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“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?” Blaine asked.
Wiggling into a more comfortable spot on the couch, Trent stared across the living room at the television. The thing was muted but that didn’t stop him from keeping up with the show that was playing. He was in the midst of a Dr. Who marathon, featuring his favorite doctor, David Tennant. Currently the ‘Donna Noble’ episodes were playing, and because he knew them word for word, he could concentrate more on the conversation he was having with his boyfriend than on the episode itself.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied.
It was Friday and they were having the first of their routine weekend chats. The two of them had been at it for two hours when he popped a certain question, and now the conversation had taken a turn for the serious.
There was no immediate comeback, and he felt sure Blaine was stewing over his response. In fact, he could almost see the brooding expression that, no doubt, was firmly fixed on his boyfriend’s face. The time had come to officially out himself, past time in fact, and Blaine was in no way enthused about the decision.
“Trent, babe, you do realize this will out you to everyone? It’s one thing to come out to your dad, your fam, my fam. It’s something else to announce it to the entire world. Hell, I remember how hard it was for me. Are you sure about this? I mean, you’ll be doing it on your own. I won’t be there for you.”
Taking a sip of his Coke, he mulled over his boyfriend’s uncharacteristic reply. Blaine had come out of the closet when he was 14 years old and had never once regretted his decision. Even after the . . .
Duh.
He slapped his forehead. How in the fuck could he forget something as important as that?
Scratch the word ‘important,’ he thought. Make it terrible, horrendous, terrifying.
“Now I understand,” he muttered to himself. The attack . . . that was the crux of the whole matter. Blaine wouldn't be around to protect him if some homophobic gang of assholes came after him.
He looked at the date on the newspaper his dad had discarded on the coffee table before leaving for work and did a quick calculation. Hard to believe, but it had been nearly two years since the attack on Blaine.
He sucked in a sharp breath at the memory of those days . . . that moment at the school dance when he’d finally admitted his feelings for his best bud, the heart-stopping thrill when Blaine had confessed he felt the same.
Once the truth of their feelings had been acknowledged, he and his best friend had made plans to meet at the Matthews’ family treehouse and talk things out. Blaine had left the dance first, leaving him to follow once he’d arrange a ride home for his date. The instant he was a free agent, he’d flown like a bat out of hell to the Matthews’ house.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his chest in an effort to ease the tightness gripping his heart. Finding Blaine’s battered body crumpled on the floor of their treehouse had been the most horrifying moment of his life, and he’d lived in constant fear until the ER doc had assured them everything would be okay.
Damn you to hell, Doug Hutchinson, he mentally cursed the leader of the gang responsible for the attack. As far as he was concerned everyone involved could rot in hell for all eternity and then some.
Taking another deep breath, he forced down his anger. Blaine was super-sensitive to his moods and the dude was already worried. No sense in adding fuel to the fire.
“It’s way past time,” he told his boyfriend. “And what better way to announce it to the world then at my Senior Prom? I love you, Budman. It’s time everybody knows that. Besides, I’m tired of all the girls hassling me for dates.”
That last statement was thrown in to lighten the mood, and it predictably did the trick.
Right on cue Blaine yelled, “GIRLS!?! What girls? Damn it, Trent, is that hussy, Sarah, still after you? How many times do I have to set her straight? Your ass belongs to me. Not her. Not nobody! Am I making myself clear?”
The thought of Blaine claiming his ass had him hard as a rock in seconds flat, and he quickly unzipped his jeans. As soon as his boner could breathe, he returned his attention to the conversation.
“Calm down, Budman. You’re coming through loud and clear. My ass is yours, and that’s why I want you to go with me to my Senior Prom. It’s time to make it official, well, as official as this bassackwards town will allow.”
He glanced down at the ring he’d been wearing for the past year. It was Blaine’s graduation ring. His boyfriend had promised to give him a commitment ring in the near future, and he couldn’t wait for that day to arrive. He didn’t exactly like wearing jewelry, but anything Blaine gave him, he’d wear with pride.
A sudden thought occurred to him, and he hurriedly asked, “Are you okay with going to the dance? I know we skipped your prom because it was too soon after little Ricky’s death. You want to skip mine? It’s no big deal. We could go to Baton Rouge, check out that club your dad and Dan told us about, maybe meet some guys like us.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of them double dating with the two older men. Wouldn’t that be weirder than weird?
Grabbing his phone, he opened his photos app and searched for the picture Angel had snapped the day they’d returned from the infamous hunting trip last Christmas. Once located, he enlarged it and gazed at the man Sean Matthews held close to his side.
Good old Dan.
Much to his and Blaine’s surprise, Dan had appointed himself their guardian angel. The 38 year old had taken both him and Blaine under his wing shortly after re-establishing his relationship with Sean. Blaine’s father was more often than not working overtime to support his growing family, leaving the two boys without an empathetic sounding board. Dan had filled the void without hesitation.
In fact, Dan had really stepped up to the plate once Blaine had gone off to college. Rarely did a week go by without a visit from the man. Sometimes he’d stay for supper depending on the time of day. Sometimes he’d take him out for a ride on the Harley he’d recently purchased. Either way, Dan made sure he was okay with his new sexuality and that he was handling Blaine’s absence with as little grief as possible.
To be honest, Dan had been a godsend. The man knew what it was like to be in a long distance relationship and didn’t mind in the least discussing how he and Sean had handled their past love affair. He was in awe of the man’s willingness to share his innermost thoughts and feelings and, more often than not, ended up talking his ear off.
Dan soon became his main counselor and confidant. Yes, he loved his dad to the max, no question about that, but there were some topics he just wouldn’t discuss with his old man.
Like rimming, for instance. Blaine was still hung up on them learning to rim each other. He was pretty sure he’d hate it, but he loved his boyfriend and would try just about anything if Blaine insisted. Of course there was no way on earth he’d discuss the pros and cons of rimming with his dad. Hell, he’d nearly died of embarrassment when Dan had stumbled across some literature he’d printed off the internet. If his dad had found those papers . . . he shuddered. Talk about praying for the world to end.
Pops would have stroked out, he thought to himself.
He felt his cheeks flame with heat at the thought of his dad looking at the explicit pictures he’d printed. Grabbing his Coke with the hopes it would cool him down, he emptied the nearly full can in three gulps. He was contemplating a second Coke when Blaine piped up.
“Trent, I’m taking you to your prom. No two ways about it. I love you and would be damn proud to be your date. I just want you to be sure you’re ready for whatever shit may rain down. Babe, it would kill me if something bad happened to you because I wasn’t there.”
His heart was nearly bursting with emotion and he bowed his head and thanked God for sending him Blaine. He couldn’t have asked for a more caring boyfriend.
“I’ll handle the fallout. And if I can’t, Dan and your dad will be there to help. I’m good, Blaine. Seriously, I’m good.”
“Okay, babe, I hear ya. Subject closed, once and for all. Now what?”
Trent looked down at his crotch and grinned. As usual, he was wearing one of the g-strings Blaine had given him for his last birthday. They both now owned several pairs of . . . he giggled . . . risqué underwear and always wore one when they chatted on the weekends. The miniscule underwear not only felt good but could easily be shoved aside when their chats turned dirty.
He took a closer look and noticed the sparkly purple material of his g-string was already damp. Oh yeah, definitely time for a down and dirty bout of phone sex.
“You’re alone, right?” he hurriedly asked. “Roommate gone on a date?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He scooted lower on the couch and groaned when the head of his dick pushed its way past the waistband. “Get the lube and dildo, Budman. I’m about to fuck you crazy.”
“Bring it on, babe. Bring it on.”
+++++++
“Hey, Mrs. A! Lizzie! How’s my two best girls?”
Trent bounded up the stairs of the Matthews’ back porch. He offered his boyfriend’s mother a quick kiss before kneeling on the blanket spread on the floor at her feet. “There’s my sweetheart,” he said to the dark-haired tot. Lizzie removed the toy LSU football from her mouth and offered Trent a toothy grin.
Carefully toppling the 13 month old onto her back, he raspberried her rounded tummy. Giggles and wiggles greeted his kiss along with one chubby foot soundly hitting him on the chin. Risking another kick, he raspberried her again, then eased her back into a sitting position.
“Here’s your football back, Munchkin.” Grabby hands snatched the ball from his grip and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You do realize you should be chewing on a Crimson Tide football considering your brother goes to school there. But . . .” he tickled his best girl one last time. “. . . if you don’t tell, I won’t tell.”
Getting to his feet, he took a seat on the swing next to his boyfriend’s mother. Mrs. A had returned home a little over a week ago and everything seemed back to normal. Of course he wasn’t privy to what went on behind closed doors but Angel hadn’t said anything to him lately and he took that as a good sign. He glanced over at Blaine’s mother and thought she looked happier, more at peace. Of course appearances could be misleading and he quickly offered up a prayer, asking for happiness and peace for his boyfriend’s entire family.
Pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, he asked, “Did Blaine call? Tell you I was coming for his stuff?”
There was only two days left until the prom, and he’d stopped by to collect a list of stuff Blaine had sent him via email. Stuff like dress shoes, socks, cufflinks -- stuff that Blaine hadn’t brought with him to college and would need to complete his ensemble. His boyfriend already had his tux, having rented it from a store there in Tuscaloosa.
He gave the list a quick glance. He knew he’d somewhat pissed off his boyfriend by insisting they change clothes at his house. He had his reasons, and they were named Angel and Suzanne Matthews. No way was he going to let the ‘sisters from hell’ ruin his special night. Blaine’s protests had died a quick death once reminded of the last time they’d be caught in a compromising position by the wicked duo. Thus the reason for his current visit to the Matthews’ household.
“Blaine did tell ya he’d be driving straight to my house once he gets in?” he reminded the woman sitting beside him. “He’s barely gonna make it as it is.”
Mrs. A marked her place in the book she was reading. She smiled at him then checked on her youngest daughter. “Blaine called last night. Told us everything.” Reaching a hand toward him, she tugged on the hair curling at the back of his neck. It was a subtle hint for a haircut.
He grinned. “I’m going to the barber tomorrow,” he assured her.
Mrs. A nodded in the direction of the house. “Sean left some money on the dresser for you. Blaine said you’d know what it was for.”
There was a questioning look directed at him which he ignored as best as possible. Mrs. A was pretty broadminded when it came to mothers, but he seriously doubted she’d understand the new items he and Blaine had just ordered off the internet. The money Mrs. A had mentioned was his boyfriend paying him back for their most recent purchase.
“He didn’t have to do that.” he insisted. Sliding off the swing, he explained, “Thanks to Mr. John, I’ve a little extra cash.”
No one was more surprised than himself when Blaine’s grandfather offered him an after-school job. The offer came shortly after the hunting trip incident, and even though the older man hadn’t exactly apologized for his atrocious behavior, Trent could tell he was trying to make amends.
His first reaction was to refuse the job. John Matthews disliked gays, there was no doubt about that, and he would rather go without than accept any sort of handout from the man. Fortunately for them all, Mrs. Barbara did not share her husband’s views. Blaine’s grandmother had somehow convinced her husband that if he did not get a handle on his animosity that not only would he find his ass warming the pavement, but he would also lose the love and respect of his son and grandson.
He firmly believed it was the threat of losing his cozy lifestyle that had turned Mr. John around. There was definitely no love lost between him and the old geezer but a buck was a buck. After a dozen or so emails from Blaine, he had swallowed his pride and accepted the job.
“Tell Mr. Sean I’ve got it covered,” he instructed.
Mrs. A caught his hand before he could leave. “Take the money, Trent. Use it to buy a boutonniere for Blaine and yourself.”
Eyes that were the exact shade of blue as Blaine’s stared up at him, and without a word, he caved. He knew when he was licked. He never could resist his own mom when she’d gotten that look in her eyes; it was the same with Mrs. A.
“Okay. Sure thing.”
He stopped to tickle Lizzie’s tootsies before heading inside the house. Her giggles followed him into the kitchen and down the hall. The moment he stepped inside Blaine’s room he came to a complete stop and gazed with longing at the full-size bed.
“God, I miss ya, Budman.”
Moving further into the room, he took a seat on the bed. He ignored the highly polished pair of shoes and small travel bag that sat on the mattress. Instead he reached for the nearest pillow. Burying his face in its softness, he inhaled deeply and recalled the last time he and Blaine had made out in this particular bed. It was the night before his boyfriend had headed back to college for the start of the spring semester, and they’d nearly broken the bed’s frame with their frantic fucking.
Grinning, he wiggled his butt. His ass had been gloriously sore for days, and he couldn’t wait to suffer that feeling again.
“Pathetic, utterly pathetic.”
He threw the pillow to the side and glared at Blaine’s sister. “What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just passing by and saw you in here, acting like some lovesick idiot.” Angel collected the discarded pillow and returned it to its place at the head of the bed. “Uncle Dan wants you to check in with him before you leave.”
“Yeah? Did he say why?” He tugged on Angel’s waist-length, chestnut brown curls. He secretly loved her hair simply because it reminded him of Blaine’s.
Angel jerked her head back and grimaced in pain when several strands of hair tore loose. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”
He tugged on Angel’s hair one more time before letting go. “I’ll see him in a minute. Got to get Blaine’s stuff for the prom.”
“Make sure that’s all you take,” Angel threw over her shoulder as she exited the room.
Trent blushed. Angel had caught him ‘borrowing’ one of Blaine’s old baseball jerseys the last time he’d come for supper. It was the same jersey Blaine had worn the first time they’d fooled around together. He’d been missing his boyfriend big time and figured Blaine wouldn’t mind him taking the jersey. Of course, he’d return it as soon as Blaine graduated college. Until then the shirt was his, and who cared if he slept in the darn thing on a nightly basis? The jersey was a whole lot more comfortable than those god-ugly pj’s his Aunt Macy gave him last Christmas.
Grabbing up the shoes and bag, he hunted for the new bottle of flavored lube Blaine had bought the last time he was home. His boyfriend was getting kinkier and kinkier, and he could only imagine what was in store for him and his ass once the dance was over.
The lube, along with several copies of the gay men’s magazine, ‘Freshman,’ was discovered tucked under the mattress of Blaine’s bed. There were three issues he had yet to read, so he quickly shoved them along with the lube in the bag. No telling what kind of teasing Angel would subject him to if she found him drooling over the centerfolds.
“I’ll look at ‘em later, back home where it’s safe.”
Collecting the money left on the dresser, he checked the room for anything he might have missed then went in search of Dan.
He found the man, along with Sean, working out in the new exercise room. Leaning against the doorframe, Trent took a moment to watch the two men.
Dan was adding an extra resistance band to the Bowflex machine Sean was working on. He must have said something that tickled his lover’s funny bone because before he could add another band, Sean had him straddling his lap. The second Dan opened his mouth to protest Sean claimed the man with a kiss that had Trent wishing his jeans were a hell of a lot looser.
“Sean, babe, hang on to that thought,” Dan cautioned. “We’ve got company.”
Trent could clearly see what Sean was really hanging on to, and he grinned unabashedly.
“I’m not doing anything he hasn’t seen before,” he heard Sean whisper against Dan’s lips.
So true, he agreed. He couldn’t even begin to count how many times he’d caught Sean and Dan fooling around with each other in the past nine months or so. Blaine continued to have some reservations about seeing his dad with another man, but it was definitely not a big deal for him. If truth be told, he enjoyed catching them being nasty. Gave him a glimpse of what life would be like when he and Blaine were that age.
He smiled at the way Dan tenderly stroked the side of Sean’s face. It hadn’t taken the two men long to figure out his feelings on the subject, and they were now quite comfortable having him around when they got physical with each other. It was nice to be trusted in such a manner, but their loving only served to remind him of what, or specifically who, was missing from his life, and sometimes it just hurt too much to watch.
Like now.
“Yes, Trent has been a witness to your adolescent behavior, that’s true.” Dan winked at him before grabbing the hand inside his shorts. “But if you think this is gonna keep you from finishing your workout, you’re sadly mistaken. Twenty-five more reps, Handsome.”
“Have I told you how much I hate you?” Sean grumbled affectionately.
Dan shared a quick kiss with his lover before sliding off his lap. “That’s not what your dick is saying. Now, get to work.” He waited until Sean started the mandatory set of reps before turning to greet him. “I see you’ve got Blaine’s stuff. If you’ll come with me to my room, I have something else you might need.”
He followed Dan through the door that led to his bedroom. It was the first time he’d been in the room and was caught by surprise when he saw the life-size portrait of Blaine’s father hanging on the wall over the bed. The drawing portrayed a much younger Sean, and if Trent hadn’t known who it was he was looking at, he would have sworn it was Blaine.
Focusing his gaze on the man’s face, he couldn’t help but grin. The look Sean wore in the portrait was a look he knew quite well, and if Blaine were here, he’d happily fuck his boyfriend through the floor just to get another glimpse of that particular expression.
He did a quick appraisal of the entire portrait. Personally he thought Blaine was much handsomer than his father, but that could be his heart talking and not his brain. Moving closer, he checked for the name of the artist and whistled with surprise when he recognized the signature.
“You know Ashton Walker?” he asked in amazement. Ashton Walker was the one of the most renowned artists of the gay community. Both he and Blaine were subscribed to his update list and visited his website on a regular basis.
Dan glanced at the portrait. “Ashton and I hooked up for a short while after Sean decided he was more interested in living the straight life.”
He saw Dan shift his gaze from the portrait to a collection of framed photographs scattered across a series of shelves on the wall to the left of the dresser. Trent searched the photos and instantly recognized one of Dan and the famous artist.
“I was in bad shape after Sean and I broke up,” Dan whispered, his voice temporarily laden with sadness. “Depressed. Suicidal. Ashton kept me from making a very permanent mistake, and I’ll forever be in his debt.”
He looked at Dan with shock. The man had just confessed an attempt at suicide; man, talk about trust. He swallowed the lump of emotion that rose in his throat.
“You and him keep in touch?” he asked a minute or so later.
“You bet,” Dan answered, the grim expression on his face replaced with one of extreme happiness. “I was his best man when he and Will exchanged commitment vows last year.” The older man handed him a gift card embossed with the name of a very upscale clothing store. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?” He accepted the card but made no move to check it out.
Dan threw his arm around his shoulder and briefly hugged him. “A certain someone told me about your tuxedo dilemma. Consider this an early graduation present.”
Trent frowned. “Angel’s got a big mouth.”
Blaine’s sister had been present the day he was trying on the suit he normally wore to funerals. As much as he wanted to rent a tux, he wanted to rent a convertible more. No way in hell was he taking Blaine to the dance in that heap of bolts masquerading as his truck. The night was too special; Blaine was too special. For those reasons alone, his funeral suit would have to do.
Unfortunately the damn thing was too small. All those months of working out had given him a physique that stretched the fit of most of his clothes. He didn’t mind his t-shirts and jeans being somewhat form-fitting, but he did draw the line at pants that could be used for high-water wading.
His suit had gone in the trash along with his dream of taking Blaine to the prom in a convertible. They’d have to make do with his boyfriend’s truck.
He let loose a sigh of total frustration. He was so fucking tired of making do. He was also tired of everybody coming to his financial aid. He wanted to refuse Dan’s gift, but realized the gift was as much for him as it was for Blaine. He wanted to look good for his boyfriend, for his coming out, and if he accepted the gift card he could still rent the convertible. A win-win situation as long as he ignored his pride, again.
“Thanks, Dan” he forced through clenched teeth. “Thanks a lot.”
Dan checked on his lover’s progress before walking him out. “I can come with you if you want,” the man offered, indicating the card he still held in his hand. “The manager’s an old friend of mine from college.”
Trent smiled. He appreciated the offer but thought his dad would enjoy going with him more. The two of them rarely did anything together nowadays what with his old man’s job taking him on the road more often than not. At the moment his dad was at home and shopping for his tux would be the perfect reason to spend some quality time together.
“Again, thanks, but I think I’ll ask my dad.”
Smiling, Dan nodded his acceptance of the rejection. “Call me if you change your mind.”
“You bet,” he answered with a wave of his hand.
Halfway down the driveway he pulled out his cellphone and dialed his dad. “Hey, Pops. It’s me. Got any plans for tomorrow?”
+++++++
“You get the drinks. I’ll get the phone.”
Throwing the garment bag that contained his tux on the bed, he sprinted for the phone. He and his dad had just spent the entire day at the mall, hanging out, having fun. They’d foolishly left the task of picking out his tux until the last minute and were forced to wait for almost two hours before someone could assist them. It was way after dark by the time they’d finished, and neither one of them was excited about the prospect of going home and cooking supper. He had suggested Chinese take-out, and his dad had agreed without hesitation.
Knowing how hungry his old man was, he ignored the ringing phone in order to call out a warning. “Don’t you dare snitch any of my wontons! I know exactly how many there are.”
“You can have your wimpy wontons,” his father yelled back. “I’m taking your eggroll.”
“Dad!”
Grabbing up the incessant ringing phone, he answered, “The one, the only Trent Anderson.”
“Hey, babe.”
The sound of Blaine’s husky voice sent his heart to racing and his dick on full alert. He immediately forgot about supper, his dad and basically everything else. Blaine was on the phone; nothing else mattered.
Kicking the door to his room shut, he popped the snap on his jeans and eased down its zipper. “Hey, Budman,” he replied after flopping down on his bed. “You ready for tomorrow?”
Easing his hand inside his briefs, he stroked himself. “I know I’m ready. Ready to hold you in my arms and dance the night away.” He laughed. “That sounded totally lame, but you know what I mean, right?”
There was an extended silence before Blaine’s voice came over the line again. “Trent,” his boyfriend started then stopped. “God, Trent, you know if I . . .”
He felt his heart skid to a sudden halt. “Stop. Don’t say another word.” Closing his eyes, he banged his head against the mattress several times. This wasn’t happening. Blaine was NOT canceling out on him.
He sat up and took a deep breath. “You’re not coming, are you?”
“Trent, I’m sorry,” Blaine replied. “Coach Wells wants me as the starting pitcher for tomorrow’s game. I can’t make it.”
He shoved the phone’s receiver under his butt before cursing his boyfriend, Coach Wells and every member of the Alabama baseball team. It was a short list considering he didn’t know that many players, but it felt good to damn each and every one of them to hell, Blaine included.
Invoking a state of calm he did not exactly feel, he lifted the phone to his ear and caught the tale-end of an apology.
“. . . and the game’s in Tennessee. There’s no way I can make it home in time for the dance. Damn it, Trent, say something. You know I’d be there if I could, but I can’t.”
There was more to it than that, he realized. Blaine was on scholarship. He couldn’t skip a game just so he could attend his boyfriend’s fucking prom.
Frowning, he pictured the pair of fancy lapel flowers hanging out together in the fridge. He looked over at the expensive garment bag decorated in black and gold that held his tuxedo. Finally he glanced at the window and pictured the classic Mustang convertible he’d rented and now had safely parked inside the garage.
It was all for nothing, nothing.
Fuck.
Pushing up to a sitting position, he rubbed his eyes and forced a smile he fervently hoped would be reflected in his voice.
“Is the game gonna be televised?” he asked. “If so, what time does it start? You know Dad’ll want all the details so that we can watch the game.”
Something wet tricked down his cheek. He wiped at it angrily.
“Hey, just in case the game isn’t on TV, get someone to take pictures or better yet, have somebody tape it. This is a momentous occasion, Budman. Got to preserve it for posterity and such.”
Refusing to stop for a breath on account it might hurt too much to breathe, he hurried on.
“Does your mom and dad know? Are they gonna be there for the game? Tell me again where you’re playing. Maybe I could hitch . . .”
“Trent! Stop it!” Blaine interrupted. “Stop pretending like it doesn’t matter. Yell at me. Cuss me out. Just stop acting like it’s no big deal.”
“Really, it’s no . . .”
Blaine shut him down cold. “You’re lying through your teeth. You’ve been looking forward to this dance for how long now? Don’t tell me it’s no big deal. I know better.”
“Okay, you asshole.” He finally gave into his anger. “I’m mad, more than mad, and I’d kick the shit out of you if you were here. Is that what you want? Is that what you need to hear?”
Rolling to his feet, he paced the length of his room and kicked the wall next to his bed every time he approached it. “Yeah, us going to my prom was important to me, damn important. I’ve worked my ass off, scrimping and saving. I’ve worked every afternoon, every weekend. Haven’t gone to the movies in god knows how long, haven’t sent out for pizza, didn’t buy the new XBox like I was gonna. Gave up all that shit just so I’d have enough money to make this night as special as possible. Damn it, Blaine, I even rented a Mustang convertible so that I could take you to the dance in style.”
He threw a punch at the stuffed ‘Tickle Me’ Elmo Blaine had given him as a gag gift one Christmas. “Yeah, I’m mad. So what? It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You can’t make it, plain and simple.”
Turning swiftly on his heel, he glared at the photo of Blaine in his baseball uniform that was tacked to his mirror. “And don’t you dare tell Coach Wells you won’t pitch the game. I will NOT be the one responsible for you losing your scholarship. You hear me, Blaine?”
Absolute silence greeted his tirade. It deflated his anger as sure as a pin deflating a balloon.
Lying back down on the bed, he stared up at the ceiling. He knew his anger was a total waste of energy. It wasn’t his boyfriend’s fault. Blaine knew how important tomorrow’s dance was, and if at all possible, would have moved heaven and earth to be there with him.”
“This sucks,” he said after several more minutes of silence had passed.
“Yeah, babe, it does,” Blaine whispered hoarsely. “Sucks in a major way.”
He rolled over on his stomach and hugged a pillow close to his chest. It was obvious Blaine was as upset as he was. Hell, he could almost hear the tears he knew for sure were collecting in those baby blues.
“Trent?”
He reached for another pillow and crushed it against the one he was holding. The two together almost matched the breadth of Blaine’s shoulders. “Yeah?”
“Promise me you’ll go to the dance. Take Angel. She’ll go with you, especially now that she’s broken up with what’s his name . . . Patrick? And not only would you be doing her a favor, getting her out of the house and such but she’ll be able to protect you from those hussies lusting after your bod.”
A small smile slipped free at that. Angel and him? On a date? Talk about a full-fledge nightmare.
“Trent, please do this for me. I’ll pay you back the money you shelled out for the car, for the tux. Are you listening? Trent?”
Burying his face in the pillow, he groaned. He’d go; that was a given. It was his prom, damn it, his one and only Senior Prom. He’d even consider taking his boyfriend’s ‘Chatty Cathy’ sister. His ears would never survive but at least he wouldn’t be going stag.
He tossed away the pillows and sat up. He’d go but he’d hate it, simply because he’d be thinking of Blaine the entire time.
“You owe me, Budman,” he answered brusquely. “And don’t think I won’t collect.”
Standing, he grabbed up his tux and hung it in the closet. He then slumped against the doorframe and stared at the poster that adorned the back wall. Its identical twin was thumbtacked to the door of Blaine’s dorm room closet. “Call me after the game. I’ll have my cell with me.”
“Why?” Blaine asked.
“Because I said so, because you owe me, because,” he reached out a hand and touched the poster, “because I’ll need to hear your voice. Okay?”
“I’ll call. I promise,” Blaine answered.
Moving over to his desk, he took a seat and hunted for the baseball schedule Blaine had sent him at the beginning of the season. “Okay. Tell me about the team you’re gonna be playing. How good are they? Can the Crimson Tide beat ‘em? How’s your shoulder feeling?”
+++++++
“Hello, Gorgeous. Where have you been hiding all my life?”
“Oh yeah, bring all of that sweetness to Momma.”
Trent rolled his eyes as he swung Angel around the dance floor. It had only been an hour since they’d arrived, but in that short time his date had managed to ogle almost every guy present. To say it was getting a little tiresome was an understatement. Not to mention he was starting to worry about the condition of his tuxedo jacket. The shoulders were, without a doubt, soaked with girl drool. Did drool damage fabric? And if it did, would he lose the security deposit the rental store had insisted upon?
“I know one person who’ll be reimbursing me if they do,” he muttered under his breath. It was Angel’s drool; it would be Angel forking over the dough.
“Ooh! Ooh!” Angel squealed, “Move over Brad Pitt! There’s a new guy in town, and his is F. I. N. E., fine.”
“Would you behave,” he hissed. “It’s not like you’ve never seen these guys before.”
Angel was only one year behind him, a junior. Therefore, he was positive she knew just about everyone here. Why she was acting the idiot was beyond him. The guys here were just guys. Yeah, some were better looking than others, but no one rated the amount of blatant enthusiasm his date was exhibiting.
He grinned. Of course if Blaine were present, it would be a totally different story. Angel wouldn’t be the only one ogling and drooling.
Pushing that thought aside, he glanced over his shoulder to check out Brad Pitt’s current competition and almost choked when he saw who it was.
Chris Bowman. Chris as in ‘I like being in the closet and I’m not coming out’ Bowman. In fact, if he remembered right, Bowman had made a play for Blaine way back when, back before he got his head out of his ass and realized just how much he cared for his best friend.
“You do know,” he escorted Angel to the drink table, “that Chris is a member of a rather exclusive club. Uh, the ‘no girls allowed’ club?” He dodged the wadded-up napkin thrown at him.
“Like I didn’t know that,” his date responded with a roll of her eyes. Angel knocked her fist against the side of his skull. “Gay brother, remember? I can pick ‘em out no matter how deep in the closet they are.”
Sneaking another look at Chris, she whistled appreciatively, “Just ‘cause Mr. Bowman there likes the boys doesn’t mean I can’t check out his, uh, credentials.”
“Besides,” she threw another napkin at him, “Blaine would kill me if I let that dude get his hands on you. Word’s out he’s got his eye on you and that’s why he came stag.” Angel waved her hand in the air. “You know, while the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
He didn’t exactly like being labeled as a mouse, but he let it pass. Making a gagging noise, he replied, “Like I would play with that piece of shit. He may look good but that’s about all he’s got going for him. No brains and no guts. I pity the fool that hooks up with him.”
“I hear ya,” Angel nodded in agreement. Accepting the glass of punch handed to her, she continued, “And just so you’ll know, I’m way more than just your date. Big brother isn’t here; therefore, I’m the next best thing. Your personal bodyguard.” She shifted to the left and glanced over his shoulder. “And nobody, I mean nobody, is getting past me.”
“Personal body . . . hey!”
Before he could finish another word, Angel had him by the arm and pulled until he was standing behind her. When he turned to ask what was going on he found his date glaring at the trio of girls that had been standing next to him.
“Back off, bitches,” she told them. “This one’s taken.”
Trent nearly fell out laughing when he saw the stunned look on his ex-girlfriend’s face. Sarah, along with her two best friends, had become a major headache for him ever since he hooked up with Blaine. He’d never confess it, but the three girls taunted him on a daily basis about being a fag’s bitch. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to ignore their hateful comments most of the time. Sarah was jealous to put it simply, and anything that came out of her mouth just wasn’t worth his attention.
He looked more closely at Angel and the way she was protecting him from the three witches of Eastwick. A warm feeling came over him, and all of a sudden his prom didn’t seem like a total loss. Blaine was with him, albeit in female form.
That particular image tickled him silly, Blaine in a long sequined gown with a pink and yellow corsage pinned to his shoulder. A huge shit-eating grin took shape on his face as he slipped an arm around Angel’s narrow waist. “Come on, let’s leave these three to their boiling cauldrons, and go dance.”
Taking Angel’s hand, he led her out on the dance floor and didn’t even flinch when she snuggled a little too close for comfort. “Pretend it’s Blaine, pretend it’s Blaine,” he told himself repeatedly. When his body responded a few seconds later in typical horny fashion, he changed his mantra to, ‘This is not Blaine, this is soooo not Blaine.’
He kept whispering those words until Angel pulled away and looked at him like he’d just grown a second head, which, in a manner of speaking, he had. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled with a tight smile of embarrassment.
His date didn’t appear to believe him. “Uh, right, nothing,” Angel answered before cuddling close again.
Gritting his teeth, he shut his eyes and pictured himself standing naked in front of his entire graduating class. It did the trick. His slacks went from snug to loose in five seconds flat.
He was close to getting back into the grove when Angel resumed her drooling commentary on the entire male population of West Walker High School.
“Hello, Gorgeous. My place or yours?”
“Oh my, what a package you have there. Can I help you unwrap it?”
“Hot buns coming through. Make room, people.”
Several minutes of blessed silence ensued, and he figured his date had finally run out of things to say. He was sadly mistaken.
“Stop the presses!” Angel exclaimed. “McDreamy has entered the building.”
Several smartass replies came to mind, but he bit his tongue. He was here to enjoy his prom and antagonizing his date was not the way to go. Not to mention, Angel had somewhat of a vindictive nature. She and her sister could easily make his life a living hell if, indeed, he chose to piss her off. Nope, better to play nice and live without the threat of retribution hanging over his head.
Girding his loins so to speak, he cautiously asked, “Okay, who are you calling McDreamy, and do I need to rent you two a room?”
A hand tapped his shoulder. “Uh, that would be me,” a male voice answered. “And yeah, a room would be nice but not for me and her. How ‘bout you? You seem to be just what the doctor ordered.”
Trent swore his knees buckled when his brain finally identified the deep voice tickling his ear. No way, there was no way in hell that voice belonged to Blaine. Blaine was in South Carolina. Blaine was NOT standing behind him, his crotch crowding his ass, his hand caressing his hip, his mouth nuzzling the back of his neck.
No way, just, NO WAY!.
“Somebody got a haircut. I like it,” the familiar voice spoke again.
He twisted around and nearly threw Angel to the ground in his haste to greet his boyfriend. “Budman!” he shouted. “You made it!”
Strong arms circled his waist and pulled him into an embrace that squeezed every molecule of oxygen from his lungs. It was the best damn hug he’d ever received, and if the world decided to end that very minute, one Trent Michael Anderson would die a very happy death.
Blaine was here, kissing him, holding him like he’d never let him go. His prom night was now perfect.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
To be continued . . . .