Long Pass Chronicles 01 - Outing the Quarterback (5 page)

“Yeah. It’ll only take a minute and then I can relax.”

He scooted back the chair and was out of it before she could say anything else. He was pretty sure the restrooms were down the same hall as the kitchen entrance. Even if they weren’t, it was a good reason to look down there. He threaded through the tables in the same direction he saw Noah go. In the hall, he stopped and glanced back. Tiffany and the others couldn’t see him from here. He leaned against the wall across from the swinging doors of the kitchen.
Hurry
. He didn’t have long.

One side flew open, and Noah emerged with a white ceramic container holding ketchup. Will stuck out a hand. “Noah.”

The guy frowned but he stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I was going to the men’s room.”

“Your food’s getting cold.” He took a step toward the dining room.

Will grabbed Noah’s forearm. Through the long-sleeved black uniform shirt, heat seared up his arm.
Whoa
. He dropped his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for not outing me.”
Shit!
“I mean not telling my friends about how we met.”

“We didn’t meet.”

Will shrugged.
Look casual, man
. “Where we saw each other, then. No one knows I study art. My family doesn’t approve. I know it’s lame, but I don’t want the cat out of the bag just yet.”

Noah’s frown got deeper and made his distorted eye look even more cynical. “You’re a good enough artist to have made it into Masterson’s workshop, but you don’t want to tell anyone. Shit, man, lame doesn’t cover it.”

Well, hell, he hadn’t figured on getting attacked. “It’s complicated.”

Noah’s lips turned up, but it was no smile. “I’m sure the life of a rich guy living in the style he wants to be accustomed to is real complicated.” He stared at Will for a two count. “I’ve got customers.” He reached out a hand and Will shied to the left. Noah sneered. “Nice sweater.” He flipped the end of a sleeve, turned, and walked down the hall to the dining room with that graceful saunter.

Will’s heart hammered against his chest wall. Not what he’d expected. No. Truth. Not what he’d wanted. A little flirting, some casual banter. Not a fucking attack on his existence. Hell, what did some waiter know about Will’s life? How could a hippie art student understand Will’s old man’s expectations and demands? It was good this had happened. When his cock decided to do the tango over the guy’s shiny hair, Will could remember that Noah was a stuck-up asshole.

He started back to the table but slowed his steps until he saw Noah leave the ketchup and walk away; then he hurried. Jamal was nearly finished, and the girls were still gabbing as they chewed. He pulled out the chair, and Tiffany looked at him sideways. “Thought you fell in.”

“Sorry.” He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

Tiffany looked startled and Will grinned. He dug into the escolar, but chewing his sweat socks might have had more taste.

W
HY
WAS
he always hiding somewhere looking at this fucking jock? Noah stared out through the greenery in the planter that separated the bar from the dining room.

The female voice came from behind him. “Here are your drinks, Noah.”

“Thanks, Penny.” He glanced at the bartender, then took one more look at the guy called Will and his friends. That other dude was a giant, and Will wasn’t small. They had to play some sort of sport. The girls were both really pretty. So Will was straight? That blonde with the sour expression sure couldn’t keep her hands off him. But damn, Will looked at Noah like he was dessert. Noah would not mind providing something sweet for the jockoid to put in his mouth. He snorted
. So not going to happen
.

He grabbed the drinks, lined them up on his tray, and headed toward his new six-top in the corner. No point even thinking about dumb, screwed-up jocks. Noah needed to figure out what to do about Dwight. Masterson wanted to screw him. If he disappointed the teacher, it could mean no chance for the Milton scholarship recommendation. But fucking somebody for a reward was called a particular name Noah didn’t much like. He’d made it on his own without selling his body so far. Truth, though, he kind of liked the idea of sex with Masterson. The guy wasn’t bad-looking, and that much talent qualified as an aphrodisiac. Still, would Dwight think Noah fucked him for the endorsement?

Noah glanced toward the handsome jock as he guided the blonde girl toward the door of the restaurant.
Man, look at that ass
.

Shit, maybe he should try women. They had to be easier.

“D
RIVE
SAFELY
,
you guys.” Will bent over and looked into the passenger window of Jamal’s old family Ford.

Jamal’s teeth shone in the dark interior. “No worries, bro. I only had the one beer. You drive safely too.” He laughed, glanced at Tiffany standing beside Will, and winked.

Will smiled, but it was hard. He slapped a hand on the top of the car, and Jamal drove off down the winding street lined with huge homes squeezed too tightly together in true California style. Will took a deep breath and turned to Tiffany.

She smiled and wrapped a hand behind his neck. “You going to invite me in?”

“Uh, sure. I don’t know if my folks are in bed yet.”

“I don’t think that matters. Your dad seems to like me.”

“Yeah.” He liked her so damn much he should marry her himself. “C’mon.”

They walked up the porch stairs, and Will unlocked the door. The big entry with its grand staircase and formal portraits was only dimly lit, but the faint sound of a television could be heard from somewhere in the back of the house. His dad’s study, probably.

Tiffany headed straight for the stairs. Will swallowed hard and closed the door. “Uh, want to get something from the kitchen? A soda and some chips?”

Tiffany flashed an amazed look. “You can put one more thing in your stomach? Jeez, I think I’m going to explode.”

“Yeah, well the fish probably wasn’t as filling as your steak.”

She leaned on the bottom banister and stuck out a hip. “Told you I ordered the right thing even if it is supposed to be a
fish
restaurant.” She said fish like
shit
.

“Want to come or shall I meet you upstairs?”

She sighed. “I’ll come.”

He led the way through the dining room to the huge kitchen. What the fuck was he doing? Maybe he could pour a cold root beer on his cock to make it hard. He opened the refrigerator door and perused the lineup of drink choices. Coke, root beer, sparkling water. Oh yeah. Cachaca. Brazilian rum. He grabbed the bottle and held it out toward Tiffany. “Ever had it?”

“Oh hell yeah. Caipirinhas. Do you have lemon juice and sugar?”

“Lime. I think it’s made with lime.” He pushed aside a couple other bottles and bingo. He grabbed a bottle of lime juice. “It’s not fresh, but I bet it’ll do the job.”

She grinned. “Okay. Go for it, Boy from Ipanema.”

How the hell do you make these things?
No idea, but right now he needed all the liquor he could get, because Tiffany was not going up those stairs to give him a back rub.

He left the fridge door open as he pulled down two highball glasses from the cabinet and loaded them with crushed ice. Then he closed the door, rooted out the sugar from the pantry, and tried dissolving it in a little warm water. When he had some syrup, he mixed it with lime juice and ice water. He stuck in a finger and held it out to Tiffany. “Taste.”

She sucked the digit. “Hey, yum.”

“Not too sweet or too sour?”

She batted her lashes. “Your finger probably made it sweeter, but it tasted fine to me.”

He showed her some teeth, then went back to mixing. A little of the lime mixture and a lot of cachaça over the ice. With a twirl of the glass to mix, he tasted it.
Whoa
. He didn’t drink much. Not only was he still underage, but his parents’ fondness for alcohol made it low on his list of attractions. Still, this tasted strong but really good. He handed the other glass to Tiffany. “What do you think?”

She sipped. “Whoa, baby. That’s delish.”

“Drink a little and I’ll fill it up.”

“You trying to get me drunk, sweetie?”

Gather rakish grin. Deliver
. “Of course not, baby.” He didn’t say he was trying to get himself drunk.

She took a couple of swallows, and he slugged most of his drink back.
Man, eye-watering
. Using even more rum, he refilled both glasses.

She opened her cardigan casually and thrust forward her chest in its low-cut peasant blouse. “Can we go upstairs now, puh-leez?” She leaned in and whispered, “I want to get you naked.”

He threw back a swallow and topped off the glass with a little more rum. “Sure. Come on.”
You can do this
. He’d done it before with some success.

They walked out the side door of the kitchen into the hall and back toward the stairs.

His dad’s voice came from the study. “Did you have a good time, Will?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened and she held up the glass. Will shook his head. “No problem.” He walked a few steps down the hall and stuck his head in the door of his dad’s hideaway. “Yeah, thanks. We had a great dinner.” He held out his hand and pulled Tiffany into the doorway. “Tiffany’s here. She’s going to come up and watch television with me.”

His father beamed.
Yeah, knew that would happen
. “Great, great. Enjoy, you two. Don’t watch any television I wouldn’t watch.” He howled at his own joke.

Tiffany did her best cheerleader simper. “Oh, you naughty boy.”

His dad laughed harder. Why did Will want to puke? “Night.”

“Have a real good night, you two. “

Will yanked Tiffany’s arm and then dropped it and headed toward the stairs, sipping his drink as he went. Tiff kind of skipped to the stairs and got there first. She held her drink out to the side, ran her other hand along the banister, and swept up like a fashion model or something. Will couldn’t get his feet to move. He took the stairs one at a time, bringing his feet together on each tread. She leaned over the top banister. “Hurry up, slowpoke.” She changed to a stage whisper. “I need a fast poke.” She laughed and disappeared down the hall that led to his bedroom.

Step. Step. Step.
Should have made this damned drink bigger
. Finally he got to the top and dragged his feet down the hall, sipping as he went.
C’mon, man. You’re into girls, remember. It’s not so bad. Your cock doesn’t know the difference
.

Tiffany’s voice bounced down the hall. “Wiiiiiilllll. I’m waiiiiiting.”

Maybe his cock didn’t know the difference, but his head did. And who was he kidding? He’d only had ass sex twice, since opportunity was limited and he was paranoid, but it had been so incredible. Tight and hot. Hell, maybe he should ask Tiffany to turn over? He sighed and swallowed a big mouthful. Not likely. They’d hear her screams in Las Vegas. Plus it wasn’t the poking he longed for. He didn’t even like to admit it to himself, but he wanted to be the pokee. Weird. And probably just his mind running away. Wanting to do the gayest thing it could think of. But man, when he saw a great-looking guy, his asshole clenched like it couldn’t wait to take a reaming. Like when he saw Noah.

He tipped the glass up as he got to the door and ice fell down on his nose. “Shit!”

“What’s wrong, baby?” Tiffany lay on his big bed, stripped down to her bra and panties.

Double shit. “I ran out of drink.”

She picked up her half-full glass from the end table and held it toward him. “Here, take mine. You’re so uptight lately. It’ll relax you.”

Yeah, relax. “Thanks.” He walked over and grabbed the glass.
Just don’t look at her yet
. Tossing his head back, he downed the rest of the liquid.

“Aren’t you going to close the door? Or do you want your parents to hear my screams and know what a big man you are?” She smiled and twisted her hair around her finger.

He set the empty glass on the table, lost his balance for a second, righted himself, closed the bedroom door very carefully, then navigated his way to his walk-in closet. Inside it seemed dark and comfy. That’s what he needed, darkness.

He pulled his sweater from around his neck and stared at it. Noah had said
nice sweater
. Was it a slam or did he really like it? And why the
fuck
did Will care?

He threw the sweater against the wall. He had a life.

“Wiiiilll. C’mon, baby. Let’s fuck.”

His stomach rumbled.
Oh, so not good
. “Give me a sec. I gotta use the facilities.”

“Okay. But I’m keeping it warm for you.”

Rumble
. His fingers kept slipping, but he managed to get the shirt unbuttoned. He pulled it off and dropped it, unfastened his belt, and started on his jeans.
Stop. Think
.
Fuck Tiffany
.

He shook his head.
Whoa
. Bad decision. His stomach heaved. He ripped off the pants. Well, shit, he still had his loafers on. With a flop, he landed on the floor to pull them off.
Oh God.
Not feeling so good
. His head hit his knees before he knew it was moving. Was he sick from liquor or the idea of fucking Tiff? Both.