Huebsch’s face registered surprise, as if he had never considered that he, too, was expendable where Colton was concerned. His shoulders slumped.
“Suck it up, buttercup!” Colton snapped. “You’re acting like a girl.”
Matt remembered when Colton had called him buttercup as well. Turnabout would be fair play in 43 days.
Huebsch gathered his things and trudged out of the room.
Matt watched him leave. He had zero sympathy for the guy. Huebsch was the slimebag who had pretended to befriend Paul, then threatened to tell the dean he was gay.
Colton glared at Matt. “Start talking.”
Matt tried—not for the first time—to imagine Colton as a loveable person, someone worthy of William’s heart. Couldn’t fathom it.
Tried picturing him as a likeable person. Again—nothing.
The best that could be said of Colton Langley was that he was physically attractive. Not drop-dead handsome, but a solid “8.”
His eyes, though, belonged on a pit viper, specifically a copperhead. They were soulless, predatory—and deadly.
Matt had to tread carefully.
“I need your help,” he said, trying to sound appropriately plaintive.
“The great ‘Mustang’ wants my help?” Colton sneered. “You sucker-punched me in the library and tried to attack me again that time in the men’s room.”
Matt grimaced. No good would come of revisiting those encounters, and there was no way he would be able to feign remorse. He plowed ahead instead. “When I started school in the fall, I didn’t know anyone. William seemed like a nice guy. A bit effeminate, maybe, but a nice guy. I made the mistake of befriending him.”
“You weren’t the first person to fall into that trap,” Colton said, as if his own history with William could be rewritten with himself as the victim.
Matt nodded in fake empathy. He’d seen the ring Colton had given William their senior year of high school, had read the Christmas card, in Colton’s own handwriting: “With all my cock and all my love.” But, sure,he’d play along.
Matt had his own alternate history to peddle. The story he was telling had nothing to do with William, everything to do with the youth minister who had raped him. He needed to tap into those feelings when conjuring the lie that William had been anything but a friend to him. He needed emotional truth to ground this performance, to slip past Colton’s bullshit detectors, to trick him into falling for the queen sacrifice.
“William took advantage of me….” Matt paused. Broke off eye contact. “… physically.”
“Did you let him fuck you?” Colton asked. His voice was husky.
“Something like that,” Matt mumbled. He channeled his thirteen-year-old self, let the shame and fear wash over him—again.
Matt felt Colton’s reptilian eyes roving over his body. Guessed the guy was picturing him on his knees taking William’s thrusts. Knew, without looking, that Colton was titillated.
Matt shuddered. “He won’t leave me alone now. Even though I’m seeing Ava, he still pesters me to… do stuff with him.”
“I’m not like he is. I’m not queer.” Matt hated that word almost as much as he hated “fag.”
“It’s like you said that time I popped you in the jaw,” Matt said, “something about ‘any port in a storm.’ That’s all William was to me, just a place to park my cock until I found a girlfriend.”
Colton yawned exaggeratedly, as though he were bored. “I’m having trouble seeing how this is my problem.”
“I want him gone from campus!” Matt said. “That would be a good thing for both of us, right?”
“That fairy should never have come here,” Colton said.
That “fairy” was Matt’s friend and mentor, but he had to set such sentiments aside and remain in character. He’d made his opening moves in this verbal chess match. Had reinforced Colton’s air of superiority. Had portrayed himself as weak and vulnerable, an opponent not worth serious consideration. It was time to move his queen into position, leaving her exposed—the queen being William, of course.
Matt dangled the bait. He spoke falteringly, as if the entire subject was too painful to recount. “When William wants to mess around, he makes me go with him to this old farm that used to belong to his grandparents. There’s nothing left there except a musty old storm shelter…” (Matt and William had “messed around” twice at that old farm—voluntarily, no coercion involved. The farm had no connection to William. As far as Matt knew, there was no storm shelter.)
“…A concrete hole in the ground. Claustrophobically small. Cobwebs everywhere…” (Matt drew on memories of other storm shelters he’d known. This was Oklahoma, after all.)
