Page 182 of The Lineman

Gabe exhaled, nodding once.

And when they walked back inside, neither of them looked scared anymore.

Chapter forty-eight

Mike

Thelastkid—Jamie—lefttheclassroom with the kind of reluctant shuffle that told me he didn’t want the night to end. He lingered by the door, his eyes still bright with excitement, his hands twisting in his hoodie.

“You sure I can’t help clean up, Coach Ricci?” he asked, glancing back at the refreshment table.

Mateo shook his head, giving him a smile. “Nah, man. Go home. Bask in the glory of your first successful meeting.”

Jamie grinned. “Hell yeah. Next time, I’m bringing decorations.”

Elliot, still lounging in the back row like a kid in detention, let out a chuckle. “Jamie, I think youwerethe decorations.”

Jamie shot him finger guns before finally disappearing down the hall. Seeing that boy leave with such confidence, almost a swagger, felt better than anything I’d witnessed in all my years of teaching.

The moment the door clicked shut, I exhaled and turned to the others. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drink.”

Mateo groaned. “I have never needed a drink more.”

“Jockstraps?” I suggested.

Elliot stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Fine by me, but if I hear a single word about team-building exercises, I’m walking into traffic.”

I grinned. “Fair enough.”

With that, we grabbed our jackets and headed out.

As much time as we spent in Jockstraps for trivia nights, I couldn’t remember actually looking around the place. We were always so wrapped up in our own drama or preparing to beat our competition into submission, the place’s décor had never really been important. As we entered, it almost felt like stepping into the bar for the first time.

Jockstraps was equal parts divey and iconic. Jerseys and jockstraps (yes, actual ones) were pinned up like trophies on the walls, the TVs alternated between ESPN andRuPaul’s Drag Race, and the bartender—a mountain of a man named Dwayne—served drinks like he was both a therapist and an enabler.

The second we walked in, Mateo let out a long groan and immediately made a beeline for the bar. Dwayne, who had seen us coming, was already reaching for a bottle. “Beer?”

Mateo sighed. “Just pour the alcohol directly into my veins.”

Three bottles materialized before us. Elliot grabbed them and led us to a high-top at the far corner, away from the noise of the crowd.

Mateo collapsed into his seat, rubbing his face. “Holy shit.”

Elliot smirked, sipping his beer. “That good, huh?”

“That was insane.” Mateo let out something between a laugh and a groan.

I dropped into the seat across from him, stretching out my legs. “Absolute, unfiltered gay chaos.”

Elliot, ever composed, swirled his beer bottle between his fingers. “So what you’re saying is . . . it was a total success?”

I huffed a laugh. “Shockingly, yes.”

Mateo snorted. “I feel like we should have handed out helmets at the door. We had twinks, lesbians, a chaotic bisexual alliance, and Jason, who I’m convinced was dropped off on this planet as a cosmic joke.”

Elliot smirked. “He’s your spiritual successor.”

Mateo pointed a finger at him. “Don’t curse me like that.”

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