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  Tonight, though, Luke's insisting that we need to go, and we need to go together.

  "We were going to go together, anyway," I say, my bio book cracked open on my lap once we're back to our dorm after practice.

  We've got an hour or so to kill. Some of the guys always head out early, or go to grab a bite to eat before getting wasted, but the deals at the Top don't really start until eight, and neither Luke or I can afford to spend much on beer.

  "Yeah, but I mean together together."

  My cheeks flush a little, and I look down at my book to try and hide it. Luke's 'together' probably isn’t the same as mine. I'm not a huge fan of PDAs, but when I think about going out anywhere with Luke, as his boyfriend, I want people to know we’re a thing.

  "Like how?" I ask, running a highlighter through a quarter of the page before I realize what I’ve done.

  "I don't know, man. If I was bringing a girl with me, we might hold hands or something. Do guys do that?"

  I almost wince. I know where Luke gets this from. His father taught him pretty much the definition of toxic masculinity, wherein it's probably 'faggy' to ever even touch another guy in a way that isn't a bro-hug.

  "I'm sure some guys do it, yeah."

  When I was a kid, I used to dream about the more innocent things I wanted to do with Luke. We'd show up at all the cool places, hand in hand. His rough, calloused hands would enfold mine perfectly, like a fucking storybook. Of course in my dreams, our town was a lot more… open-minded.

  And it's not that I wouldn't like holding hands with Luke now, it's just that my fantasies are mostly fueled by lust these days. Love's too dangerous, and when I think those sweet little thoughts, that’s the emotion that comes up. Lust I can reconcile and control just by jerking it. Love, not so much.

  "We probably shouldn't. At least until the guys let on that they know," I say, mostly to spare my heart.

  Luke considers this. He's lying on his bed again, lazily tossing a football in the air. He looks every bit the stereotypical jock right now, and I'm one of the few people who know there's so much more to him.

  "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." I hear the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting his hands as I try to study. "Anybody say anything to you yet?"

  "Nope. You?"

  I guess he expects me to hear him shake his head, but lucky for him, I'm watching him over the edge of my textbook. I have no idea what I'm even highlighting anymore.

  "Super weird. Would've expected somebody to say something."

  I shrug. "Maybe since they heard it from Oak, they don't know if it's true. Or maybe they're trying to respect our privacy."

  Luke snorts. "Yeah, right."

  I smile, though it feels a little uneasy. It is far-fetched. Even with all the new guys, we have a pretty close-knit team. Like a family. And family members are really good at getting up in your business. So the fact that they haven't yet doesn't make me feel great about showing up at the Top tonight.

  I just have to have faith that Luke’s crazy plan will work.

  An hour later, as we're walking up from the sidewalk, I'm not any more at ease. Luke must be able to sense it, because he puts a hand on my arm to stop me from reaching for the door.

  "You okay, man? You look a little pale."

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Just want to get this over with, so we can see how everybody's going to react."

  Luke frowns at me. "It's not too late to call it off. I can just tell everybody we were screwing with Oak. They'll get a kick out of it."

  I feel a sharp pang in my chest. The fact that Luke would still call it off for me means a lot. He's always been the considerate one, though. So considerate that I'm positive he wouldn't go through with any of this if he knew I was actually gay.

  Among other things.

  "Nah, I'm sure it'll be fine," I say, not really believing it.

  We head into the Top, and despite it being a Wednesday night, the place is pretty packed. Mostly with football players, though there are a few locals hanging around.

  Luke and I head toward the usual table, which is just three tables shoved together. It's weird not having Erica here. She’s almost like a buffer. But she had a paper to finish tonight, and an article to write for the Eastshore Gazette.

  A few of the guys greet us, and a few more look up when they do. It's only Oakley and one of the freshman who watch us, though. The other guys are wrapped up in a fierce debate about some big eligibility scandal going on at USC. Eastshore pissing contests have a long, proud tradition, and I'm not about to break up a heated discussion just to get more attention on us.

  Eventually, though, the winner of that discussion realizes we've made it to the table. He grins broadly at Luke, then me.

  "Glad you could join us tonight, gents," he says, raising a glass of sloshing beer. "Figured you might’ve been too… busy to make it out."

  "Dude," Barnet says beside him, jabbing him in the side.

  "What? It's not like everybody at this table doesn't know, and I'm tired of tip-toeing around it. You and Tucker are banging, right? Can we just be clear on that?"

  I choke on my beer. Davis has always been plainspoken, but I guess I didn't expect him to just come right out and say it like that. Oak has the grace to look a little ashamed, but I don't catch anyone else's reaction. My gaze swings to Luke.

  He looks a little sheepish, but mostly pleased with himself. Smug. The way I've imagined him looking when he's on his knees, getting me off.

  "Oak told you, huh?" Luke asks.

  Davis confirms it before Oakley can so much as muster a word in his own defense. "You kidding me? Dude put in some serious time on Facebook after practice Monday."

  I almost groan. Fucking social media. And here I'd thought Oakley would actually have to tell these guys face to face. Considering how uncomfortable he looks, I shouldn't be surprised that he did it this way.

  "You got a problem with it?" Luke asks, sitting straight in his chair so he looks larger than he is.

  "No, man," he says. "I don't care who you bang. It's just been crazy around here with everybody not really knowing if it was true or not."

  Some of the other guys agree. Some aren't even paying attention to us, occupied instead with their own conversations or with watching a game on TV. It's not really the reaction I expected, but I'm glad for it.

  "Guess the Rainbow Tigers are back, huh?" Davis says.

  Damn. For the first time, I'm starting to think Luke's plan actually has some merit. There's a cheerfulness in Davis' voice; a sense of pride. Maybe that was our identity.

  Maybe it's a good idea for that to be our identity again, even if Luke and I are bending the truth a little.

  "Was hoping y'all had gotten over all that faggot shit," a voice says, far down the table. "Wouldn't have signed here if I knew I was gonna have to watch a couple homos suck each other’s dicks."

  I look to see who said those words, half expecting a familiar face from back home. He's got that rural Floridian accent down; the one I've tried so hard to lose since coming to Eastshore. But he's not anyone I know. I only vaguely recognize him as one of the rookies signed this year.

  "Why, you jealous?" Luke asks.

  So not the thing to say to a hot-tempered redneck. I can see it in the guy's face.

  He gives Luke a disgusted sneer. "You ever come near me and I'll make you regret it, faggot."

  "Why don't you come outside and say that to my face," Luke growls.

  Some of the other guys are trying to intervene now. There's a big ruckus at the table, and everybody's primed for a fight. Everybody except me. I just want to disappear, because this was the exact thing I was afraid of.

  "What, so you can stick your dick in me? No, thanks," he shoots back.

  A couple of the newer guys laugh, and I see there's a cluster of freshmen around the guy—Bowman, I think his name is--who's currently got Luke ready to leap over the table to get at him. If it was just one guy, the team would deal with it easily. A crowd though... a cro
wd can start things. They can make this situation way more dangerous than Luke probably anticipates.

  "You better knock that shit off," Davis says to our antagonizer. "Coach doesn't tolerate it, and neither do the rest of us."

  He just shrugs, like he's not even remotely affected by the threat. "You brainwashed sheep don't have the numbers you used to. Lot more of us now."

  A couple of the seniors almost howl with laughter. Luke laughs, too. A year ago, I might've found it funny. But now? He's right. He might be a shit stain on the underwear of humanity, but he's right. The rookies might not outnumber everybody else, but it wouldn’t take much to tip the scales.

  "Just let it go," I say, my voice pleading.

  Luke looks at me like I've grown a second head. I can tell he wants to argue with me, to say we don't deserve to take that shit. But his mouth closes, and his jaw clenches hard.

  "You better be fucking grateful I don't feel like wasting my time on you," he says.

  I close my eyes, wishing it would just stop. Normally I love that Luke is this way. Impulsive, take-charge, protective. Tonight, though, I just have a bad feeling about it.

  "It's fine if you're a pussy," Bowman says. "Somebody's gotta be the pussy, right?"

  Luke stands up so fast the table shakes, drinks falling over and spilling across the laminated wood. His chair topples, crashing to the floor. I launch myself to my feet, putting my hands firmly on his chest to stop him. Someone else grabs him from behind.

  When I look over my shoulder, I see the freshman getting a similar treatment. But he looks mad as hell, murderous intent in his gaze. I want to believe Coach will suspend him for being like this, but right now, Luke's the aggressor. You can't suspend a player just for being an asshole.

  And if Luke throws a punch, we won’t have a leg to stand on.

  Fortunately, our captain seems to read the situation as well as anyone could.

  "Bowman, you and your crew go take a walk. Come back when you can keep your bullshit to yourself. I don't need that on my team."

  "On your team of cocksuckers, you mean," he says.

  "Get the fuck out before I help you out myself," Davis roars.

  Luke's still struggling against me and Oak, more than ready to get after the little punk. For a second, it looks like they might fight through the respective barricades and reach each other anyway.

  But eventually Bowman shrugs off the guy holding him, then turns to leave. Before he can reach the door, though, Luke calls out to him.

  "Hey, Bowman!"

  "Goddammit, just leave it the fuck alone!" I say to him.

  That glint of wicked mischief sparks in Luke's eyes, and before I can even guess at what he's going to do, it's too late.

  His lips crash down on mine.

  I'm caught so off guard by it that I almost stagger, my fingers gripping his shirt tightly just so I can have any hope of staying upright. Even that doesn't help me keep my internal balance, though, because never in a million years would I have imagined this.

  Luke Trent is kissing me.

  And it's not just a brush of lips meant to tweak Bowman without having to go all in. He's going about it the same way he does everything else--with 100% of his effort. His lips are crushed against mine, and his tongue is in my mouth, stroking deep and sudden like he's trying to punish me.

  My cock twitches in my jeans, but I don't kiss him back. I know what this is. This is Luke proving a point. It's a practical joke, designed to make a fool out of Bowman. The other guys are laughing, but inside, I'm breaking apart.

  It takes every ounce of effort for me not to push him away in frustration. I know I can't hide it from my voice, though. "Give me a fucking heads up before you do that,” I hiss when we finally break apart.

  "Come on," he says good-naturedly, like he hasn't just rearranged my world. "It got them to fuck off, didn't it?"

  I look behind me. The freshmen aren't there anymore, and our only onlookers are guys who are now giving Luke and me a slap on the back.

  It worked out. Somehow, Luke's plans always work out the way he wants them to. The team's rallied behind him, he's dug in against opposition, and I can tell he's having a great time while doing it.

  But I'm starting to realize Erica was right. This is going to break me. And sooner than I thought.

  The rest of the night passes without the threat of violence, at least. One of the guys pulls out a pack of cards, and those of us who aren't too drunk yet play for quarters. It's not exactly something the NCAA would approve of, I'm guessing, but we don't have many quarters to spend between us, and when we run out of those, we just play with peanuts and pretzels.

  Luke is terrible at bluffing, so he comes away from it $1.50 poorer and a bowl of peanuts lighter. I lose badly, as well, but it's mostly because my mind is fixated on that kiss for hours.

  Even now, as we head into our room, I'm thinking about it.

  A part of me has this vision, this fantasy of Luke opening up the door, letting me through, and then shoving me against the wall on the other side. He'd kiss me hard, like he did in the bar, but instead of anger driving him, this would be pure need.

  That doesn't happen, of course. He drops his keys into the little caddy by the door, then heads out to the bathroom because, as per his words, he has to 'piss like a racehorse.'

  I know I still need to study, but my mind's clouded over by alcohol and an aching want that bloomed in my chest after feeling Luke's lips on mine. It's stupid. I should be angry with him. I am angry with him, and I can't let myself forget it.

  When he comes back, I lay into him.

  "Hey, I was serious when I said you need to give me a heads up. That shit isn't cool, man."

  He at least looks a little sheepish. "Yeah. I'm sorry. The idea just came to me. I figured it'd piss off Bowman and his boys, so why the hell not?"

  "Because I didn't tell you that you could," I snap out.

  "What's the big deal? We're friends. I didn't figure you'd be all weird about this. Jesus, Brandon."

  He actually sounds... defensive, which throws me off. And he's not looking at me, which is a sure sign something is wrong.

  "I know I'm bad at it, okay,” he says. “You don't have to rub it in."

  I stare at him, open-mouthed, unable to do anything else. Not good at kissing. Not. Good. At. Kissing. That's what he's gotten from this conversation?

  "What the fuck, Luke? How does that have anything to do with… anything?"

  He folds his arms over his chest. "Well, if I was good at it, you probably wouldn't be complaining right now."

  "Oh my God," I say, reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I don't have it in me to soothe Luke's fragile ego tonight. "I'm complaining because we never talked about where the line was. I didn't expect you to just go off and kiss me."

  He shrugs helplessly. "We're supposed to be dating. I wanted to sell it."

  That hurts, cutting at me past my anger, past the confusion of Luke being worried about whether or not he's a good kisser. I instantly deflate, and manage to find my way into a chair.

  "Yeah. I get it," I say, not wanting to have this conversation anymore. "I get why you did it, just... give me a heads up next time."

  "Yeah. I'm sorry, man," he says, with full sincerity.

  This is why it's always hard to stay mad at Luke. He's a good guy. He does insensitive things sometimes, but it's not because he means to. And he always apologizes afterward. Honestly it's a little frustrating. If he was just an asshole, I'd be over him by now.

  He flips on the TV, which probably isn't a bad idea. I can use the distraction, and I know neither of us are tired enough to go to sleep yet. I grab my phone and scroll through my missed texts. There's just one from Erica, telling me she heard we were 'outed.'

  She didn't tell me to be careful through text message, because she knows Luke sometimes just grabs my phone to look something up. But I can practically hear it while I'm reading what she did write. I wonder if she sent anything to Luke,
but he's watching Sportscenter.

  For a little while, I watch it with him. We talk about the games going on; mostly the Florida teams. We agree it's a damn shame they haven't done a 30 for 30 on the Marlins yet. But when the conversation lapses, my mind starts to wander.

  Back to that kiss, and back to what Luke said to me not a half hour ago. It claws away at me, and I can't help but ask.

  "Who told you that you weren't a good kisser?"

  He looks over at me, and I see his eyes widen a little in surprise. His focus is directed back to the TV, and for a minute I think he isn't going to answer me.

  "You remember Becky Carlisle?"

  I make a face, instantly glad he can't see it. "Yeah."

  Becky was the town sweetheart. Her daddy owned and franchised a bunch of truckstops up and down the East Coast, so she was loaded. She acted like it, too. I was never sure why she started dating Luke, other than to watch him do her bidding.

  "She always said I was too sloppy. Said the thing she hated most in the world was some guy's spit sliding down her chin while they kissed."

  That did sound a little gross, but I'm guessing if that happened with Luke, it only happened once. It's probably happened to everyone at least one time. But she made sure to drive the knife in so he'd never forget.

  "I didn't like... drool on you or anything, did I?"

  "No, the kiss was fine."

  More than fine. Despite the fact that he caught me off guard with it, and despite not liking that it was pretty much a kiss meant to provoke Bowman. I'm probably going to dream about that kiss for the rest of my life. Though...

  "You were a little forceful with the tongue, dude. You damn near choked me."

  He laughs and gives me a self-conscious smile. "Sorry. Guess I just thought a little peck wouldn't look real enough. Kinda lost my mind a little bit there. Bowman just made me so fucking angry."

  I nod, but don't say anything. How can I? He's confirming what I already knew. That kiss was just to provoke. Nothing more.

  "So it was okay?" he asks after a few moments.

  Oh my God. I want to find Becky Carlisle and throttle her for making Luke so damn insecure about the way he kisses. But I'm too busy wondering why he's asking my opinion. As far as he knows, I hated the kiss because I'm straight.