Lane hoped that Trevorneverknew why Lane had been so surprised. It was humiliating enough to feel this way. It would be untenable for anyone else to know about it. Especially the object of his stupid, ill-fated boner.
The tension of it made him snippy. Bitchy, his best friend Rachel would have told him. “Maybe you could’ve said something before.”
But Trevor just shrugged. “I wasn’t sure it was serious and you’re also . . .” He paused, gazing over at Lane in that hero-worship way it felt like three-quarters of the football team possessed. “You’re alsoLane Robinson.”
“And?”
Trevor flushed, and Lane had to remind his uncooperative libido again that it wasn’t because he was attracted to him, but instead because Trevor just liked the way Lane played football.
That shouldn’t be disappointing—it was the reality, and he should get accustomed to it—but it still fucking stung.
“And well, you’re fucking amazing.”
“Thanks,” Lane said dryly. He didn’t need Trevor to tell him that, even if it was nice to hear. The scholarship offers that had poured in, and the full ride he’d gotten to USC had beenhuge. Not that he’d needed the extra confidence boost. He’d set all kinds of records his senior year, some of which he sort of privately hoped might never be broken. A legacy for other queer kids to look at and say,hell yes we can.
“Funny story,” Trevor said, “but I’m actually a tight end too. Well, Iwasa wide receiver, back at my old school, but the coach here wants me to move to tight end next season.”
“Oh?” Lane told himself he didn’t feel any type of way about that, but it was a lie.
His gaze flicked over to Trevor, even as he told himself to keep his eyes to himself—because, of fucking course, when had thateverworked—and the guy was looking over at him like he was God’s greatest gift to tight ends. And Lane suddenly understood exactly why Coach wanted to transition Trevor to tight end.
“You’re gonna have to get bigger, to block,” Lane said gruffly.
He fucking hated the idea of being replaced. And being replaced by Trevor?Worse.
The most ironic part of this was that before this moment, Lane had been perfectly okay, evenhappy, at the thought of going to USC. He was so ready to leave high school and its petty dramas and stupid boys behind. Ready to expand his universe outside this small suburbanite community an hour outside Phoenix.
“Don’t have to be as big as you, but yeah. Still growing. Bulking up.”
He’d just said he wanted the guy to get bigger, but Lane felt a pulse of something. Disappointment? Regret? Bitterness? Trevor shouldn’t have to remake himself in Lane’s image. He shouldn’t even want to.
But here he was, hanging on to Lane’s every word, like just the act of listening to him was going to make him gain muscle mass and grow three to five inches in the next two years.
“Size is good and all, but yeah, learn how to block. Learn how to catch, even if it’s contested. You don’t have to be the biggest guy out there to kill it at the position,” Lane said.
Trevor looked confused, and yeah, that was fair.
What the fuck was he even doing? He wanted to roll his eyes at his own goddamn self. Why was he being so fucking stupid?
’Cause you have a horny crush on your straight soon-to-be stepbro.It wasn’t like the answer to that question made him feelanybetter.
“Okay,” Trevor said cautiously. “Any other advice?”
“Listen to Coach—he knows what he’s saying,” Lane said.
Trevor nodded eagerly. “I wouldn’t do anything else.”
Lane pulled into Trevor’s driveway, and Trevor looked surprised. “You know where I live?”
Shit. He should have been asking directions this whole time instead of just driving here.
Trevor frowned then. “What do you really think of this?”
Lane had been on the fence before the Trevor revelation.
Torn, by how happy and settled Delia had been in the last few months since meeting the doctor. But then there was his petty, childish resentment that had kept cropping up. Then there was the issue of Trevor, which Lane wasn’t going to touch,especiallywithhim, with a ten-foot pole.
“Uh.” Lane hesitated.
