Will this one stick? Who’s the new guy on Weston Calloway’s arm?
Will any man win young Senator Calloway’s heart?
America’s most eligible gay bachelor, Weston Calloway, was seen out with a twinky blond!
Conservative Senate minority leader from North Carolina, Tripp Calloway, replies with “no comment” when asked about his out and proud senator son.
“Are you at least proud of him, Senator Calloway? Being the youngest member of the Senate is quite the honor.”
“What Weston does is none of my concern,” the senator replied.
No, it wouldn’t be, would it? The only time we spoke was as members of Congress, not as father and son.
I shut down my computer, plucked my cell off the desk, and called Brady, the twinkish blond the articles mentioned.
“Well, this is a surprise,” he said, instead of hello. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“But you wanted to,” I teased.
“Obviously.”
Brady and I chatted and flirted a bit before planning a hookup. Afterward, I jerked off to the memory of him on his knees for me.
Fuck anyone who had a problem with who I was.
Chapter Three
Anson
September
We were in DC for the first game of the regular season, and we’d spent hours in team meetings, going over strategy about the game the next day. We’d been let go for the night, a little over an hour before. Darren and I roomed together the way we always did. Sometimes I had a story prepared, other times I didn’t. That night fell into the first category. It was easier that way, not just because I didn’t have to worry about him trying to get me to go out with him, but because then I could lie to myself. I could pretend I was just like Darren and any of the other guys who spent their nights getting laid in every city.
Christ, I was being mopey lately. I didn’t usually dwell on it so much. How could I, when I looked at my life? At everything I had. I was lucky, and it didn’t feel appropriate to complain.
Darren got out of the shower and came into the room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He was looking around in his bag, and I turned, picking up my phone and studying it.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re staying in tonight?”
“Nope. I’m actually meeting up with someone,” I lied.
“No shit?” I could hear the question in Darren’s voice, but I kept my eyes averted.
“Yeah, man, what the fuck? It’s not like I never go out.” Sometimes I even had sex, but that was getting harder to do—both physically and mentally. Women were pretty, soft and sweet. I could see what other men saw in them, I could acknowledge their beauty, but I just didn’t want them that way. It felt good in the moment, of course, because physical response and all, but afterward, I always hated myself even more.
“You rarely go out, gramps, but good, I’m glad you’re having some fun tonight. You deserve it.” He walked over and ruffled my hair like I was twelve. I jerked my head back, looking up to see him standing in front of me in a pair of briefs.
“Fucker.” I pushed him, then stood and moved around him toward the window. We were on the team floor, high above the city. I looked out at the lights, at how alive it was, and wished I felt that way myself.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve seemed down lately.”
I’m tired. So fucking tired of being scared. Of living a lie.
“Is it Elias?”
“No, and he’d kick your ass for even asking. He’s great. Working on his doctorate.” I’d left college early for the NFL draft. My brother was a dichotomy. On the one hand, he was like a frat boy obsessed with video games. On the other, he was the smartest person I knew. He wanted to change the world, and he would. He also wanted to teach politics—something I didn’t get and hadn’t really ever been into. I voted, of course, but I couldn’t imagine wanting to study it. We were close, though, and I loved living with him; it helped me feel less lonely, but I wondered how long that would last. Elias was independent, and eventually he’d want to move on.
“What is it, Hawkins?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I’m not the one being weird. You are. What’s up with this therapy-hour-with-Darren shit?”
“Ha-ha.” He walked over to his bag and finished getting dressed.
“Where’re you going?” I asked, wanting to make sure we didn’t somehow end up at the same place. My plan was to go to a hotel bar, hide away, have some drinks and some food, and come back pretending to be sexually sated.
He rambled on about a woman who lived locally, blah, blah, blah. That was all I needed to know. When he was finished, I grabbed my sneakers and pulled them on. I was just wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, but then grabbed a baseball cap and pulled it down low. Fuck, where were my sunglasses? I looked over to see them on the nightstand. “I’m out.”
“Have fun.” Darren bumped fists with me, and I left.
I looked down at my phone while in the elevator, hoping no one else got in, or if they did, they wouldn’t recognize me. It was fucking ridiculous. I loved meeting fans. Always had. I liked being good at football, liked knowing people looked up to me, but something was different tonight.
I didn’t breathe until I was outside. I’d ordered a car from my phone, and it was there when I walked out. The driver was a woman who didn’t seem to recognize me. We were quiet for most of the drive to an upscale hotel a few miles away. It wasn’t long before I was sitting toward the end of a long bar. The lights were dim, and hundreds of backlit bottles stared at me from behind the counter. The bar wasn’t too full, but it wasn’t empty either. Maybe I should have just gotten a room, which was sad as fuck. Would I really leave one hotel room to sit alone in another just to make it look like I was having sex with someone?
“Good evening.” The bartender smiled. “Do you need a menu?” she asked, no recognition on her face, and I breathed. Jesus, it was shitty to feel like I spent so much of my life holding my breath.
“Yeah, please. Thanks.” She’d just handed it over when there was movement to my left. I looked over to see a man in slacks and a white dress shirt sit down one chair away. He had the top couple of buttons on his shirt undone, a light dusting of dark hair on his chest showing. It matched the midnight shade on his head, which was in a faded crew cut, a little longer and styled on top. His eyes were ice blue, with thick lashes, and he had stubble along his jaw.
Heat skittered beneath my skin when he looked at me and grinned. My eyes darted away like he would take one look at me and know I was attracted to him. My sunglasses were beside me, and I thought about putting them back on, but that would be ridiculous.
He took a menu too. The bartender gave us a few minutes, walking away to help someone else. He rested his elbow on the bar top and rubbed his face. “Fuck, it was a long day.”
I tried to reply, my voice coming out strangely husky when I said, “You can say that again, man.”
“Fuck, it was a long day.” He winked, and as stupid as what he’d said was, I snickered. “You in town on business?” he asked.