The Quarterback

by Mackenzie Blair

  Well, technically, Brett was flirting and Trevor was being polite. Which was the only reason Matt hadn’t done something really stupid already.

  Emily had obviously decided that since Trevor was occupied, she could aim all her energy on Matt. She now knew about his career goals, his sisters, his holiday plans, and his football injuries. She’d gamely offered to rub some fancy numbing cream on all his sore bits. She’d even managed to do it in a noncreepy way that was somehow endearing and thoroughly amusing. She was super awesome. And super into him. And he was super screwed.

  As if sensing his downward spiral, Trevor finally headed his way with Brett in tow. He looked at Matt, as if trying to decipher his thoughts, and Matt attempted to silently communicate his pathetic predicament. But then, when they arrived, Brett wrapped his arms around Trevor’s waist, and all he could see was red as a fiery rage consumed him. It took everything he had not to shout: Get your fucking hands off my man.

  Instead, Matt snapped out, “Let’s dance.” Because Brett hated to dance. And Matt was getting desperate.

  Emily squealed in delight that one of her favorite songs was now playing. She tugged Trevor and Matt toward the dance floor, which was really just the middle of the living room where a disco ball hung from the rafter. Brett followed, making Matt silently curse. Emily positioned herself between Matt and Trevor and started shaking her booty.

  And then Brett started to bust out some serious moves. Matt stared in shock. The guy could dance. Apparently, he’d also been hiding his moves for fear of being outed, but now he no longer had that problem. Emily whooped in glee and turned to start gyrating against Brett.

  “Get it, girl,” Trevor joked. And then Trevor smiled over her shoulder at Matt, and Matt felt the tightness in his chest start to ease.

  For thirty seconds, it was great. Emily and Brett danced together, and Trevor moved so that he was behind Emily, seemingly dancing with her as well. But Trevor was actually just getting closer to Matt. Trevor would occasionally accidentally brush Matt’s hip with his hand while he moved his body like he belonged on a go-go platform. Brett and Emily were pumping and grinding, but Trevor danced with a more fluid grace. Not over the top, more subtle, but the way his hips moved . . . damn.

  Emily backed her butt up into Trevor’s front and met him gyration for gyration, as if they did this all the time. And it was hot as hell. They were starting to get some notice from the crowd. A lot of women were eyeing Trevor, clearly not caring if he was straight or gay.

  So, apparently, Brett decided it was time to stake a claim. Only a rich boy who pretty much owned the frat would have the audacity to grind against another guy on the dance floor. But Brett went for it. He switched positions, slid behind Trevor, and wrapped his arm around Trevor’s waist. And Matt died a bit inside.

  Trevor looked over his shoulder with a friendly smile at Brett, but moved forward, taking his ass away from Brett’s groin. Brett didn’t get the message. Or he thought Trevor was playing hard to get. Emily, being a solid wingwoman, seemed to sense Trevor wasn’t into it, and she moved between him and Brett. That was better. For about two seconds.

  Then two blonde chicks apparently decided Matt looked sad and lonely with his meager dance moves (because he was seriously holding back), and suddenly they were grinding on either side of him like he was a stripper pole. They ran their hands all over his body, and Matt realized he was pretty much just a piece of meat. Matt caught Trevor’s amused eye, and let out a laugh as the girls started working their thang against him. What the hell was he supposed to do?

  Help, he mouthed to Trevor and Emily.

  Emily broke off from Trevor and came to his rescue. Matt gratefully pulled her into his arms. “Thanks,” he whispered as the blondes moved to their next victim.

  Emily smiled. “Sure.” And started dancing with him. But not in a stripper way, thank god. The song changed to a fast rock anthem, and suddenly everyone on the dance floor started jumping and waving their hands in the air. Matt watched as Brett moved back toward Trevor. They were now face to face. Brett’s hands slid to Trevor’s waist, and then lower, grabbing his ass. Oh, hell no.

  Pretending to lose his balance amid the slamming bodies, Matt grabbed Brett’s hand, yanking it back, holding it in a vice. He leaned down and growled low enough that only Brett could hear: “Touch him again and I’ll kick your ass.”

  Brett jerked his head back in surprise, staring up at Matt in shock. But Matt didn’t look away, didn’t chicken out this time, he just held his stare. Brett looked between Matt and Trevor, confused, and then understanding came.

  “Fuck, really?” Brett murmured, clearly not sure if Matt was messing with him. But there was no judgment in his eyes, more just curiosity. Brett had been his buddy for a long time. He knew what was at stake. But, still, Matt couldn’t quite answer him. He looked away, hating himself.

  Brett grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “Understood.”

  Matt gave a jerky nod.

  Brett backed away and started jumping with the other partygoers to the song, a goofy smile on his face, making sure that Trevor was now dancing next to Matt.

  Trevor studied him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You?” Matt asked.

  Trevor sized Matt up. “What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing.” Matt shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

  Trevor clearly wanted to know more, but decided to let it go for the moment. “I gotta take a piss,” Trevor said, nodding to the hallway over his shoulder. “Wanna come?”

  Matt’s eyes widened. Was Trevor asking him to hook up in the bathroom? Fuck. Fuck. Reading his mind, Trevor busted out laughing.

  “Guess not,” Trevor said, then he slapped Matt on the shoulder. “Another time. I’ll grab us more beers too.”

  And then he headed away.

  Trevor tapped his fingers against his cup in annoyance. Way too many people were crowded around the kegs. Since he didn’t have boobs or know one of the frat guys serving, he was screwed. It was starting to get hotter than hell too with so many bodies pressed together.

  Then one of the doors to the backyard banged open, bringing in a cool rush of air, as a fight tumbled into the room. Trevor turned to see Jamal being pushed by a tall football player, two of his bulky buddies behind him.

  “You better watch yourself, boy!” the tall guy said, getting in Jamal’s face. Trevor realized he was the kicker, Fischer, who’d fucked up the play tonight. The one who Jamal was probably going to replace. Shit.

  “Go sober the fuck up,” Jamal shouted back, pushing Fischer away.

  Fischer stumbled against one of his bulky buddies, a freckled redhead. The homophobic linebacker, Trevor realized. Matt talked about the team enough that he’d started to learn a few things. And these were the two douche bags—Fischer and O’Donnell—stirring up trouble on the team.

  “Fuck off, freshman,” Fischer yelled, righting himself and pushing Jamal back, slamming him into the wall, hard. “You’re not taking my spot, asshole.”

  Trevor looked around, seeing that Jamal had no backup against Fischer, O’Donnell, and the third guy. So Trevor pushed through the crowd toward Jamal, figuring he could even the odds. Where the hell was the rest of the team? Where was Matt?

  “I don’t have to take it,” Jamal spat back. And Trevor realized Jamal was equally drunk and not into self-preservation at the moment. “You lost it all on your own tonight.”

  Fischer roared and clocked Jamal with a right hook. Jamal went reeling, his head hitting the wall. Trevor arrived in time to keep Jamal from sliding down to the ground. He hoisted his buddy up, placing himself between Jamal and Fischer while Jamal regained his bearings.

  Luckily, O’Donnell was now holding Fischer back, restraining him from more violence. Thank god, because O’Donnell could easily pulverize both Jamal and Trevor with his impressive bulk.

  “I’m not done!” Fischer drunkenly shouted. “Asshole freshman thinks he’s better than me.”

  “He
ain’t,” O’Donnell assured him.

  “I am better than him!” Jamal spit blood from his mouth, clenching his fists, stepping forward to take Fischer on. Trevor shook his head. Jamal might not like being sucker punched, but it didn’t mean he could win the fight.

  Trevor pushed Jamal back. “He’s not worth it,” Trevor said, blocking Jamal with his body so the kid couldn’t take on three football players at once. Where the hell was Matt?

  “Who the fuck are you?” Fischer spat in Trevor’s face. “You a fucking boy or girl?” he taunted, motioning to Trevor’s long hair.

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed. Fuck him. Some of the football guys had ponytails, but it was a slam against Trevor’s overall look. Which wasn’t feminine by any means, but certainly not straight-boy chic. This guy needed a serious ass kicking.

  Fischer looked over Trevor’s shoulder at Jamal. “You got a fag fighting for you now, Jamal? You gonna let him fuck you later?” He sneered, and then he made the huge mistake of spitting on Trevor as he called out, “Disgusting fag!”

  Oh, hell no.

  Bam! Trevor clocked the motherfucker in the face, busting his nose. Blood gushed everywhere. Fischer fell back into his football buddies, who looked both shocked and pissed.

  “Nah, he’s just gonna kick your ass!” Jamal shouted from behind Trevor, cackling in amusement.

  Fischer roared and launched himself at Trevor. Trevor managed to sidestep one punch, but then he felt his lip split open, blood filling his mouth. He braced himself to be flattened against the wall by hulking football players, but a moment later, Fischer was flying away from him. Slamming into the bar. Glasses went flying.

  “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?”

  Trevor looked up to see a back he knew quiet intimately now shielding him from danger. Matt’s shout had silenced the room. Everyone froze under the wrath of Matt, who slowly turned, warning everyone to chill the fuck out. And he had never, ever looked so terrifying in his life. Even after being sacked in an illegal play by their biggest rival. His six-foot-two, muscled presence dominated the room.

  “Sorry, Matt, I didn’t mean to start anything,” Jamal stammered, clearly more afraid of Matt’s displeasure than he’d been of being sucker punched.

  “It wasn’t just you.” Matt shook his head. “Connor, Ryan.” He turned to two of his buddies that Trevor recognized from the massage parlor. “Get Fischer the fuck out of here. Take O’Donnell and Smith with you too.”

  Trevor looked over and realized that O’Donnell hadn’t thrown himself into the fray with his buddies. In fact, he was the one now trying to calm Fischer down. But he was still defending the bigoted asshole.

  “Jamal had it coming,” O’Donnell snapped at Matt. “He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Bullshit.” Matt strode over to O’Donnell, glaring at him. Yeah, his man knew how to use his size and clout for intimidation. “Fischer’s been pushing him for weeks. So have you. It ends. Now!” Matt commanded. “You hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” O’Donnell replied through gritted teeth.

  Matt shook his head, then said more quietly to O’Donnell. “What the fuck’s happened to you? You used to be better than this.”

  O’Donnell looked as surprised by Matt’s words as Matt did. Then O’Donnell cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at Matt. “So did you. You used to win.”

  The room actually seemed to step back at those words.

  But Matt just laughed. “I didn’t lose tonight. Fischer did. So get your fucking friend home,” Matt snapped, and then he dismissed them by turning to address the rest of his players who had come to watch the confrontation.

  “If I hear any of you pull this shit again, I will personally kick your asses. Understand?” Matt boomed. “We win together, or we lose together. We don’t pick each other apart.”

  Matt’s teammates all nodded and murmured in agreement as Fischer and his buddies slipped out the back door.

  “All right, show’s over. Someone turn the music back on!” Jamal shouted, forcing a big grin. Laughter ensued and the music started pumping again.

  Jamal endured the backslapping of some of his teammates, making sure he was okay, and then hurried over to Trevor. “Shit, I’m sorry man. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” Trevor ran his hands through his hair, now loose around his shoulders. He tried to give a reassuring smile, then winced in pain.

  “I owe you,” Jamal said firmly. But before Jamal could say more, or pledge his blood oath, Emily was launching herself into Trevor’s arms and hugging him tight. Had she witnessed the whole thing?

  “That was really, really stupid,” she whispered. Okay, so she’d apparently seen most of the altercation.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said in self-disgust, pulling his hair back.

  “But it was also brave and really hot.” She winked.

  Trevor scanned the room for Matt. He was across the way, surrounded by his teammates. Now that the shit had hit the fan, they were all looking to him for reassurance. Apparently, the tension on the team had been boiling beneath the surface for a long time. Tonight, it had busted wide open.

  Matt looked up and caught Trevor’s eye for a moment. Matt flicked his glance to the football players surrounding him, indicating he couldn’t escape. Trevor gave a small nod. Sure, Trevor wanted to talk to his boyfriend, maybe be consoled a bit, but he was a big boy. He could deal with this on his own. If Matt hadn’t arrived, he probably would have managed. At least, that was what he’d tell himself. He was not a fucking damsel in distress.

  So Trevor pulled Emily outside into the cold night air and took a deep breath, trying to gain his bearings.

  “You okay?” Emily asked.

  “Not really,” Trevor replied, truthfully. He shoved his hands into his pockets and started moving toward Emily’s dorm, which was next to his. She let him lead for a few minutes silently, and he was grateful. She knew him well.

  The first time he’d ever been in a situation like that—the slurs, the violence—was in high school, right after he came out. His cousins had told everybody, and a group of jocks had cornered him in the locker room. One punch and he’d gone down. Luckily, the coach had overheard and stepped in before it’d gone any further.

  Trevor still remembered the look on the guy’s face who had hit him, staring down at Trevor’s blood on the white tile, looking nauseous. Like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. He’d later apologized and told Trevor he watched Glee and thought the gay kid was okay. So Trevor figured he had pop culture to thank for transforming some small minds, but not all.

  Certainly not his parents. And certainly not the assholes tonight.

  But Trevor had learned to take care of himself, so that the next time a guy came at him swinging, he could fight back.

  Trevor gave a small laugh at the memory. It had been a leather daddy at a gay bar in Dallas who’d taught him to throw a punch. He’d seen some guys getting too handsy with Trevor and had taken him into the back alley and showed him some moves. The leather daddy had taken Trevor under his wing for a few weekends, and after their third fighting lesson in the alleyway, he’d dropped to his knees and blown Trevor. Now that had been a far more enjoyable pastime than the punching.

  “Why are you laughing?” Emily looked at him in bemusement.

  He shrugged. “Nothing. Just remembering the guy who taught me to fight.”

  “I can’t believe you hit that guy. I can’t believe you subjected me to such violence,” she said with a teasing bump to his shoulder.

  Trevor slung an arm around her as they crossed the courtyard to her building. “Sorry I dragged you to a frat party.”

  Emily smiled up at him. “Hey, most exciting night I’ve had in a long time. Plus, Matt Lancaster is hot. We talked a lot—did you see that? He seemed actually interested in me.”

  “He’s a nice guy,” Trevor offered, not sure what the hell to say. He prayed Emily didn’t think Matt was flirting with h
er, because talk about awkward.

  They reached her dorm entrance, and she gave him a long, hard hug, then stared at his lip under the entrance lights. “That looks like it’s gonna hurt.”

  “Already does,” Trevor said with a small smirk, and then he waved good-bye.

  He started toward his dorm, but realized he needed comfort food, so he veered off toward the vending machines near the dining hall. One chocolate bar later and he almost felt normal again when he reached his room. Unfortunately, Drew was home. And apparently Trevor looked like shit, because Drew’s face went white in horror as soon as he entered.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” Drew yelled, hopping off his bed and hurrying over.

  “Bad night. Remind me to avoid frat parties in the future.” Trevor dumped his keys and wallet onto his desk.

  Drew was already down on the floor, searching through their tiny fridge. “Why the fuck don’t we have ice?”

  “It’s fine,” Trevor said.

  But Drew stood up with a yogurt that he pressed to Trevor’s lip. Better than nothing.

  “It’s not fine,” Drew snapped back. “What happened?”

  Trevor sighed, but closed his eyes and gave the most abbreviated accounting of the evening that he could. Drew was less than impressed with Matt’s belated arrival. Or his football buddies.

  “It’s his fault you were hit,” Drew said.

  “No, it’s not.” Trevor tossed the now-warm yogurt onto his desk.

  “Yeah, it is. It’s his fucked-up team. They called you a fag.”

  “I was there. I remember.”

  “And did he give them shit for calling you a fag?” Drew asked, arms crossed, foot tapping. He was getting himself into a real state.

  Trevor winced. “Not in those words, but close enough.”

  “He didn’t even acknowledge you, did he?” Drew cursed.

  Trevor sighed. “He put his body between me and the ass-kicking coming my way. I’ll take it.”

  “He should’ve kicked their asses. You’re breaking up with him,” Drew commanded with an imperiously pointed finger. Before Drew could launch into a lecture, he was interrupted by a knock on the door.