“You’re the star of our team. You’re the player most sought after by the NFL. You’re gonna be a first round draft pick, and you want me to believe you’re harboring some kind of true feelings for me, for apparently a long time?” Jace challenged Colt with every word he spoke. He got it; he’d have asked these same questions way before now.
“Pretty much sums it up,” Colt replied, a sly grin on his face. He still hadn’t looked over at Jace, but lifted their joined hands, bringing Jace’s knuckles up for a kiss. “Actually, you’re dead on.”
“I don’t believe it,” Jace countered after a minute and finally relaxed back in his seat, staring straight ahead. Colt liked that much better, because now he could go back to being the watcher. “I can get you might be into fucking guys now and then. I like it, so why wouldn’t you, but not the rest. And why me? I don’t understand. I’m a cheerleader on scholarship, and you’re, well, you. Nah, I can’t see it at all.”
Jace drained his wine glass.
“The first time I saw you was August of ’99. We were at the stadium. It was the first community pep rally, before school even started. You tumbled across the whole field, doing all those twisty things. Your hair was shorter, you weren’t as muscular, and I think you’ve gotten taller. You were stunning. The most beautiful guy I had ever seen. I got so hard watching you I had to walk around with my hands in my pockets, trying to hide my hard-on. The first chance I got, I went to the bathroom and jacked off. What else do you want to know?” Colt asked.
Jace turned to Colt, staring at him, not speaking, but clearly taking in his every word.
“In 2001, your dad died. You were gone for like two weeks,” Colt started, but Jace cut him off.
“Don’t tell me you were the one that sent that iPod to me.”
“I did. I confess it was from me. I felt so bad for you. You worked so hard all the time. You always had that old Walkman with the big head phones covering your ears. Let’s see, you take on every community commitment the school offers. Your grade point average is like right at a three point nine. You—”
“How do you know that?” Jace asked. The accusation was gone, but the curiosity wasn’t.
“Jace, you wear a size twelve shoe. You eat fruit and yogurt every morning for breakfast. You hate the tags in the back of your T-shirts; you always cut them out. You chew the caps to your pens. You love Creed. You…” Colt was on a roll and could go on forever. He was an encyclopedia of knowledge when it came to Jace Montgomery.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jace said, lifting a hand to stop Colt in mid-sentence.
“I think that might be my favorite look. It’s the same look you gave me when I hit on you in the locker room,” Colt chuckled.
“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Jace fidgeted, uncrossing his leg, and then crossing them again. He wasn’t necessarily relaxed, but he wasn’t about to bolt either. Colt took the chance and refilled Jace’s wine glass. He poured the last of their second bottle into Jace’s glass before setting the empty bottle on the table beside him. Colt pulled another bottle out of the cooler and popped the cork.
His big plan for the night was to bottom. He wanted Jace to top him. He hadn’t said anything, but hoped Jace would be his first. Overall, Colt decided he probably needed to be a little more relaxed and maybe be somewhat drunk to pull it off. He didn’t know what to expect. He’d only had the tip of Jace’s finger breach him for an instant when they were making out in the locker room. He took a long drink straight from the third bottle.
“You could tell me you thought about me too, even if it’s not true,” Colt said, and took another long swig, completely abandoning his glass. Colt worried he might have freaked Jace out with his sad attempt at humor, falling short once again, because Jace hadn’t laughed at his joke.
“I did think about you. Who doesn’t? You’re like TLU’s golden child. Everyone wants to know you,” Jace said as he took a sip from his refilled wine glass. “Does your dad know about this?”
“Hell no!” Colt choked out, quickly lowering the bottle, almost spewing the wine in his mouth all over Jace when he answered. “Fuck no, he can’t ever know. I’m never ever gonna be old enough for him to find out I like dick. Can you imagine that? I’d cause him to have a coronary right there on the field.”
“He’s intense,” Jace agreed.
Intense was a huge understatement in describing his father, Larry Michaels. He was an ex-professional football player who had ridden Colt’s ass his entire life. He pushed Colt to excel in everything he did, especially football, and if he failed, hell rained down on his head so hard Child Protective Services had Colt’s father on speed dial.
“Ya think? No, he can’t ever know. My parents aren’t anything like yours. My father’s orchestrated my whole football career for pretty much my entire life. He’s done all this for my future. He handles all the contacts and got the agents looking at me; he’s my manager. He controls my life. No way would it ever be a good idea to clue him in on how much I like hot blond cheerleaders of the same sex.” Colt took a big swig from the bottle after thinking about his father.
“So you’re gay?” Jace asked, mercifully getting off the subject of his dad.
“I think so. I’ve lusted after you forever. I think about you when I’m trying to get off. Is that saying too much?” Finally, the drunk started to settle in.
“No, you don’t. Really?” Jace sounded shocked.
“You know, I’ve seen you in the locker room over the years. It’s not hard to draw that image up when needed,” Colt teased, taking another long drink from the bottle.