Chapter 11
Quentin & Joel
The heat in Tampa felt almost oppressive after the cool autumn that was overtaking the Northeast. Quentin wanted to enjoy the taste of warmer weather, but when the team left the airport, he felt like he had been slapped in the face by a warm, wet blanket.
“I don’t know how anyone lives in this climate,” Henri grumbled as they stumbled onto the bus that would take them to their hotel. “If I’m not wearing a Speedo and holding a pina colada, I do not want to be in weather like this.”
“Be strong,” said Jaeger, one of their defensemen, who was from Germany and who, like Henri, was already sweating profusely.
It was better on the bus and in the hotel, but Quentin tried to avoid going outside as much as he possibly could.
They had the evening to themselves in Tampa before the game tomorrow, and some of the players went out to a restaurant, but Quentin stayed back in the hotel, enjoying the air conditioning.
He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and debating if he wanted to watch something on TV or read the book he’d picked up in the airport, when his phone buzzed with a text.
He glanced at it.
Joel: Why did you have to invite me to a game in the most humid place in the country? I’m melting.
Quentin grinned at his phone and typed a quick response.
Quentin: I take it you’ve arrived in Tampa?
Joel’s response was a selfie of him on a hotel balcony. His cheeks were flushed, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead, and his T-shirt ringed with sweat around his neck and underarms.
Quentin: Did you run a marathon? Congrats!
Joel: Rude. I climbed two flights of stairs.
Quentin: LOL. Are you worried about performing in this weather in Orlando?
Joel: I’m hoping it’s at least less humid there. How is it so warm in November here?
Quentin: There’s this thing called Climate Change…
Joel: Has anyone ever told you that you’re a smart-ass?
Quentin: No, people have only ever told me I’m a delight.
Joel: I regret to inform you that everyone in your life is lying to you.
Quentin smirked. Then, he realized that Joel was here, in Tampa, even though the hockey game wasn’t until tomorrow.
Quentin: I thought you’d get in tomorrow, before the game. What brings you to Tampa early?
Joel: I needed a break from the tour crowd, TBH. Harlan’s here, but Shivonne is back in Orlando with the rest of the team.
Quentin: Is everything okay? Did you need a break for a specific reason?
He realized that he actually cared to hear Joel’s answer. Despite everything, when they had first met each other, and despite the fact that he still occasionally found Joel rather infuriating, he realized he was genuinely beginning to consider Joel a friend.
Joel: Nothing specific, just the usual exhaustion with people after you’ve been in close proximity for a while. It’s good for me to take breaks every now and then. I’m an introvert by nature, and touring is a busy and crowded life.
Quentin: I get that, with hockey. We’re rarely alone.
Joel: And, tbh, my tour manager and I don’t get along that well. He has one vision for the tour, and I have another.
Quentin: Don’t you get to decide things yourself? You’re Joel Beckett.
Joel: Gee, thanks, I didn’t know that.
Quentin: I just meant…you’re one of the most famous people in pop music, and your brand is huge. I thought you’d have more say over your performances.
Joel: The general idea is mine, but Braun (the tour manager) is all about merch and marketability and what’ll sell. I just want to focus on good music and having a fun time.
Quentin nodded to himself. He was beginning to get a better picture of Joel’s perspective on the world and on his work, and he liked it.
He had misjudged Joel when they first met, thinking that Joel was aloof and arrogant and full of himself.
In reality, Joel was introverted, maybe even shy, and knew how to put a face on for cameras and interviews, but at his heart, he was an artsy, musical kid who wanted to have fun with his songs, and Quentin admired that, and he thought he could understand it and relate to it, in his own way.
Then he had an idea.
Quentin: If you need alone time tonight, I totally get it, but a lot of the other guys went out to dinner tonight, and I’m just chilling in my hotel room. I was thinking of watching a movie, if you wanted to join.
Several miles away, Joel stared at his phone screen, not blinking.
His heart pounded in his chest. Quentin had just invited him over to his hotel room.
There was no way that there was any secondary purpose in Quentin’s mind right now.
Surely, he was just being a friend. A pal.
A bro. He was bored and being nice, and offering Joel some company.
Or maybe, Joel’s brain told him, there was something more, and Quentin was inviting him over for alternate reasons.
No, Joel told himself. That’s not it. Quentin is straight, and the world needs to think that you’re straight, too, and it would be stupid to let yourself develop a crush on a famous hockey player.
The unfortunate thing was that he was pretty sure that the crush had already started to develop.
He knew that it would probably be a bad idea to take Quentin up on his offer.
He’d just risk getting hurt by going over there, having it affirmed for him that Quentin was a straight guy who didn’t want anything more than friendship—or, worse, Quentin was secretly a clout-chaser and wanted to be more famous by associating with Joel.
Joel shook his head. That was unfair of him. Quentin hadn’t shown any interest in fame in that way, and Joel didn’t think that Quentin would ever exploit their new friendship to make himself more popular.
His thumbs had a mind of their own.
Joel: That sounds fun! What hotel are you at? I need to shower Florida off of me, but I can be there in an hour.
Quentin didn’t know what he was thinking, inviting Joel over to hang out and watch a movie.
Their friendship was mostly a publicity stunt, and they had barely had a real conversation between the two of them without the mediation of their teams or other professionals.
And beyond that, there was the undeniable fact that he couldn’t stop noticing how attractive Joel was.
Though he didn’t want to admit it, he knew that was one of the reasons that he’d invited Joel over. He was attracted to him. He had no reason to think that Joel was attracted to him, but then again, there was this feeling he couldn’t shake.
He’d felt it onstage at the Boston concert. He’d felt it when they were being interviewed on Rise and Shine America. He felt it when they were texting. It was a sort of nervous excitement, buzzing just below his skin, not all too different from how he felt before a game.
It was the feeling of anticipation, the feeling of possibility.
He jumped up and hurried to the shower.
He was sharing a room with Henri again on this trip, and Henri was out with some of the other guys for dinner.
They probably wouldn’t be back until late.
Henri liked exploring new restaurants in the cities they visited, and he liked having a good time.
He was always responsible—he’d mentioned offhand to Quentin some bad things that had happened when he was in college, which made him cautious—but Quentin knew that Henri wouldn’t be back until much later.
He liked the idea that he and Joel would have some time to themselves.
Not that anything would happen during that time. Not that Quentin wanted anything to happen during that time, beyond them watching a movie and maybe ordering room service. Like friends did. Because that’s what they were becoming: friends.
He took a hot shower, scrubbing himself clean.
He always felt gross after flying, and tonight he cared even more about not being gross.
He tried not to think about why, but as he stood under the hot water, he forced himself to confront that truth he often tried to ignore: he wasn’t straight, he was probably gay, and he was very sexually repressed.
He didn’t get the chance that a lot of guys in their twenties had to explore their sexuality casually, to have fun, and to figure out what he liked and didn’t like.
It meant that his desires would build and build and build inside of him, reaching an explosive breaking point.
He rinsed shampoo from his hair. Water sluiced down his body, and he thought about the concert in Boston. About Joel’s bare torso, shiny with sweat. The way that the lights had glinted on his smooth skin and the curves of his muscles.
Quentin looked down at his body. His cock was hard, thick, and pointing up at him, like an accusatory finger.
He wrapped his fingers around it and began to stroke gently as those images of Joel filled his head.
Joel is dancing on stage. Joel, half-naked and sweaty, was standing next to him and singing while looking into his eyes.
He stroked his cock faster, bracing one hand against the wall of the shower as his breath came in gasps.
Memories were replaced by imagination. He imagined Joel in his hotel suite with him.
He imagined taking Joel’s clothes off, kissing him.
His tongue on Joel’s neck, his hands spreading Joel’s firm ass, tasting Joel, taking his cock, and pushing it into Joel.
He imagined Joel riding him, his head thrown back in pleasure, gasping as Quentin thrust up into him.
“Fuck!” Quentin cried out as his strokes reached a frenzied pace and he came all over the wall of the shower. His orgasm flushed through his body, and his legs shuddered under the weight of the pleasure, under the force of his mental images of a naked Joel.
He stared down at the cum dripping from his cock and his hands. Fuck, he thought, and washed the cum away with water.