Wrangled

I shrug, then shove my hands into my pockets. “Maybe you can show me another time.”

“When? Next time you’re in town? When the hell will that be? Another ten years?”

“You never know.”

Chad grunts, seeming unhappy with my answer. Then he spins around and, walking backwards now, puts himself in front of me. “How about I take you out to my ranch again tonight? After the big party at the Evans’, of course. Wouldn’t wanna miss that.”

“Hmm. That sounds like an excellent time to show me all your gorgeous livestock,” I note with sarcasm. “After midnight, when mosquitos are out in full force, and your animals are dead asleep.”

“I will get you out to my ranch again, one way or another. Oh!” He spots something behind me, then takes off running.

I stop and turn, watching him. He’s by the wall near the bleachers where he pulls down a large mat that is leaned up against it. It’s half a wrestling mat. It slaps the floor with a heavy, plastic clapping noise. He tosses down the other half—clap!—then crouches down and shoves the two of them together, connecting the image of the thick white wrestling circle on the two blue mats.

He wipes his hands, then spreads them proudly, presenting it. “This, my man, was half my life! Right there in that ring!”

I come up to the opposite side of the ring. With a step, I give the mat a testing squish of my shoe. It’s firmer than I expected. “Is there a reason you laid out this big ol’ smelly thing? Does seeing this large white circle—”

“Ring.”

“—inspire a new trip down memory lane? Grappling other muscular teens between your legs? Hugging them with your big, powerful thighs? Pinning them beneath you? Okay, I got a serious question.” I tilt my head. “You ever pop a boner during a match?”

Chad’s eyes narrow indignantly. “Never.”

“Never? Not once? Not even a semi?”

“You done?” he asks with a smirk.

“Tormenting you for wrestling with hot muscular guys after-the-fact, now that I know you were gay all along?” I shrug. “I’ll be done for now. But not for good.”

Chad, standing with his big feet shoulder-width apart on the opposite side of the mat, arms folded, appearing like some stern, bodybuilder businessman, stares me down intensely.

Then he lifts his chin. “Hot muscular guys, you just said?”

I blink. “Well, yeah. Hot and muscular. That’s pretty much the definition of every wrestler, isn’t it? You tight-bodied guys watch your weight more than a runway model.”

“So … what you’re saying is …” He smirks with amusement. “You think I’m hot and muscular?”

I open my mouth.

Then I close it and frown.

“Don’t sweat it, Goodwin. Your secret’s safe with me. See how that works?” He struts halfway around the mat, appearing smug. “I tell you a secret, you keep it. You tell me a secret, I keep it. That is how friendships are made.”

“Oh, so we’re friends now?”

“Is that idea so farfetched?”

“Other than our history, and the fact that we’re only just now learning how to speak civilly to each other, we have so little in common.” I gesture down at the mat between us. “I’ve never stepped foot on a wrestling mat.”

“You just did, actually.”

My eyes narrow. “Before tonight. I can’t even begin to imagine being gay and grappling with so many tight-bodied guys in those … those skimpy spandex things you wear … and not pop a boner for the whole world to see. I mean, those tight things keep nothing for the imagination.”

“Singlets,” he states, amused. “They’re called singlets.”

“Call them whatever you like, Chad, they still would fail to contain all the wood I’d be sporting.”

He snorts as he rounds the mat some more. “Well, maybe it’s different when you’re doin’ it for sport, and takin’ your opponent down is the difference between advancing in a championship, or returning to your team as a failure. Shoot, the last thing on my mind was how muscular my opponent was. I would study them and look for what shortcoming of theirs I could exploit. I’d see the guy had weaker legs or shorter arms or a tendency to veer left. I got so good at readin’ them, I knew their next moves before they did.”

“And yet you still failed to bring home a trophy.”

Chad’s jaw tightens up. Then, just as quickly, a look of deep amusement crosses over his face, and soon, he’s grinning ear-to-ear with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

I frown, suspicious of him. “What’s that look for?”

He steps out onto the mat, the soft padding of his shoes on the firm mat the only noise I hear, until he stops in the middle of the ring. He looks over at me. “You wanna know what it’s like?”

I squint, not following. “What what’s like?”

“Wrestling.”

After a moment of testing to see if he’s joking, I wrinkle up my face and scoff at him. “In these clothes? You have got to be kidding me. This is my own work. These trousers, this vest, this shirt? All mine, one-of-a-kind. I’m not crawlin’ around on a mat in it. Sorry.”