Page 97 of The Lineman

“All right,” I said, leaning forward. “Since you’re so full of good ideas, how about this—if I do it, will you co-sponsor it with me?”

Mateo froze mid-chew.

I raised my brows. “Oh, what’s that? No witty comeback? No smooth Mateo wisdom? You are the coolest guy in the school, after all. The basketball team loves you. Hell, if the basketball coach did this, the rest of the kids might hesitate before making fun of it. You could help make being gay cool.”

He swallowed and squinted at me. “You are such an ass.”

I grinned. “That’s a yes, then?”

“I’m not even out here . . . with my team . . . with anyone but a few teachers.”

“So?” I cocked a brow. “I can get you a rainbow-colored polo shirt to wear at practice. Or would you prefer something pink and frilly?”

“Fuck off.” He laughed, but tension belied his amusement. He drummed his fingers against the table, staring at his empty plate like it held the answer to all of life’s problems.

“I don’t know, man,” he admitted. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to help, but you know what it’s like here. I’ve got the whole basketball team looking at me like some kind of god, and I know that’s stupid, but . . .”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But you don’t want to risk the locker room dynamic,” I finished for him.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “And the parents . . . shit . . . you know how brutal they can be. How long would it be before some pissy mom filed a complaint accusing me of looking at her baby boy’s precious bum?”

I nodded. “I get it.”

And I did. Mateo wasn’t just a teacher—he was the basketball coach, and that meant a whole different social minefield.

“But you’re not—” I hesitated, lowering my voice. “You’re not worried about people knowing, are you?”

Mateo frowned. “Knowing what?”

“You know,” I said, gesturing vaguely.

Mateo rolled his eyes. “Mike, I’ve been out since I was seventeen. If anyone on that team hasn’t figured it out yet, that’s their own damn fault. It’s not about me—it’s about the kids. You know how high school is. You put one foot out of line, and suddenly you’rethatguy. What if me signing on makes it harder for them, for my guys—or worse, for the kids we’re trying to help? What if it makes it easier for other kids to target them?”

I considered that. It was a fair point.

But then I thought about Jamie.

“I don’t think having an actual support system puts a target on their backs,” I said carefully. “I think the target is already there. This would just be giving them a place to talk about it, to feel safe and supported.”

Mateo sighed again, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why do you do this to me, man? Why do you make sense?”

“It’s my tragic flaw,” I said, flashing him a million-watt grin.

He shook his head and laughed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Iamlucky,” I agreed. Then, more seriously, “You don’t have to decide right now, but think about it. If I’m gonna do this, I’d really rather not do it alone, and I really do think having the basketball coach on board would help with the pain-in-the-assness of our high schoolers.”

Mateo stared at me for a long moment, then shook his head, muttering under his breath.

“You know, I came in here looking forward to a nice, normal lunch,” he grumbled. “Then you show up with your sad gay kids and your logic, and now I have to be a responsible adult.”

“You hate it,” I said, smirking.

He pointed a chopstick at me. “I do hate it. I especially hate that you’re right.”

“So?”

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