The Quarterback

by Mackenzie Blair

  Matt breathed a sigh of relief when Trevor moved away, because he needed a break from the incredible torture. Matt heard him slick up his hands again with oil, and Trevor stepped back toward him. His left hand firmly palmed Matt’s left ass cheek, and Matt gasped. Before Matt could protest, Trevor pulled his ass cheek to the side so that Trevor’s oiled fingers could slide right along his crack, slicking it up and coming back to press a thumb firmly against Matt’s hole.

  “Oh, holy fuck!” Matt yelled, shooting off the massage table, yanking the sheet with him to cover his junk. “What the hell was that?”

  Trevor backed away, hands up, his eyes terrified, horrified. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “What I wanted? Your thumb in my backdoor! Why the hell would you think that?”

  Trevor looked away and gulped, then he spoke very softly. “You asked for the Deluxe Deep Tissue Massage. Athletic style.”

  “Oh god.” Matt rubbed a hand over his face, his mortification deepening. “And what is that code for here?”

  “Um.” Trevor shifted uneasily.

  “Tell me,” Matt insisted. He needed to know exactly what Connor had planned for him.

  “It’s a handjob with a prostate massage,” Trevor admitted.

  “A what?!”

  Trevor narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms defensively. “A prostate massage. You know that part inside your ass that—”

  “I know what it is!” Matt snapped, cutting him off. “Fuck, they’re assholes! I can’t believe they did this to me. Wait, what is the ‘athletic style’ code for?”

  Trevor actually blushed at that question and looked away. “‘Hard and vigorous.’ Sorry,” he added, sounding truly miserable.

  “Not your fault, man,” Matt managed to say, realizing Trevor was just as traumatized as he was. “Don’t worry, I’ll kick their asses for this.” Matt yanked open the door, remembered he was still pretty naked, but decided, fuck it, he needed to get out of here. Now. He wrapped the sheet around himself and raced to the locker room.

  Minutes later, Matt practically ran through the lobby, now dressed, and pushed into the September heat. He quickly made his way to the parking lot in the back and hurried behind Connor’s SUV. Matt bent at his knees, bracing his arms and trying not to hyperventilate. Holy shit. It had to have been a practical joke. He knew some of the guys had been pissed about his no-hazing rule. Maybe this was payback. But, damn, this crossed some serious lines. And he couldn’t believe his best friends would agree to it.

  Needing to calm down, Matt crossed to the gas station across the way. He stepped into the attached convenience store and scanned the refrigerators. Soda, power drinks, water. Yeah, those weren’t what he needed. It might be the middle of the afternoon, but if there was ever a time for a drink, it was now. He bought the manliest beer he could find (which was asinine, but whatever) and headed back outside.

  Alabama was a no-open-container state but screw it. Matt popped the top on the can and downed it. Hoping a slight buzz might dull the horror. By the time he got back to the parking lot, his buddies were heading his way. Rage filled him as he picked up his pace.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Matt snarled at his best friend, shoving Connor against the Jeep. Connor winced and held up his hands in surrender, but Ryan and Damian both laughed, apparently finding this hysterical.

  “Hey, hey, I was only trying to help,” Connor pleaded.

  “Help? By having a guy give me a handjob. What is wrong with you? All of you?” Matt turned to glare at Ryan and Damian. Their laughter faded, and they exchanged glances with Connor, uncertain.

  Connor cleared his throat, looking downright uncomfortable. “Uh, it’s a happy ending parlor. We thought . . . you’d like it.”

  “‘Like it’? Jesus, we could all get kicked off the team for this!”

  “Well, we sure as hell shouldn’t be shouting about it in the parking lot,” Damian replied, looking around the very public place. If anyone walked by, they could get seriously busted.

  Matt yanked open the back door of the SUV. “Sickos. I bet all of ya’ll didn’t have a dude,” he snapped. Matt didn’t wait for confirmation. He just crawled into the back seat and slammed the door behind him, wanting to be as far away from this place as possible.

  His buddies wisely followed, remaining quiet.

  A few minutes later, they were headed down the interstate, Connor driving a bit too fast. Matt stared out the window, thoughts racing through his head. Did they know? Did they know he was gay? They couldn’t. They’d never hang out with him if they knew. It had to have been a prank. A mean prank meant to freak him out. Well, it did. Just not in the way they expected.

  Damian broke the awkward silence first. “Listen, Matt, we didn’t mean anything by it. You’ve been tense, cranky as shit, and we—we . . .” he trailed off.

  “You what?” Matt practically growled.

  “Fuck, I’ll say it if no one else will,” Ryan offered, leaning over from the front seat. “You need to get off, man. And we never see you with chicks.”

  Matt felt his heart stop beating. Shit, shit. He’d gone on a few dates; he’d even kissed a few girls. He thought that had been enough. But, clearly, clearly, it hadn’t been. He was screwed. They suspected the truth.

  But he was captain of the football team, and as his father had drilled into him, football was not a place for faggots. His father had used the slur casually, not having a clue that Matt actually was one. The hate, the bigotry, had been there his whole life. At church, at home. And Bodine was no exception. The Dean of Athletics had made his view on queers, well, anything liberal really, very clear. He was a God-fearing man and such sin would not be tolerated.

  “It’s no big deal,” Damian said, interrupting Matt’s mental meltdown.

  “No big deal?” Matt shouted.

  “So you’re gay, so what? It’s, like, legal to marry and shit.” Damian shrugged.

  “Yeah, we can be your groomsmen! I look sick in a tux,” Ryan added with a fist bump to Damian.

  Matt squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. How were they okay with this? It had to be a joke. They were trying to trick him into admitting something. But why? For their amusement on a boring Sunday night?

  Matt opened his eyes and looked at Damian and Ryan, who met his gaze with reassuring eyes. They weren’t messing with him, they weren’t disgusted by him . . . they were supportive? Was this really happening?

  And then Matt’s best friend since sixth grade pulled the car to the side of the road, flicked on the hazard lights, and turned to face him.

  “Matt, I know your dad did a number on you,” Connor stated calmly. “He’s a piece of shit. And I know our church is not down with homosexuality. But I don’t care about that. None of us do.”

  “I’m not gay,” Matt whispered, almost automatically.

  “Dude, you are so gay,” Connor countered. “I saw you kissing that goth kid behind the gym in ninth grade.” He smirked.

  Matt slammed his head back against the seat rest. One moment of weakness. Okay, a few moments. But the hot goth kid had so been his type, with black eyeliner and a nipple ring. Still, this couldn’t be—

  Connor leaned over and punched Matt in the chest, hard. “Stop fucking freaking out. Only we know, okay? And it sucks, it sucks that you have to hide it. I know what your dad’s like, and look, I get that some of the guys on the team might—”

  “Freak the hell out? The dean could take away my scholarship,” Matt managed to spit out.

  “Yeah, maybe. Maybe not,” Connor said. “I think Coach might have your back. But, dude, you can’t go through all of college celibate. You’re . . . you’re, like, really unhappy, man.”

  Matt saw the sincerity on his friend’s face. He and Connor didn’t exactly do heart-to-hearts. Mainly because they usually already knew what the other one was thinking without ever having to talk about it. They knew everything abou
t each other—favorite foods, favorite video games, annoying habits, fucked-up family members, when to hang out, when to give the other one space. But, apparently, Connor knew Matt way better than he even thought.

  “Hey, if it helps, I have a gay cousin,” Damian offered, breaking into the discussion.

  Matt let out a surprised laugh.

  “Smooth, dude,” Ryan groaned.

  “What? I do,” Damian replied, with a shrug.

  “And I have a gay best friend. No big deal.” Connor smiled. He nudged Matt again. “We cool?”

  “Shit, I guess. I don’t know. Just drive, okay?” Matt said, trying to process everything. And Connor understood, cranking up the radio and rolling down the windows.

  As Connor pulled back onto the interstate, the conversation switched to yesterday’s game. Matt took a steadying breath as he stared out the open window. His best buddies knew. And they didn’t care.

  Matt felt himself start to smile. So, apparently, he was an idiot. For not telling them. For not trusting them.

  And for not getting the handjob from the really hot masseur.

  Trevor grabbed his backpack out of his locker in the massage parlor’s back room, then slammed the door shut with a satisfying bang. Fuck, fuck. He’d just screwed up. If Samantha found out, she could fire him. He never should have said yes. He certainly hadn’t ever said yes before. Jerking off clients wasn’t mandatory here at the spa, and even though it paid so much more, Trevor had avoided it until today. And he’d not only agreed to perform a handjob but a prostate massage too . . . Trevor groaned in self-disgust. What the hell was wrong with him?

  It was all the damn quarterback’s fault. Everyone on campus—man and woman, student and professor—noticed the guy. Matt Lancaster was walking charisma. Sex on a stick. And he was also unattainable as hell. One rumor was that he was planning on marrying his high school sweetheart after graduation. Another was that he was just very discreet with his hookups, a true Southern gentleman. But the girls he supposedly banged weren’t so discreet. They bragged. A lot.

  Even though girls swore they’d hooked up with the elusive quarterback, Matt had never officially dated anyone on campus, which only made him more of a catch. While there were rumors of him having various one-night stands, he’d heard no woman had been able to tie him down. He remained the unattainable football god.

  So when Trevor had seen Matt walk in with his teammates an hour ago, Trevor couldn’t believe it. Matt wasn’t the type to slum it in a happy ending massage parlor. And yet, it had set off all of Trevor’s dirty fantasies of touching Matt Lancaster. Any part of him. His smooth back, his muscular thighs, hell, the arch of his foot. But he knew Matt would request a female masseuse. All the straight ones did.

  Still, he’d held out hope that maybe Matt preferred a male masseur, someone who could dig into his muscles. Then he’d watched Matt’s best friend pull out a wad of cash, and Trevor had known they’d be going for the deluxe services. There went that wet fantasy. So he’d headed into the back room again after dropping off the freshly laundered robes to Samantha.

  A few minutes later, Samantha had found him. She didn’t bullshit him or coax him; she was far too direct for that.

  “I’ve got a request for a Deluxe Deep Tissue Massage,” she said matter-of-factly, but they both knew it was code for prostate massage. Didn’t get a lot of those requests around here. Repressed men were a bit touchy about anal play. The outskirts of Bodine, Alabama, were not exactly a sexually liberal part of the country. Although they did have some less repressed men who sometimes passed through. Not that he’d worked with them, but he’d definitely heard them through the walls.

  When Trevor had taken this job, he’d been desperate. Apparently, gay Asian guys with eyebrow piercings and tattoos were not acceptable for the fine ladies of Bodine, Alabama, and their spa days. Plus, this place paid so much more. Trevor had made his boundaries very clear up front. He would perform the massage, and the men could get off, but he wasn’t going to help them. No handjobs, no blowjobs. But clients could fondle him over his boxer briefs, could stare at him as they jacked themselves off, and he was just supposed to blissfully ignore it all. Which wasn’t totally awful. He was pretty secure in his body. He was toned and lean with high cheekbones that he’d overheard one or two women comment on in envy. And he was far from sexually conservative.

  But that didn’t mean he wanted to get men off for money. Well, or women for that matter. The ladies loved to grab his ass while he massaged them. But, damn it, he was not a prostitute. Even if he was broke. Even if his family would never care, because he was already dead to them. Yay, fucked-up world.

  And yet, when Samantha had found him in the back, Trevor had actually been hoping she might ask him to make an exception. But surely they’d requested women. Maybe Tess—Tess was every straight boy’s fantasy: red hair, big lips, big tits, tiny waist.

  “Derek’s not in today.” Samantha raised an eyebrow. “You interested?”

  Trevor swallowed. Derek, not Tess. They wanted a guy. “Which one?”

  “Blue-eyed, blond one with the red shirt,” she replied.

  “No problem. I’ll take care of him.” The words were out of Trevor’s mouth before he could even fully think them. What the hell is wrong with me? But he knew the answer. Matt Lancaster was what was wrong with him. All six foot two of his golden skin, blond hair, and deep blue eyes. Trevor was already half-hard just thinking about touching him. But, wait, this couldn’t be right. Matt couldn’t want a guy. He snagged Samantha’s hand.

  “Look, I don’t think he’s into guys. I know him from school. This is probably a practical joke they’re playing on him,” Trevor warned.

  Samantha nodded. “He did seem nervous, like he was just figuring out where they’d brought him. But his friend got all quiet and sincere when he whispered they wanted a man for the blond. Maybe he’s bi-curious. Who cares as long as they pay? Just don’t fuck this up,” she said with a warning look and then headed off.

  And, now, she was probably going to fire him because he had fucked it up. Which made Trevor even more enraged as he stormed out of the back room. It wasn’t his fault the dude had freaked. His friends had played a rotten joke on him . . . and Trevor. He had never been more embarrassed in his life.

  Trevor headed toward the exit, relieved when Samantha just waved him off as he passed. He sighed in relief. Maybe Matt hadn’t lodged a complaint. In the parking lot, Trevor climbed into his beat-up old Corolla and started the drive back to campus, leaving behind the more rundown area on the outskirts of the county, heading toward the quaint college town of Bodine. He’d never envisioned himself living in small-town Alabama, but it certainly had its charm, especially the main street that catered to the college kids with funky clothing shops, a few bars, and cute restaurants where students could eat outside on warm days. It was only a ten-minute walk from campus, so the place was almost always busy.

  He arrived at the popular coffee shop, the Daily Grind, with its wooden tables and overstuffed couches a few minutes early for his study session. His best friend, Emily, spotted him and waved him over. Her blonde hair was up in a ponytail and her glasses were perched on her nose. That meant they’d actually be doing the problem set today rather than gossiping the whole time. Which was good, because he only had an hour before he switched from customer to server at the Daily Grind.

  “Lauren and Ethan are joining us in a bit,” she said after hugging him in greeting. “They haven’t been able to solve the third question, so I said we’d figure it out.”

  “Okay, good, because I really need to finish this assignment.”

  Emily’s eyes widened in innocence. “Are you implying that I distract you from your studies?”

  Trevor gave her a mocking smile. “No, I love hearing about every single detail of your day, all the school gossip, all the celebrity gossip, all your hopes and dreams and—”

  “Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You love it. So . . . how was work?” She
gave him a mischievous smile.

  Trevor purposefully misunderstood. “I don’t start for another hour.”

  “Not here at the coffee shop, loser. And not tutoring either,” she warned before he could try that tack. “At the spa.”

  Trevor busied himself with pulling out his class notes from his messenger bag. Yeah, Emily was never interested in his other two jobs. They were incredibly boring in comparison. He seriously never should have told Emily about what really went on behind some of the closed doors at the massage parlor. But he told her everything. Mainly because she pried it out of him, so he’d given up deflecting long ago.

  And although she might verbally vomit every personal detail of her life, she did know when to keep her mouth shut about his secrets. Still, he was so not telling her about today’s incident.

  “Work was fine,” he replied with a casual shrug, keeping his eyes averted.

  “Oh my god, what happened?” Emily said in an excited whisper.

  It was really annoying that she was such a pro at reading his body language. They’d essentially been joined at the hip since freshman year when they’d met in the dining hall. Both bemoaning their rotten luck in the roommate draw, Emily and Trevor had formed their own little support group. They’d learned that they both loved bad pop music, but that guilty pleasure was offset by their equally fervent love for obscure indie bands and even more obscure indie films.

  “Nothing happened,” Trevor tried again with another shrug.

  “You took on a deluxe massage, didn’t you?” she accused with glee. “You are so totally busted.”

  He sighed and gritted his teeth. “You’re really a pain in my ass, you know that?”

  Emily laughed, clearly unimpressed with his grumpiness. “You love me. Besides, it’s super helpful that I can read your mind since you never willingly share.”

  Trevor leaned back in his chair. “Maybe I don’t share for a reason. ’Cause it’s private.”