The Player's Protégé

by CJane Elliott

  “Then who knows what he’s thinking at this point? And I’m going to say this till I’m blue in the face—if you don’t ask for what you really want, there’s zero chance of getting it. And you deserve to live the life you want to live. That’s your goddamned birthright, Arlo.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s pretty idealistic, don’t you think? A lot of people have no say at all in the kind of life they have or the work they have to do. Mom’s family in Mexico, for one. And Dad’s with the farm. They all worked their butts off for very little.”

  Jerry nodded. “I get it. I’m totally talking from privilege, especially in my situation, having lucked out that my hardscrabble oil-worker dad happened to strike it rich. I don’t deserve being on the receiving end of that. And I might not get the money anyway if I piss my father off enough. I actually don’t care. What’s important to me is to do what I want with this one life I’ve been given and fuck the rest of the world if they don’t agree.”

  A small smile softened Arlo’s expression. “Yep. That’s you. What do you want to do with your life, Jerry?”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you changed the subject. But okay. Well, so you know that I’m an art major, right? And my interest is really in the theater, so I’m totally into costumes and set design. I love all of that.”

  “You don’t want to act? You’d be good.”

  “No. I’ll leave that to Eric and Tyrone. Eric’s the musical phenom with the amazing voice, and Tyrone’s a good actor as well as an exquisite dancer.” Jerry sat straighter and leaned toward Arlo. “But, see, wouldn’t it be cool to have a theater company with them? Our friend Cara, who is also a great actor, directs, and she’s brilliant. I’m thinking Will could be writing songs for musicals. He’s got a way with lyrics and melodies.”

  “Very cool. Who’d write the plays?”

  “Neil. You haven’t met them, I don’t think. They’re nonbinary and very talented. Did you see The Herb Garden school production last fall?”

  “Yes. Jake was in it.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, Neil wrote it. So they’d be someone I’d love to see write plays for our theater company.”

  “You should. He’s… uh, they’re good, if The Herb Garden is anything to go by.” Arlo looked pleased for him. “You’re so creative, Jerry. All of you are. I admire that. When are you getting started with this company?”

  “Well, we all need to graduate and get some kind of a paying job. Did I tell you I have a summer internship with the Arena Stage in DC?”

  “Wow, no. That’s great.”

  “Yes, I’m working with the stage manager and hope to offer my set design and costume skills too.”

  “Sounds good.” Jerry yawned and Arlo peered at him. “How are you feeling? Time to lay back down?”

  “Probably. I’m so tired of being low energy.”

  “You go back to the sofa while I clear the dishes. And you should keep drinking water.”

  “Okay.” Jerry lay back down on the sofa. Then he called, “Don’t think we’re done talking about your future, Barnes. Because we aren’t.” Another thought struck him. “Hey, when’s your birthday again? Isn’t it this month?”

  “It is. May fourteenth.”

  “Obviously. You’re so clearly a Taurus.” Arlo laughed, which made Jerry smile. “Anyway, I want to take you out for a birthday drink to thank you for nursing me back to health. And to celebrate you being legal and all.” He also had all those clothes he’d bought, and Arlo’s birthday would be the perfect excuse to give them to him.

  “Sure.”

  Later they lay tucked into bed together. With Jerry’s illness, sex was off the table, but each night, Arlo had lain close and stroked Jerry’s arm or back as though to soothe and heal him. Who the hell knew—it probably had. Meanwhile Jerry was getting dangerously used to this physical closeness—he, who had never once been interested in cuddling. Whenever Eric had gone there, Jerry had given him a kiss and rolled away. He liked his space. Blame it on the flu and Jerry’s resistance being temporarily down, but Jerry welcomed Arlo’s chest up against his back and the safety of Arlo’s arm slung around Jerry’s waist. He sighed, snuggled closer, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  “HOW ABOUT arroz con pollo for dinner?” Arlo called over his shoulder as he clattered dishes in his kitchen.

  Jerry sighed and watched Arlo from his prone position on the sofa. He’d been there almost a week, and he was feeling better—much better. Better enough to get irritated at Arlo’s constant goodness and caring.

  If that made Jerry perverse, well, so be it. It wasn’t that Jerry hadn’t enjoyed spending so much time with Arlo. He had. He’d enjoyed it way too much. What was Jerry doing, allowing Arlo to be the perfect caregiver, nurturing the hell out of Jerry, expecting nothing for himself? Arlo was too giving. Which was why he’d gotten to age twenty without doing the things he wanted to do—in sex and in life.

  Also, Jerry had a strict policy about relationships—he wasn’t interested. So what was he doing, spending all his time with Arlo, letting Arlo wriggle his way into Jerry’s life so sweetly? Granted, Jerry’s resistance had been down, but enough was enough. Jerry was the mentor, he’d been neglecting his mission, and he needed to end this little interlude. No more taking advantage of Arlo and no more entertaining ludicrous fantasies of settling down with a lovely and generous black-belt farm boy. It was past time to kick this chickadee out of the nest.

  He sat up. “Dinner sounds divine, but I’m going to have to pass. I’ve got to get back home and make sure my roomies haven’t burned the place down. And I need to pack. I’m leaving for Houston tomorrow afternoon. But come here and bring your phone. We’re setting you up on Grindr.”

  Jerry could read body language as well as the next person. He didn’t miss how Arlo paused when he reached for something in the cupboard and how his shoulders stiffened. But when Arlo turned, his expression was serene. “Okay.”

  Well, of course he’d say okay, even if it wasn’t. That’s how Arlo was. Damn it, now Jerry was mad at Arlo for agreeing so easily, even though getting him on Grindr had been the whole original point. Make up your mind, fool.

  Fifteen minutes later, after arguing Arlo into using a sexy picture that showed some skin and filling him in on basic pointers, Jerry said, “Great. Launch your profile.”

  The ding ding ding of responses was immediate. All Arlo had to do was answer. As Arlo bent his head over the phone, Jerry found he didn’t want to stick around for that part. He stood.

  “Okay, Arlo. You’re set. Have fun.” He couldn’t help peeking over Arlo’s shoulder, though. “Oh no, not him. He’s a jerk.”

  “He is? How am I supposed to know? Umm, do you usually get this many dick pics?”

  Jerry let out a slow exhale and willed himself to stay calm. Arlo was such a babe in the woods. “Tell you what. If you can hold off on responding, I can come back tomorrow morning before I leave for the airport and look at it with you, help you weed out some of the creeps.” He really shouldn’t, but the thought of tossing Arlo to the sharks of Grindr made Jerry queasy. He’d come back one more time, show him who to avoid, and steer him clear of the obvious trolls.

  “Thanks.” Arlo stood as well. “You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? I’ve got that wine you like.” When Jerry hesitated, he added, “It’s been cool having you stay here. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  The hope in Arlo’s eyes was the final straw. Jerry had to nip this absurd nonrelationship in the bud. He was good at killing people off, but he’d fallen out of practice, what with the mentoring project—and the unnecessary fucking—and then the flu. Now here Arlo was with expectations and gooey feelings and everything that was anathema to Jerry’s tightly controlled life. Worse, it was Jerry’s damn fault for letting things get that far.

  “No, Arlo. You have to stop doing so much for everyone else and do something for yourself. Take the night off from being a knight in shining armor, mmkay? I reall
y don’t need it.”

  Zing. Just like that, the light left Arlo’s eyes.

  Jerry huffed with impatience, the better to quell the sick feeling inside. “Come on. I’m saying this for your own good. I’m not the best person to get fixated on, okay? Don’t distract yourself from your mission—to get out there and become a player. Right?”

  “I never—” Arlo stopped himself. “Right. Listen, you don’t need to come tomorrow. I’ve got this.”

  “Oh. All right.” Well. That sounded final. Excellent. His chickadee was ready to fly. “Yes, you’ve got this. Trust your instincts. And wear one of your new outfits.”

  “Okay. Good luck with your dad.”

  Jerry waved a hand. “Piece of cake. I’m planning to survive the fiftieth birthday thing without him cancelling my inheritance and then get the hell out. Oh, and when I get back, can I still take you out for your birthday drink?” Way to send mixed messages, Helstrom.

  “I’d like that.”

  “Yeah. Maybe we’ll get the guys together, huh? Until then, have fun with Grindr.” There. That sounded less needy.

  As he reached the door, Arlo’s voice made him pause. “Thanks, Jerry. For everything. I really mean that.”

  Jerry didn’t look back. “It’s been my complete pleasure, Arlo. I really mean that.” And he got the hell out of there before he did something even more stupid… like stay.

  Chapter Ten

  “SO YOU’VE crawled out of your sick bed at last,” Eric said.

  When Jerry left Arlo’s, he hadn’t wanted to be alone, so he called Eric and asked him to meet at Alekos. Luckily, Will had an econ study group, and Eric was free to meet Jerry at their old stomping ground.

  “No thanks to you.” Jerry scanned the front of the restaurant as folks walked in until he realized he was looking for Arlo. Way to forget he was officially over being Arlo’s mentor. Damn it.

  “Hey, we offered. Will and I were ready to bring you chicken soup, but Arlo said he had it all handled.” Eric lifted his eyebrows. “Interesting. Anything you want to tell me about that sitch?”

  “No. There is no sitch. Arlo is a caregiver type, and I could barely stand up, so who was I to refuse? And you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

  “What smirk? It’s sweet that Arlo took care of you.” He raised his hands when Jerry shot him a death glare. “Okay. Just let me know when I’ve won the bet. I assume he didn’t have time to become a player when he was busy nursing you back to health.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Jerry drank some herbal tea to calm his jangled nerves. It would never do to appear agitated. Eric would leap on that as more evidence that Jerry was going to lose. “But you’re not going to win the bet. As a matter of fact, I just released him to the wilds of Grindr. Terribly overdue, but what with the flu and all—”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Don’t believe what? I set up his profile myself.”

  Eric smiled, his arm stretched along the back of the booth, the picture of ease. “Oh, I believe that, but I don’t believe Arlo’s gonna run with it.”

  Jerry compressed his lips to keep from screaming. “And why not, pray tell?”

  “Because Arlo isn’t the Grindr type. When he said he wanted to have some help ‘getting out there,’ I doubt he was talking about anonymous hookups.”

  “What do you mean? Getting him on Grindr was the whole point.”

  “Was it? Is that what Arlo asked you to help him with? Seems like he could’ve done that on his own.”

  “No, he—umm, wait….” Jerry thought back to their first meeting. They hadn’t talked about Grindr. Arlo had talked about wanting more sexual experiences than Jake had been willing to give him, and Jerry had been only too happy to provide that, along with new clothes, a haircut, and coaching on asking for what he wanted in life. So how had it become about Grindr? “Fuck. I’m the one who focused on Grindr.”

  “Yeah, and Arlo went along with it because that’s the kind of guy he is. I bet you anything he doesn’t even use it.”

  A jolt of happiness took Jerry by surprise. Oh no. No, no, no. Falling for his adorable apprentice was not in the plan. He shrugged. “Well, it’s not my problem anymore. Arlo is more than capable of being a player, however he wants to do it. He’s gorgeous and caring and incredible in bed so—”

  “What? How do you know?” Eric narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you went to bed with him.”

  Damn. Jerry affected nonchalance. “Why yes. What of it? The boy needed some confidence and experience in topping. Can you believe Jake never bottomed?”

  “Jerry. Oh my God.” Eric put his hand over his face. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Eric, please. You know me. Gay stud extraordinaire? When haven’t I hit on someone willing and available?”

  “Yes, but we’re talking about Arlo. The innocent guy you were supposed to be coaching, not seducing. God!”

  Jerry’s stomach clenched. Eric’s words were nothing he hadn’t said to himself—or heard from Denise—but they sounded far worse coming out of Eric’s mouth. “Oh stop. Arlo was grateful for the hands-on education.”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “I’ll bet. Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “No, not particularly.” Pretending to be bored, even though his insides were doing the mambo, Jerry glanced at his phone. “I need to go. Still need to pack for my Houston trip.”

  “Jerry….” Eric leaned forward but seemed to think better of it. “Okay. Why’re you going to Houston now? Finals are in three weeks.”

  “It’s just for the weekend. My father’s fiftieth birthday soiree. I need to put in an appearance if I want access to my trust fund in the fall.”

  “Good luck.” Eric laid his hand on Jerry’s with a meaningful glance. He’d been hearing about Jerry’s toxic father since they were freshmen. “Don’t let the bastard get you down.”

  “Never.” When he started to rise, Eric stopped him.

  “Wait. One more thing about Arlo. Remember when you told me Will was hung up on me and I didn’t believe it? And when I was worrying about his lack of experience, you said it didn’t matter, that Will’s a one-man kind of a guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “I get that same vibe from Arlo.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “No, listen. Will and I ran into him the day you got the flu. He was in the drugstore picking up your medicine, and we were… well, you know… stocking up on lube and condoms.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “Anyway, he told us what happened, and we offered to bring you some soup. But he said he had it handled. And then he told us how you took him shopping and to get a haircut and how much you helped him realize things about his life. He couldn’t stop talking about you, Jerry, and he had serious stars in his eyes. Does this sound familiar?”

  Jerry’s brain fuzzed out. “What?”

  “You told me almost the same thing about Will—that he couldn’t stop talking about me.”

  “True.”

  “And I refused to believe it, which only extended our torment.”

  “True again. But that was different. You and Will were meant to be.”

  “And you’re saying you and Arlo aren’t?”

  “Lord, no. I’m a heartless bastard, and Arlo’s a naïve sweetheart. Of course he’s going to fall for the first guy who’s paid him attention since Jake. But I wouldn’t wish myself on anyone, especially not someone as wholesome and nice as Arlo.” He started when Eric took both of his hands and fixed him with an affectionate gaze.

  “Stop. You’re far from a heartless bastard. Yes, you’re cynical, or try to be. But you really have a huge heart, and you’re loving and loyal.”

  Jerry pulled his hands away. “Eric. God. What are you even talking about?”

  “You. And that you deserve to have a great guy like Arlo. You say he’s naïve and I just called him innocent. But I don’t really believe that. Arlo seems like someone who can see through your bulls
hit and love you anyway.”

  “Okay.” Jerry stood. “Thanks for this little chat. I’m off to Houston. I’ll catch you later.” He left abruptly, without looking back, and fought off the absurd desire to cry.

  Chapter Eleven

  “SO, SON, take a load off. What’s your poison? Scotch? Vodka? Or that tequila you like?”

  Dad paused in front of the drinks cart, his face ruddy as usual—flushed from his steady alcohol intake and from laboring as an oilman under the Texas sun. He was filthy rich, but no one could accuse him of having his money handed to him on a silver platter. He worked for it, toiling in the oil fields for years before he struck it rich—a fact he enjoyed reminding Jerry of each time he held Jerry’s trust fund over his head.

  Despite his rags-to-riches success story, Dad wasn’t a role model for Jerry. In fact his respect for his father had steadily eroded. He had distant childhood memories of happy times—Dad teaching him to swim and taking him camping—but the more Dad’s wealth increased, the more verbally abusive, arrogant, and blatantly unfaithful he’d become toward Jerry’s mother. And he was a mean sonofabitch when he was drunk. Jerry and Denise had banded together to protect themselves and Mom from Dad’s towering rages. But they weren’t afraid of him. His tantrums showed his weakness, as far as they were concerned.

  Besides, Mom didn’t need rescuing. She was tough. She fiercely opposed Dad’s attempts to bully Jerry once he figured out Jerry wasn’t the macho male he expected to have for a son. When Jerry expressed an interest in sewing and fashion, Mom, who was an accomplished seamstress, taught him everything she knew. And when Jerry came out in middle school, she and Denise were right there, standing up to Dad’s sputtering disbelief. Their strength and fierceness infused Jerry with his own stubborn willfulness and it’d been a long time since Jerry gave a flying fuck what his father thought of him.

  There was, however, the issue of the trust fund. It was a substantial amount of money, and Jerry had no noble ideas of foregoing it to prove a point. Dad was an asshole, and Jerry looked forward to getting his hands on the promised funds so he could spend the rest of his life staying far away from him. So what if it was handed to him on that effete silver platter? That was a lucky break, one Jerry in no way deserved, but money was nice and could make the way easier for Jerry and his friends—his chosen family. He liked daydreaming about their future theater company and all the other ways he could spend the money. The trick was to get it before Dad decided to add another hurdle for Jerry to jump over.