Lane made a face. “I know you wouldn’t be. You’re . . .” Trevor watched his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “You’re a really sweet, accepting guy. You wouldn’t get weird about it.”
“Okay, good,” Trevor said, with a nod. He’d needed to say that. Hadn’t really thought that was why Lane had been sticking closer to home or not bringing guys home, but he’d still needed to make that point clear.
“But that doesn’t explainyou,” Lane countered.
No, it didn’t. Trevor tapped his glass. He’d had two so far, and he should probably slow down, but itwasNew Year’s Eve, and he wasn’t drunk. Not even tipsy really, just a little warm in the base of his stomach. Or maybe that was how close Lane was standing to him, his bigger, broader body pressed to the side of Trevor’s.
He was always warm, and tonight was no exception.
“I just . . .” Trevor shrugged. He couldn’t say he wasn’t feeling it again. He’d already said that once. “She wasn’t really interested in me. She was only interested in who I am.”
“Ah. Yeah. Maybe?” Lane scratched his scruffy chin. Didn’t look convinced.
“Are you kidding? All she wanted to do was ask me about football. Andyou.”
“Come on, you’ve got a lot to offer that isn’t football.”
Trevor rolled his eyes. “Okay.”
“I mean it, bud. Like . . .” Lane gestured to him, up and down. “You’re nice. You’re sweet. And then, bonus, you lookhottonight.”
Trevor had just gone out of his way to tell Lane that it wouldn’t bother him if he hooked up with a guy while Trevor was around. It hadneverbugged him, not once, that Delia’s son was gay. Not once. Then what was this hot bubbly feeling in the base of his stomach? Was he disgusted after all? Was all it took finding out that Lane thought he was hot?
Trevor opened and then snapped his mouth shut. It didn’tfeellike disgust. It felt like . . . well, he didn’tknowwhat it felt like. But he was fairly certain it was not disgust.
“Um, thanks?”
Lane’s gaze slid away. He picked up his glass and threw the rest of the tequila in it back in one gulp. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Made it weird.”
He turned to go, but Trevor grabbed his arm. “No, no, you didn’t. I’m . . . I didn’t realize you thought that.”
“Not really,” Lane blustered.
But Trevor wasn’t quite sure he believed him.
“Just saying you have more to offer than an NFL contract,” Lane said. “Don’t assume that’s what they’re into.”
It wasn’t lost on Trevor that he’d saidthey. Notshe’s.
That could mean nothing. Or it could mean everything.
Trevor opened his mouth to say something—toask,actually, what he meant, or maybe, even more insanely, to wonder if somehow Lane had guessed the thoughts that had been circling around his brain for the last few weeks—but before he could, Cam and Dawson crashed into them, almost literally.
Cam was giggling and Dawson had an arm around his waist, and they both seemed like they were having a really good night.
“Oh shit, it’s the demon twins,” Cam hissed not very quietly as Dawson steadied him. He glanced up at Lane and Trevor.
Lane huffed under his breath, making Trevor think maybehedidn’t like the nickname very much either.
“You two having fun?” Trevor spoke up, before Lane could say anything.
“Oh yeah,” Cam said, so earnest. Sometimes he made Trevor feel bitchy, which was really saying something. But even then Trevorlikedthe rookie punter. There weren’t that many rookies on the team, and he wished sometimes that instead of thembeing separated, all isolated in different parts of the team, that they were all closer.
Friends, maybe.
There were two others, besides Trevor and Cameron. One of them was Jordan Atkinson, who played inside linebacker.
“Hey, we should . . .” Trevor wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Then he shook himself out of it. There was no reason this should be a big deal. “We should hang out sometimes.”
