Chapter 13
The Walgreens in Garden Oaks was twenty minutes north of campus, which made it the only place within a thirty-mile radius where I could buy condoms without someone spotting me.
Hunter drove with the windows down, his sandy hair whipping into his eyes.
The bay glittered to our right, all sun-bleached blue, and the salt air cut through the stale interior of his Toyota Corolla.
Garden Oaks was a sleepy, mostly residential suburb with a collection of bait shops near the marina, a single gas station, and this Walgreens.
“Ass-eating, facial, and now condoms,” Hunter said, pulling into a parking spot and killing the engine. He turned to face me, one arm draped over the steering wheel. “Did I miss anything?”
“I’m buying condoms in case things progress. It’s called being prepared.”
“More like optimism on a level I’ve never witnessed from you.” He yanked the keys from the ignition and shoved them into his pocket. “Three weeks ago, you were sketching Brock’s glutes from memory, and now you’re shopping for penetration supplies.”
“Can you not say ‘penetration supplies’ in a parking lot?”
“We’re in Garden Oaks, Tommy. Nobody’s listening.” He pushed his door open and unfolded his long frame from the car with a stretch that cracked his spine. “Also, I need lube. I’m almost out.”
I climbed out and squinted against the afternoon sun. “For what?”
He shot me a look of disbelief from over the roof of the car. “For my dick, Tommy. What do you think?”
“I thought you were single.”
“I am single. Single men still jerk off. Some of us prefer it slippery.” He locked the car with a chirp and headed for the store. “Not all of us have a six-foot-three first baseman offering up his ass as a personal playground.”
I jogged to catch up, my Converse slapping against the hot asphalt. “He’s set a hard limit.”
“Yet you’re buying condoms.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
“That’s the spirit.” Hunter held the door open for me, and the blast of air conditioning hit my face as we crossed the threshold into fluorescent-lit purgatory.
The family-planning aisle was tucked in the back corner, past the vitamins and hair care. Hunter led the way, a man who had obviously been buying lube since he was sixteen.
Rows of boxes stared back at me—ribbed, ultra-thin, warming, tingling. My eyes snagged on a glow-in-the-dark option, and I briefly wondered under what circumstances a bioluminescent dick was a selling point.
“What size?” Hunter asked while scanning the lube section.
“I—what do you mean, what size?”
“You said the man’s hung like a horse. Regular condoms aren’t going to fit a horse, Tommy.”
My face went nuclear. “We’re buying for me, not for him.”
Hunter shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to be proactive.
For Evan, you’ll need Magnums at a minimum.
For you, don’t tell me—my ego can only take so much.
” He plucked a bottle of lube from the shelf—water-based, unscented, the no-frills option—and reached past me to grab a gold box from the top shelf. “These. Trust me.”
I took the box, turning it over in my hands. Twelve-count. The number was simultaneously ambitious and inadequate. “What if he never uses them?”
“Then you have very fancy balloon animals for your next birthday party.” Hunter leaned against the shelf, crossing his arms. The playful glint in his eyes faded, his expression softening. “Hey. Can I ask you something without you biting my head off?”
“Depends on the question.”
“Is he taking care of you? Like, reciprocating?”
I thought about Evan’s hand wrapped around me and how he’d watched my face while he jerked me off. The word pretty, dropped into the quiet between us. His pinky hooked over mine in the dark.
“Yeah,” I said. “He is.”
“Good.” Hunter nodded, but his eyes stayed on me, searching. “And the other stuff? The emotional shit? Are you guys talking outside of…” He gestured vaguely at the condoms.
I turned my attention to the list of ingredients for a lubricant I had no intention of buying. Aloe vera. Vitamin E. Words that didn’t require emotional vulnerability to read.
“We talk after,” I said carefully. “Sometimes.”
“Okay.” Hunter’s hand went to his hair, pushing it back. “What do you want out of this, though, Tommy?”
The honest answer was that I wanted to talk to Evan somewhere public—a diner, a parking lot, anywhere with fluorescent lights and strangers who might overhear. I wanted to hear him laugh at full volume. I wanted the word pretty to exist outside of a room paid for by the night.
But saying that out loud made it real, and real meant acknowledging that what I had wasn’t enough.
“I’m fine with how things are,” I said.
Hunter’s jaw shifted to the side. His brow dipped, and his mouth pressed into a hard line, but after a long, pointed silence, he let the air hiss out of his lungs and dropped it. “Okay. But if that changes…”
“You’ll be the first to know.” I tucked the Magnums and the condom box for myself under my arm and bumped his shoulder with mine. “Now, can we please get out of this aisle before someone sees us and starts a rumor?”
“What rumor? Two dudes buying sexual wellness products on a Tuesday afternoon? It’s called self-care, Tommy. Google it.”
I snorted and headed toward the front of the store. Hunter fell into step beside me. We passed the greeting cards, the candy display, and the seasonal section that was already stocking pool floats in late April.
The checkout counter came into view—one register open, manned by a teenager. And that’s when my father walked in.
He was in full coaching gear—Wildbrook polo stretched across his broad chest, university cap pulled low, aviators perched on the brim. He had a plastic bag from the hardware store in one hand, which meant this stop was an afterthought. Probably batteries. Or antacids. The man lived on Tums.
His eyes swept the store and found us before the door had even shut behind him. “Thomas.” His gaze flicked to Hunter. “Campbell.”
“Hey, Mr. Jenkins.” Hunter’s voice was easy, relaxed. The man could greet a firing squad with that tone.
My father’s eyes dropped to the items in our hands. Hunter’s lube. My condoms. Both held in plain sight, because neither of us had thought to grab a basket or, I don’t know, a decoy bag of chips.
The silence lasted exactly two seconds, but it aged me a decade. “Dad, this isn’t—”
In one smooth motion, Hunter plucked one of the condom boxes from under my arm and held it up next to his lube, presenting both items to my father with a grin that could charm a parking ticket away.
“These are both mine, Coach. Tommy’s just keeping me company. Moral support.”
My father’s eyes moved between the two items, then between the two of us. The hard line of my father’s jaw softened almost imperceptibly, and his shoulders, usually squared for a fight, dropped an inch.
“Campbell.” He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on the boxes in Hunter’s hand. “Those are large. The others are extra-large.”
“Yes, sir.” Hunter didn’t even blink.
My father exhaled through his nose, turning to me. “Thomas. You don’t have to hide this from me.”
“Dad. No. This isn’t what you—”
“I’m not blind,” he said, his voice dropping low.
He shifted his weight, his gaze flickering toward the floor for a moment—a crack in his usual unflinching stare.
“You two spend every waking minute together. You’re buying”—he gestured at Hunter’s hands—“supplies in a town twenty minutes from campus.”
“Because we—”
“I’m glad you’re being safe about it.” The words came out stiff, rehearsed, as if he’d been practicing them in front of a mirror for exactly this scenario. “That’s all a father can ask for.”
My mouth opened. Nothing came out. The store’s air conditioning roared in my ears, and the bright colors of the candy display blurred into a meaningless smear.
And then another thought hit me. Evan had assumed the same thing. That first night in the hotel room. The question about Hunter was asked with genuine curiosity.
Of course. Evan, and now my father. The whole world saw Hunter and me together and…assumed.
“Mr. Jenkins,” Hunter said, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “I appreciate you being cool about this. Tommy was nervous you’d react badly.”
“I was NOT!”
“But I want you to know I’m taking good care of your son.”
My father’s jaw tightened. His eyes went to Hunter’s hand, then back to Hunter’s face. “You’d better be, Campbell. He’s my kid.”
“Dad!” My voice cracked on the single syllable. “Hunter and I are NOT—we’re not together. We’ve never—he’s straight!”
Hunter tilted his head, considering. “I mean, labels are so limiting, don’t you think?”
I turned on him, my eyes wild. “HUNTER!”
“What?” He shrugged, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “I’m comfortable in my sexuality. And have you seen my ass?” He turned slightly, gesturing at his backside with the bottle of lube. “This thing won’t quit. I’d date me.”
My father made a sound—a rough, short exhale through his nose that might have been a laugh.
On anyone else’s face, the twitch at the corner of his mouth would have been a smile.
“Well, Campbell. At least you’ve got confidence.
” He clapped Hunter once on the shoulder—hard enough to make a lesser man stagger—then turned back to me.
“Thomas. Whatever this is or isn’t, I don’t need the details. Just be smart.”
“There’s nothing to be smart about because nothing is happening between us.” The words came out clipped. “He’s my friend. That’s it.”
My father held up both palms in surrender. “Fine. Friends. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave me a nod that promised a conversation we both knew would never happen, and headed deeper into the store.
I grabbed Hunter’s arm and hauled him toward the register. “I’m going to kill you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“For what?”