason I think will satisfy her.

  "I don't know."

  "What are you expecting here? That he's going to figure out he's bi and you guys will live happily ever after?"

  "Of course not," I snap. "You and I both know that's never going to happen."

  She sighs, hugging herself tighter. "I didn't say that."

  I look at her, trying to sort out what she means by that. Does she think we have a shot? Or is she just trying to be nice? It's one of the rare times I can't figure her out, and it bugs me.

  "I just... I guess I just want to know what it's like,” I say after a moment. “I'm not going to have the real thing, so this is as close as I'm ever going to get.”

  "He shouldn't have even asked you," she says.

  "Yeah, well. You know how he is. He wants to help, and he's willing to throw the Hail Mary to do it."

  Not exactly a perfect analogy, since Luke can't throw to save his life. But she knows what I mean.

  "I know Luke is Luke, but he's not insensitive. If you'd actually told him you were gay, he wouldn't have asked you to do this. He would've realized it was a shitty thing to put you through."

  Great. Back on this again.

  "How is it a shitty thing to do? He's indulging me without knowing it. He's helping the team. When it’s over, we'll be in the same spot we're in now. Still just friends."

  "Oh, Brandon," she says, in that tone that gets on my last nerve.

  "Don't. Don't act like I'm some poor guy you have to pity because he doesn't know what he's doing."

  She doesn't respond to that, which only makes me angrier. Gulls fly by and call out loudly. The tide rolls in and out with a graceful rhythm. Eventually, my anger rolls away with it.

  "You can't tell him, Erica," I say softly.

  I really don't think she'd do it. That's the kind of thing shitty "friends" do in soap operas, but not Erica. She'll take that secret to her grave if I ask her to.

  "I won't. But you have to."

  I let out a long-suffering sigh, looking away from her. She just comes to stand in front of me, barely over five foot five, but still intimidating as she stares me down.

  "I'm serious. You have to tell him, and soon."

  "Fine," I grate out. I feel like a temperamental kid, but God, I don't want to have this conversation.

  Her gaze softens a little, and she gives me a sad smile. That's almost worse than the look she was giving me earlier. And fuck, are there tears in her eyes?

  I can't deal with this.

  "I just don't want you to get hurt, Brandon. You know how Luke is. He could survive a tornado if his ass was stripped naked and thrown into the middle of a field. But you..."

  I should be upset. She's basically telling me I'm weak; that I'm not resilient enough to withstand this. The shitty thing is, she's right. I didn't confess my secrets to her because I was strong enough to shoulder the burden on my own, obviously. And when my folk
s threw me out... I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from that.

  I just don't want to deal with those things from Luke. It's weird, but getting into a fake relationship with him to save the team feels more safe than telling him I'm gay.

  "I know," I say softly. "I'll tell him. Just... give me time."

  I don't know how much time. If I had my way, it'd be about seventy years or so. By then, we'll be in the same nursing home, and one of us will be on our death bed, so it won't matter if he rejects me.

  "Sure," she says, and I can tell she really wants to say something else.

  I decide to pull her into a hug before she can. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tight. I didn't realize how much I needed that.

  Unfortunately, it doesn't stop her from saying what she wants to say.

  "I really wish you wouldn't put yourself through this."

  "Too late," I say with a half-smile.

  And I don't just mean me jumping headfirst into this agreement with Luke. She's about ten years too late to save me from myself.

  5

  Brandon

  We drop Erica off at her dorm and get back to our own around nine. It's Saturday, so there's music thumping a couple doors down from us, lots of people out on the lawn, and guys just wandering around the halls being loud and drunk.

  It's not exactly the ideal atmosphere to hatch a crazy plan in.

  Fortunately, Luke and I are the only guys in this room, and the dorm walls aren't paper thin. We hole up and he grabs us a couple cans of sweet tea from the fridge. If my mom cared about what I was doing these days, she'd probably have a fit about me drinking canned tea, but whatever. It's easier than making it ourselves.

  "You hungry?" he asks, rummaging through our sparse fridge.

  "We just ate."

  "Dude. You know me better than that."

  He's right. Luke can pack away the food, and apparently it just all goes into his muscles. Meanwhile, I was chubby as a kid and my parents pretty much thought it was a sin to eat junk food of any kind.

  "I'm good."

  He pulls out a couple Clementines, and I somehow keep myself from pointing out how much he looks like a stereotypical Floridian right now, going for the oranges and sweet tea.

  He flops down on his bed--we don't have a common area this year, so no chance of talking on a couch, which makes this even more weird--and flicks on the TV for some background noise.

  "Okay. So here's what I'm thinking."

  I take a seat on the edge of my own bed, can in hand, and wait for his brilliant plan.

  "We have to be casual about this, right? We can't go in and make a big scene. It'll seem fake."

  "It is fake," I remind him. And myself.

  "Yeah, but it can't seem fake. We hang out all the time. If we start acting weird, people will get weird about it. We just have to act natural."

  Not exactly what I pictured when I imagined a fake relationship with Luke. A part of me wants to complain, but I don't want to show my hand.

  Instead, I try to ease into it.

  "How are we going to convince the guys we're dating if we're just acting like normal?"

  "Oakley," he says with a grin.

  I arch a brow at that. Are we taking a third into our little farce? Oakley's a good guy, but he's not my type.

  "You know that dude can't keep a secret to save his life,” Luke says. “So if he finds out about us, it'll take an hour tops before the whole team knows."

  "And how's he going to find out?" I ask. "You going to invite him to our fake anniversary party?"

  Luke snorts. "No, man. We send each other a few texts that pretty much spell it out for anybody who reads them, and I'll leave my phone over by Oak's locker. I'll make sure the screen doesn't shut off so he'll see it and get curious."

  It's a pretty good plan. No way Oakley will be able to resist. But my heart speeds and my mouth goes dry at the implication of how we'll get to that point.

  "What kind of texts?"

  He gives me a flat stare, like I should know the answer to that. And maybe I do. I just don't want to admit it.

  "The best kind of texts."

  He waggles his brows, and any hope I had of avoiding this situation just flies right out the window. Anybody looking at this from the outside in would think maybe Luke really wanted to experiment and push the boundaries of his sexuality, but they don't know him like I do. Luke likes to make people laugh, and he goes the extra mile with everything he does. He's figuring we'll send dirty texts to each other for an hour or so and we'll laugh our asses off.

  Now I'm going to have to pretend to laugh while squirming on my bed, trying to hide a hard-on that's already developing.

  Again, I know I should tell him it isn't a good idea; that we can get by just sending texts where we call each other "babe" or something. But damn if I don't want to experience this. I want to play with fire and see how much Luke can turn me on with his texts.

  "Since when do you know about sexting gay guys?" I ask, hoping my tone comes across as teasing and not strained.

  He shrugs. "I don't, but Google does."

  He pulls his phone out of his pants and taps in his query. I can only guess at what he's typed, and what's showing up on the screen for him. No way he's got safe search on, so he's probably getting an eyeful right now in addition to whatever answer he's looking for.

  Thinking about it just makes me harder. I shift on the bed, turning away from him so there's no way he can see. I grab my own phone and pretend to be looking something up on it.

  "Damn, I gotta step up my dirty talk game. Used to be you just tell somebody to take off their clothes and touch themselves. Now you gotta be all descriptive and shit."

  He says it so casually that I know he's done it before. Probably with Erica, which is... weird to think about, but my brain is able to pull back from that train of thought and think about how I'd respond if Luke sent me that sort of text.

  I'd definitely comply, that's for sure.

  He laughs, but it's a little different than normal. I can't help looking over at him, and I see the faint hint of red staining his cheeks.

  "Are you blushing?" I ask incredulously.

  "Some of this stuff is super racy!" he says. "Shut up."

  I just laugh. Sweet, summer child. His naïvety kills my boner a little, at least. But not a whole lot, because it isn't long before I'm thinking about what it would mean to show him the ropes.

  As if I’d even know. A few casual hookups do not the gay sex expert make.

  "Okay, we'll go with the classic opener."

  I raise a brow at that and wonder what sort of classic opener he's talking about. In porn, it seems to usually be "top or bottom?" Come to think of it, it's the same way on Grindr, too.

  My phone lets me know there's a new message, and not even a second later, it pops up on the screen.

  "'What are you wearing?' Seriously, dude?"

  He scoffs at me. "It's a classic for a reason. It's like... the icebreaker of sexting."

  I laugh, and my nerves unwind a little bit. At least this ride with Luke will be a fun one. Even while it's slowly killing me.

  "Whatever you say."

  I tap out a response and hit send. He squints at it, then turns those narrowed brown eyes on me.

  "You aren't wearing skinny jeans and nothing else. Those are the same old Levis you've had since high school, and I can see you wearing a shirt, dude."

  I roll my eyes. Luke is the worst sexter ever. Maybe that's why Erica broke it off with him. Not because they were better off as friends, but because he really sucks at this.

  "Nobody ever says what they're really wearing."

  "I do," he insists.

  Sweet, sweet summer child. I just sigh and shake my head, and he taps out a response like he's on a mission to prove me wrong.

  I read it and swallow the thick lump that's suddenly formed in my throat.

  Are you hard?

  At least I'll be answering this truthfully. I tap
out my response, and I can almost feel the blood pounding through my body, rushing to my dick.

  Yeah. You?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grin. His response is quick, and when I read it, I just... bust out laughing. Until I almost can't breathe.

  "Dude, that was the sexiest thing I could think of! You're hurting my feelings!"

  I can tell from his tone I'm not hurting his feelings at all. He sounds damn pleased with himself.

  "'Like a linebacker's ass'? Seriously?"

  "Don't hate on my sexting game," he says, throwing a pillow at me.

  I catch it and casually use it to cover my lap. But before I can say anything else, another text appears from him.

  Unbutton your jeans and take out your dick.

  The breath leaves my lungs, and my skin feels like it's going to overheat. I try to look normal, but I don't even know what normal is right now.

  "Too quick?" he asks, like he's actually worried about his skill as a gay sexter. "I should've sent something else before that, hold on."

  "No," I manage to get out. "Quit worrying about it. You're a guy. Just... think about what you'd want somebody to send you."

  I tap out my response, really wishing I'd told him I couldn't sext while I was in the same room with him. At least then I could jack it while he tortured me. Instead, I have to sit here and suffer.

  My fly's down and I'm pulling my dick out of my boxers. What do you want me to do with it?

  I hit send, feeling nerves pile up in my stomach. They multiply when Luke doesn't say anything. I can't look at him. I just have to hope he's still got that same stupid grin on his face like he's getting a kick out of this.

  Seconds later, my phone tells me he's responded. I almost can't bring myself to look, but I do anyway.

  Jack it for me.

  And then, seconds later:

  Pretend like I've got my hand wrapped around your cock and I'm pumping you real good.

  Jesus. I'm rock hard now and straining against my jeans, and I want nothing more than to do just that. The ache isn't just in my dick. My whole body seems to light up with need.

  Ok. I'm jacking it. Thinking about you.

  I want to push this. I want to type what I'd really type if we were doing this. Something like 'I want your cock in my mouth' or 'play with your ass' but I'm too scared that's going to show how much I want this.