Long Pass Chronicles 01 - Outing the Quarterback (2 page)

When he straightened, the guy had moved again. Now he looked over his shoulder with his eyes downcast and the brown hair covering the scar. Too pretty. Will grabbed some charcoal and started outlining the forms and shapes on the canvas. Damn. He wanted to see that scar.

He got up and walked to the platform. The boy’s eyes flipped up to look at him like a deer that wasn’t allowed to move. Cosmic blue, baby. Will smiled, slowly reached out a hand, and curved the guy’s hair behind his ear.
Do not even think about how that silky stuff feels.

The model’s eyes shifted toward his ear. He glanced up, then frowned.
Shit
. Did he think Will was dissing him? Showing how ugly he was?

Will smiled again. He tried to keep his voice soft. “You’re beautiful.”

That got his attention. Those eyes flashed back to Will’s and the connection sailed straight to Will’s balls. And guess what? That bare cock stretched up another inch from the model’s lap. Mutual admiration?

A voice came from Will’s left. “Hey buddy, move, okay? I can’t see the model.”

He dragged his eyes away and looked toward the complainer. “Sorry.” Another glance down found the boy still looking at him with an unreadable expression. Will twisted his mouth. “Sorry, Noah.”

He walked back to his easel and started to lay on paint.

No more thinking. Not about his unsatisfied cock or how he’d better not be late for football practice even though driving to SCU on a summer afternoon was hell on wheels, literally. It didn’t matter if your car could do zero to sixty in one point five seconds if you could only go ten feet at a time.
Shit
.

He needed painting therapy. Yeah, that’s what they did with crazy people, right? Well, he was wacked and painting was his therapy. No, painting was his life.

He stared at the beautiful model.
He’s not a man, he’s a form. Paint
. Dark first. Capture the shadows, all the tones of parts in hiding. The belly, cock, the scarred side of his face. Then, bam. Light exploded on the tip of a knee or the flash of his forehead. Will sucked in breath to keep his hand from shaking. So great. Time dissolved. He could paint forever. Maybe an hour passed. Maybe a minute. He just kept on painting.

“I like where you’re going with that.” The voice came from behind him. Masterson.

Will shook his head a little. Back to the world. “Thanks.”

“Take some photos to finish from. This will be Noah’s only session.”

He wouldn’t think about how disappointed he felt. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I explained before you came in. Noah’s actually a student in this class. When our life model cancelled, I pressed him into service. But next session, he’ll be painting, not posing.”

A student. “He’s a great subject.” Will pulled out his phone and started taking photos.

“Yes, beauty ruined.”

Will frowned. “Ruined?” He shook his head. “Perfected.”

Masterson raised his eyebrows. “How so?”

Will looked at Masterson’s lean face. “No light without dark. He makes his own contrast. The scar reminds you of just how perfect the rest is.”

Masterson turned his lips up just a little, but a tiny crease popped out between his eyebrows. “Glad you see that.”

Will nodded once. What had he said?

“Keep going.” Masterson slapped Will’s shoulder and walked over to another student.

Shit
. Had he seemed to be correcting Masterson? He should learn to keep his fucking philosophy to himself.

After another few minutes, Masterson walked back to the center of the large room. “Please finish and clean up for the day. Noah, thanks so much for your help. You can get dressed.”

A few students clapped and the guy looked embarrassed. He grabbed a robe that was thrown over the edge of the platform and pulled it on before standing up. No use mentioning how disappointing that was either.
Yeah, you’re all about girls, remember?

Will loaded paints into his tackle box, covered his paint palette with plastic wrap to keep it moist until the next class, and took his canvas to a picture rail to get it out of the way of whatever group of students came in next.

He glanced over at the platform where Noah stood, wearing the robe. The guy was tall. Probably only a couple inches shorter than Will. His brown hair fell down his back in a shiny curtain.
Wonder how old he is?
That sweet face looked really young, but there was an old quality about him. Like he’d seen too much.

Will started to close his paint box, but stopped as Masterson walked over to Noah and spoke in a low voice. The hand he placed on Noah’s shoulder had a damned proprietary air. Masterson smiled, and the model looked up at him from under his lashes with a little grin that promised one fuck of a lot.

Well, damn
. That little interaction spoke a Wikipedia of shit. Noah was gay. Masterson either already ass-fucked the guy or was angling for some action, which could mean that Noah was not on the market. Real fact, Will shouldn’t care about that at all. But Masterson might already have a favorite in this class. A favorite he could recommend for the Milton scholarship. That Will cared about for sure.

N
OAH
PEERED
around the screen as he buttoned his jeans. What the hell was that guy doing in this class? He looked like some ad for the Ivy League. Curly blond hair, shoulders for miles, powerful chest. Gorgeous. The kind who starred in movies about knights and shit.

The big jock-type carried his paints toward the door of the classroom. Before he walked out, he glanced back toward the platform. Noah ducked farther behind the screen. Was that guy looking for him? As if. But he’d said those words.
You’re beautiful
. Was he just being an asshole? Probably.

Noah grabbed his T-shirt from the straight-backed chair where models kept their clothes while posing.

Dwight’s voice came from the other side of the screen. “You ready, baby?”

“Almost.” He pulled the T-shirt over his head and settled it on his nonexistent hips. Imagine anybody having an ass like that blond guy. Buns of steel. What would it be like to stick a cock between those cheeks? He blew out his breath. Why was he noticing some jock-hole anyway? That guy’s sneakers would pay Noah’s rent. Besides, Noah had a boyfriend. Sort of. If he wanted one. He walked out from behind the screen.

Dwight was standing in front of one of the paintings on the side wall. Noah walked over and stood beside him. Sweet Jesus. The partially completed painting practically glowed. All shadow with a touch of light. Only a hint of color. Powerful strokes screamed a distinct style and passion. Did Noah, even in his wildest dreams, look like that? “Who did that?”

“Will Smith.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. The blond jock.”

“He did this? It’s really good.” He swallowed hard.

“Who’d a thunk it, right? But the work he submitted with his application was easily good enough to get him into this rarified air. I get a feeling there’s a story with this guy.”

Noah frowned. “Yeah. Somebody’s paying for that casual rich style.”

Dwight wrapped an arm around Noah’s neck and squeezed, even though he had to reach up a couple of inches to do it. “Now, now, let’s not be envious.”

Noah glanced at the artist sideways. “If I was envious of everyone who had more stuff than me, I wouldn’t have time to eat or sleep.”

Masterson gave him that automatic placating smile that drove Noah nuts. “Sure, baby. I know. I was only joking.” He disengaged his arm. “So, your place or mine?”

“Neither. I have to work in half an hour.”

Dwight frowned. “Damn, baby. Seeing you all nude and shiny up there has been driving me crazy. Can’t you call in sick?”

“No. If I don’t work this shift, they don’t give me any nights when I get the big tips. This job matters to me.”

Masterson smiled and chucked Noah under the chin. “Why don’t you just let me pay your rent? Then you wouldn’t have to work all the time.”

Noah grabbed his backpack from the side table. “Yeah. And when you leave town or get another boyfriend, I have no job and no place to stay. Fuck that, Dwight. I take care of myself.”

Masterson sighed dramatically. “You’ve made that more than clear.”

Lighten up, Zajack
.
Dwight has the magic signature that could clinch the Milton scholarship
. Noah smiled. “Hey, you wouldn’t like me if I was dependent on you.”

Masterson raised an eyebrow. “Shit, baby, I’ve known Tasmanian devils that were clingier.”

Noah laughed as they walked out the door together.

“H
UT
. H
UT
!”
The ball flew out of Jamal’s hands straight into Will’s.
Doggy style, man.
He faked a hand-off to the halfback, fell back three steps, and passed twenty yards into the wide receiver’s paws.
Bam!
The guy ran another five yards and got tackled. First down.

“Yayyyy, Will!” The high-pitched screams from the girls on the bleachers sounded like fingernails on a blackboard.

The coach stood up and walked onto the field. “Good job. That’ll do it for today. Evanston, you need work on that play. Jones, good job. Will, damn good play. By the way, I let a couple reporters watch the practice.” He nodded at Will and Jamal. “You two can talk to them. Everyone else hit the showers. But be ready for the press conference on Monday night.”

Will dragged off his helmet and started walking toward the locker room. The reporters could catch him. Hell, every talk with a reporter was a potential slip. He hated interviews. Jamal fell in beside him and Will smiled. “That play worked. Good man.”

“You too, buddy.”

A flying blonde missile hit his side. “William! William! You were so cool.”

Will glanced at Tiffany, cheerleader captain, number one prospect for Homecoming Queen, and lately the stuff of his nightmares. “Yeah, well, nobody was trying to stop me very hard. A real game is another story.”

“You’ll be even better in a real game, baby.” She threaded her arm through his and pressed her boobs against his bicep. “So where are you taking me tonight?”

Will looked over at Jamal. “You and Steph want to do a double?”

Jamal nodded. “Sure. What you got in mind?”

“There’s that restaurant upstairs over the clothing store in Laguna. They’ve got good fish.”

Tiffany stuck out her lip. “Wiiiiilllliam, why do we always have to go to Laguna? There are great restaurants in Newport without all the weirdoes.”

Yeah, and he felt more comfortable with the weirdoes. “I’ve been wanting to see this place.”

“Hey, Will, got a minute?” The reporter from the
Times
. Will smiled.
Try not to look scared.
“Hi, Mr. Jaston.”

The short, trim man knocked his fist against Will’s arm. “Call me Race.”

“Thanks, Race. You know Jamal Jones. And this is Tiffany Baxter, the captain of our cheerleading squad.”

Race winked at Tiffany. “And your girlfriend, I understand.”

She tightened her hold on Will’s arm. “That would be me.”

Race dragged his eyes away from her. “So how’s the season shaping up, Will?”

“We’ve got some innovative new plays and a lot of great talent. I think we’ll be competitive.”

“You agree, Jamal?”

Jamal flashed his pearlies. “Hell, yeah. And we got the best quarterback in the conference, so who can lose?”

Will would happily sink into the ground and disappear. He hated this shit.

Race smiled at Jamal. “I think I’ll quote you.”

Jamal nodded. “That was my intention.”

“So how about you, Tiffany. What do you think of your quarterback?”

She sighed. “He’s my Lion hero.”

Gag
.

“I look forward to seeing you guys at the press conference. Thanks for the time.”

Will stuck out his hand. “My pleasure, Race.”

The reporter shook hands with Jamal and Will, nodded at Tiffany, and walked off toward the parking lot.

Tiffany bounced. “That was fun.”

“Yeah. No. So about tonight.”

Jamal nodded. “How ’bout me and Steph come to your house? Then we only have to park one car in Laguna.”

“Great.” Will leaned over and kissed Tiffany’s cheek. “Come to my place and we’ll all go from there.”

Jamal laughed. “As long as the gate guard lets me in. Those dudes are not extremely familiar with my particular shade of mocha.”

Will frowned. “Yeah, well, if they give you any shit they’ll lose their jobs. I think that idea got across the last time I had a party.”

“Chill, my man. I got it. We’ll be there at, like, seven.”

Tiffany brushed Will’s lips with hers. “I’ll come earlier.” She gave him a look designed to be cute and ran across the field to where a bunch of other cheerleaders were standing in a circle.

Will pushed open the door and stepped back to let Jamal the Giant go first. He followed. Even after three years, the locker room overwhelmed him. Intense humidity. The smell of sweat, chlorine, menthol, and damp socks. Most of all, bodies. Wet, shiny, and bare. Not like every male body turned him on. It was just cocks and asses everywhere and him without a hole to shove into. Or better yet, a rod to shove into him. Funny. He usually didn’t admit that to himself. He must be desperate.