Red Wine and Warm Summer Nights
Qiang’s POV
There are several things I expected this trip home to be. Spending a huge amount of time with my brother and his jock boyfriend was definitely one of them.
However, I failed to take into account that said jock boyfriend would have jock friends.
Which is an obvious oversight on my part, but even if that realization had crossed my mind, one of the jock friends shooting hungry eyes at me was definitely on my failed to foresee–let alone take account of–list. The fact that I have to keep reminding myself that I absolutely hate his eyes on me, and that it in no way makes my heart flutter, or my cheeks warm up at the attention, also failed to make it on that list. But here we are.
I can feel those stupidly handsome eyes boring into the side of my head as I studiously ignore him and pretend like I’m paying attention to Dumb and Dumber cop cheap feels in the guise of a wrestling match in Tristan’s backyard.
Qi graduated earlier today, and Tristan graduates tomorrow evening. But right now, all of us are sprawled out on Tristan’s expansive backyard with a few too many bottles of wine.
Evidently, this is how Tristan and his two besties like to celebrate–with the boys’ parents in the house, keeping a watchful eye. Marcus and Darryl said something about going to parties sometimes, too, but according to them, it’s rare for Tristan to go to those.
I’m not exactly surprised to find that Tristan isn’t a partier.
Despite being a championship quarterback with a face most people only ever dream about, he’s not an attention-seeking person at all, and being a bit reclusive and foregoing crowded party scenes definitely matches the guy I’ve gotten to know over the past couple of months.
Having a huge off-campus house would be an ideal party house for people who enjoy parties. Not that I’m opposed to parties; I’ve gone to several of the frat parties over the years. But the idea of living in a house that regularly hosts football afterparties would be a hard no for me.
However, Marcus pointed out that while he can’t promise there won’t ever be an occasion when they’ll throw one, it’ll definitely be rare.
He said that knowing he’s the only one in the house who enjoys the afterparties would make him feel selfish about throwing them there all the time.
Especially since there are more than enough frat-hosted parties on campus.
My eyes focus on my brother to avoid Marcus’s gaze as I try to recapture some of the brain cells I’ve lost from watching Pax and Owen act like idiots for too long.
Qi’s not much of a drinker, and he’s already had a couple of glasses.
His cheeks are a bit ruddier than normal, and he’s leaning against Tristan with Tristan’s massive arms wrapped around him.
They are slightly swaying while watching Owen and Paxton make absolute asses of themselves.
Qi must feel my gaze because his eyes flit over to meet mine, and there’s a happiness and contentment nestled within his face as he smiles at me that makes my heart feel almost too big to contain in my chest.
These last few months have been hard for him. He had to really dig deep into how he feels things and try to unravel the very complicated tangles of emotions inside him to figure this thing out with Tristan.
There were a lot of insecurities and frustration, but he made it through, and the payout has been so satisfying to see.
I’ve never seen Qi more at peace with himself than he has been since embracing Tristan.
Even though Tristan is a jock, he has proven that not all of them are dickheads. I’m so thankful Qi found a good one.
“I’ve got ten-K on Owen,” Darryl shoots.
“I’ll take it and up to twenty on Paxton,” Marcus counters.
“You’re about to lose—Owen’s a tank,” Darryl hoots.
I raise an eyebrow and take Owen in because in my head, he’s still the skinny pre-pubescent kid he was when I first met him.
Owen and Paxton both befriended Qi in middle school, and their friendship has carried through high school–barely, but somehow against all odds, it has.
Hell, it was their friendship—and Mom’s distrust of the private high school I’d gone to—that made her send Qi to the same academy they were going to.
None of them are the skinny kids I still see them as in my head.
While Owen is definitely bulkier than Paxton, Paxton should never be underestimated.
He’s sneaky and quick and can catch Owen off guard at a moment’s notice.
Between Owen’s size and Paxton’s stealth, they are remarkably evenly matched for these wrestling matches.
I don’t think they’ll ever grow out of this shit. They’ve been horsing around like children since they were children. The only thing that’s gotten more adult about them is their sleeping-around habits and filthy, inappropriate jokes.
Neither of them has the brain capacity to figure out that what they want most is the body they have their hands on during these wrestling matches with each other.
Through and through, if you ever want to see two ‘straight’ dudes in denial, it’s these two. Fucking childish, both of them. I don’t know what Qi sees in them to keep them around, but even with their dickhead sense of humor and immature antics, Qi sticks resolutely to them.
Amid a flurry of movement, Paxton flips Owen onto his back. “Got ya!” Paxton crows.
A steady whoosh of air leaves Owen’s mouth before his eyes narrow into slits. “Dick-grabs as distractions are off limits, Pax. It doesn’t count!” he huffs out before looking towards Qi. “Qi!” he whines, as though Qi’s the ref.
However, Qi is currently lip-locked with Tristan, as is his new favorite thing to do lately.
Qi was never much of a kisser, but it’s one of the many things he’s found he enjoys with Tristan and Tristan alone.
It takes Owen calling his name two more times before Tristan finally lets go of Qi’s mouth so he can engage with his friends.
Not sure whether it’s the amount of wine he’s drunk or the company of Tristan’s arms around him, but Qi’s definitely feeling good as he shoots Owen a contented, rather rosy-cheeked smile.
“Pax, you know dick-grabs are off-limits. Call, draw, or begin again,” he says placatingly.
And I just roll my eyes. Can’t believe he’s encouraging this nonsense, ridiculously besottedly happy or not.
“There were no ground rules. It was anything goes. Not my fault that Owen pops boners at the slightest touch,” Pax argues.
“Any excuse to grab his dick,” I huff out under my breath.
Pax raises an eyebrow at me like he’s gonna argue, but before he can, Marcus puts a glass of wine in Pax’s hand.
“Come on, take a breath, recharge, and have a rematch. Without the dick-grab this time,” he says congenially.
Pax rolls his eyes at me before turning back towards Owen, who is still pouting at the unfair dick-grab.
I don’t even bother to watch their antics unfold because I already know Paxton will go over to Owen and pet his fragile ego until Owen is back up to form to wrestle again. Because in all the years I’ve known them, they’ve never kept their hands to themselves.
I lift my glass of wine to my lips when I feel Marcus’s gaze come back to me.
I don’t even have to look up to know his eyes are on me.
I can feel the intensity of it, of him. There hasn’t been enough time for us to be close, per se, but we’ve been thrown together enough since that first lunch to talk a bit here and there, along with exchanging texts regularly to try and get used to each other.
He’s quick to flirt, and just as quick to retract when he thinks he’s taking it too far.
Which makes me think whatever crush he has on me is unusual for him, and, quite frankly, understanding that only makes this worse.
I’d like to say it’s easy to keep the lines between us drawn, but no matter how much I try to pretend he doesn’t affect me, I can only lie to myself so much.
My eyes flit up to his because even though I shouldn’t, I can’t help it, especially knowing his eyes are already firmly planted on me.
Our eyes lock and hold, and a million things pass between us, and I know he can see through me to the depths of my lies, too.
Doesn’t mean I’ll stop repeating them, but I know he knows, and that makes all of this worse.
The list of should-nots far outweighs the shoulds. He’s Qi’s boyfriend’s best friend. He’s four years younger than me, barely eighteen. I’m less than a year away from graduating from university, while he hasn’t even set foot into university yet. He’s young, and he’ll be my housemate.
I haven’t actually told Qi yet that I’m going to move in with them, but I don’t really think I can turn him down knowing he wants me to, and knowing I want this time to be close to him before I graduate, too.
But that also means close quarters with Marcus, who is as immovable in Tristan’s life as I am in Qi’s.
If shit goes south, we’ll have to swallow it down for the rest of our lives, or stop showing up for our most important people.
That’s a huge risk that is not worth the fallout.
And to tie the whole thing off with a bow, he’s a jock.
Not just any jock, but a hot, wide receiver, football jock–just like Kingston.
I’ve played this game before, and I already know how this shit ends. I barely survived it with Kingston, and that was with only seeing him a handful of times right after everything went down. I can’t imagine having to show up and play nice with the guy for the rest of my life. Fuck that.
I know this. This irrevocable truth is etched into my brain like a tattoo.
But that doesn’t mean my stomach is paying a damn bit of attention as it trembles beneath Marcus’s gaze.
The heat that licks my spine as those gorgeous obsidian eyes lock on me, the brazen openness in his face, blatant and raw, while I’m fighting mine like my life depends on it.