Chapter 19
NINETEEN
LUC
“You’re so full of shit,” Shawna drawls, taking another bite of pizza and screwing up her face. “And so is this nasty excuse for pizza. What the hell is this, Luc?”
“I told you it’s not traditional pizza. The crust is made out of ground chicken breast. It’s healthy.”
“Gross.”
I roll my eyes. My best friend has a deep aversion to healthy food. She won’t eat a vegetable unless it’s deep fried or slow cooked into a stew, like the good Louisiana girl she is. “There’s a bag of chips and salsa in the pantry.”
Shawna perks up, then narrows her eyes.
“They have salt,” I clarify, not waiting for her to ask. “And I got you that off-brand restaurant-style salsa you like, not the ‘bullshit from the deli’ with actual fresh vegetables.”
“You’re my favorite.”
I laugh as she runs off to find more acceptable snacks. I miss Shawna’s antics like crazy some days. With everything that’s been changing in my life, having her here on her normal bullshit is a breath of fresh air.
When she gets back, she folds herself back into the corner of my couch and proceeds to eat her chips and salsa directly out of the bag and jar. And then, true to form, she waits until she has a mouthful before again asking the question I already answered because she thought I was kidding.
“So anyway, I didn’t peg Jesse Moore for a football fan,” she continues.
“He’s not.”
“Pssht. Except he invited your team to a concert and came to one of the games. Wearing your number, no less. That’s going to mean more jersey sales, you know.”
I resist groaning. She doesn’t understand how I could not care less if people are wearing NFL merch with my name and number on it. She was excited to finally get one, like I was holding back on her.
“Remember the beach party right before the Draft?”
Shawna frowns. My uncharacteristic behavior and stressful sexual awakening, as she called it, has always been a sore spot. I’ve never been the one to bring it up the very few times it’s been necessary to mention.
“What about it?”
“Remember the guy?”
“I mean, I don’t remember meeting him, but I remember that you did. And I remember… you know, after.”
I cut my eyes to the television and back to her, trying to give her a hint. Which of course, she doesn’t catch. Why would she?
“Why are you doing that with your eyes?” She asks, reaching for her soda to take a sip.
“It was him. Jesse. Jesse was the guy.”
Dr. Pepper sprays across my living room furniture. Shawna clenches her eyes and pinches her nose. “Oh God, I snorted it.”
“Still better than hard drugs,” I deadpan, quoting her snarky response to anyone mentioning how much caffeine she consumes.
“Fuck you,” she says, and it’s even funnier because her voice sounds like she has a bad cold. Her eyes are streaming with tears from the sting.
“Want some water?”
“Water? Like out the toilet?” Shawna will take any opportunity to quote the movie Idiocracy.
A laugh huffs out of me, and I shake my head, getting up to grab her a kitchen towel. When I come back, her big, grey eyes are fixed on me.
“You’re really serious?”
It takes a minute to remember what we were talking about.
I shift my eyes back to the television, where Jesse is on his knees at the edge of the stage, head thrown back and screaming up into a mic.
He’s wearing torn black skinny jeans and an almost sheer white t-shirt with the words “You’ll Have To Go Through Me” in the colors of the trans pride flag.
My lips quirk. I’m so fucking proud of him and his band for what they’re doing. They’ve barely started, and they’ve already raised over half of their goal. Their partnership with the social media company is giving them a huge boost, as is the rising discord with American politics.
Taking out my phone, I use the QR code on the screen to open the donation link, making a large anonymous donation.
I notice Shawna has been quiet for a little too long and lift my eyes to meet hers. She’s gaping at me.
“Lucius Barrett Martín,” Shawna says slowly. She gestures at the screen. “Him? Really?”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat. “Him.”
“Jesse fucking Moore.”
“Jesse fucking Moore,” I repeat affirmatively.
She makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“Holy shit.” Her eyes narrow. “Wait,” she says, and I can see the cogs whirring as she rewinds all the way back to the beginning of this conversation, when I said I wanted us to watch this concert.
“You’re actually, like actually, seeing him? Currently?”
I glance at her, then back at Jesse. The cameras sweep the crowd, colored lights illuminating the smoke.
Jesse’s voice hits a high note, cutting through the air, sharp and raw.
With my surround sound and this ridiculous TV AJ talked me into buying, it feels like we’re right there at the concert.
Minus the crowd, which is a huge plus. But it’s also minus real-life Jesse, and that sucks.
“Sort of,” I answer finally.
“Sort of,” she repeats, and then snorts. “Babydoll, you’re gonna have to give me more than that, and you know it.”
Babydoll. He calls me baby. I’m bigger and taller than he is, but I melt into a puddle of goo when he calls me baby.
“What more is there?” I say indignantly.
“I am your best friend. I tell you all of my–”
“Nuh-uh. I don’t ask for the dirty details of whatever you get up to. You force those on me against my will.”
“I will comb my cooch with your toothbrush.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“What’s disgusting is you not sharing any details about your rock god boyfriend with your best fucking friend!”
“Dude, calm down. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“We’ll circle back and unpack that later. I can’t calm down, bro. This is serious beans.”
“I’m not going to kiss and tell, Shawna. I’m a gentleman.”
She barks out a laugh so loud it almost drowns the music out. “You? Puh-lease. But fine. You just have to answer one thing…” My best friend leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Is it good?”
“Is what good?”
Shawna swats me with the kitchen towel. “Oh my God, I’ve never seen you blush that hard.” She collapses sideways onto the couch cushions, kicking her feet like she’s won the lottery. “That’s an emphatic yes if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Shut up,” I groan.
Shawna continues snickering to herself while on screen, the band finishes their song. Jesse is bent over his guitar, sweat dripping from his hair, chest heaving.
“So are you going to come out?” Shawna asks in a quiet, surprisingly serious tone.
“I’m not in.”
“You know what I mean.”
I sigh. The halo of lights on the TV cuts to a closeup of Jesse’s hand sliding down the neck of his guitar in a way that sends shivers down my spine like I’ve been touched by a ghost. My chest tightens with the weight of what Shawna’s asking.
“You hate publicity,” she says gently, straightening the hem of her oversized Colgate toothpaste t-shirt. The big red letters stretch across her chest, obnoxious as hell against the teal leggings she paired it with.
I give her a long side-eye.
“What?” she says innocently. “I’m just making a point. Keeping a relationship between the two of you, a massive superstar and a famous NFL player–”
“–I’m not famous.”
Shawna gives me a highly unimpressed stare.
“Okay, smiley. Sure. Maybe you weren’t, but even before you dazzled everyone with your thousand-watt killer smile of sweet babydoll shyness, you couldn’t have escaped public scrutiny if you were dating that guy.
” She points to Jesse on the screen, playing an electric guitar and looking like the sex god he is.
“And here I thought you were always chasing a normal life–whatever the fuck that is.”
“Normal doesn’t exist in my world, Shawna, you know that.
I mean, look at your stupid shirt, for fuck’s sake.
Dad’s got a lifetime supply of toothpaste stacked in my old room like some kind of doomsday prepper.
That’s not normal. And even if I wasn’t in love with a rock god, it’s not like I could have a normal relationship anyway. ”
Shawna’s nose twitches, the only indication that she caught my little slip-up. She ignores it for now. “Why not?”
“Well, for starters, I’ve never wanted one before. I’ve never wanted anyone before. Certainly not like this. Even if lightning struck twice or Jesse wasn’t a superstar, it couldn’t work, because then everything I’ve done, everything I’ve accomplished, will all be reduced to my sexuality.”
“Maybe if more people came out publicly, or even just started living their lives without ever making a public statement, it would start mattering less,” she points out. It’s a good point, but I don’t think I’m the guy to step up and be anyone’s poster boy.
“Isn’t there an out player on Carolina’s team?” Shawna pulls out her phone and starts to type.
I wrack my brain. “I don’t remember. I don’t pay attention to players’ personal details, just their game footage.”
“Jack Perry!” She announces.
“Wide receiver.”
Shawna snorts.
“Really?” I deadpan.
“What? It’s funny and you know it.”
I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
She squints down at her phone. “But yeah. Apparently it was a big deal when it first came out, mostly because there was some drama involved. But he didn’t bother with the trolls and did his job well. Now no one gives a fuck, and he’s happily married to some big-shot sports agent.”
“Good for him,” I say. And I mean it. I wish I could do it. But all I can hear is–
“You know what your problem is, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer, probably because she knows the answer.
Her nosey ass always has to be right about shit.
“You’re too much like your dad. And you know I love me some Daddy Lucius, but he’s got a few outdated ideas that I think you take too much stock in. ”
I scrunch my nose and turn away from the TV. They’re having a short intermission to make announcements about what the fundraiser is up to, so Jesse and the band are no longer on screen.