Page 128 of Sweat

It’s hard to keep my eyes on the road when he’s saying shit to make my heartbeat quicken and my face turn red. “Shit, baby boy. You think I’d let a sucker punch get in the way of us?”

“I like that.Us.”His hand slips behind my neck, gently kneading me there. Not the fatherly squeeze Matt gave me, but something tender and soothing. “Tommy and Rowan,” he breathes.

Grinning like a madman, I turn my blinker on and roll into the lot beside Mustache Jack. “Alright, Mister Romantic. Let’s get you a drink.”

Turns out, the event tonight is a fundraiser for a local non-profit called the Found Family Project, a free, inclusive after school camp for queer and gender non-conforming youth to connect with mentors and peers that reflect their similar experiences. It feels serendipitous, almost discomfortingly so. It’s not like I want to be reminded of how I had no one growing up, but it also feels important to realize there are a lot of kids today who might feel just as hopeless and alone as I did.

It’s not preachy either, or a seminar like what we sat through at the Queer Alliance meeting. It’s a drag show, the first one I’ve ever been to. Drink sales go to the organization, so I feel even better about the ten-dollar margaritas I buy for Tommy and myself. There are giveaways too. Who doesn’t love free shit?

“Well, well, well!”

My spine stiffens as a familiar, grating voice fills my ears, and a second later, I’m flinching as a long, pale arm drapes over my shoulders. The face of an incredibly tall Swedish man pokes between Tommy and I, smirking like a sneak while we’re waiting for our drinks at the bar.

Oscar.

“I heard a rumor there were a couple straight boys from the soccer team here, and you two are the straightest looking boys I’ve seen all night.”

Rolling my eyes, I shrug Oscar away and lean over the bar to grab the two purple margaritas the bartender just set down. I pass him a twenty as Tommy tells Oscar, “We’re not straight.”

“No? You finally come out of the closet, Rowan?”

I shoot a glare at Oscar and hand Tommy his marg. “I was never straight. I just don’t share my business with random people.”

“Random people? After everything we’ve been through?” Oscar clutches his chest, feigning offense before telling Tommy, “We used to date. He broke my heart into a million pieces.”

“No, we didn’t. Don’t tell him that.”

Chortling, Oscar says, “No, no. I’m just joking. We’re just friends. I’m Oscar.”

Looking equally amused and perturbed, Tommy shakes Oscar’s hand before taking a small sip. Then he snaps his fingers. “Men’s volleyball captain?”

Oscar beams. “So Rowan has told you about me.”

“Uh, yeah. Totally,” Tommy chuckles, reaches out and hooks his arm around my waist.

“You must be Tommy,” Oscar says. “I remember seeing your texts while I was putting my number into Rowan’s phone, which he never used. Talk about a tease.”

I’m glaring daggers at the flamboyant ass, but he is amusing. If it wasn’t so flirtatious, I’d appreciate his snark a lot more.

“When was that?” Tommy asks me, one of his perfectly thick and golden brown eyebrows lifted.

Sighing against Tommy’s side, I send him an apologetic smile. “While I was making you wait for me.”

Like the angel Tommy is, he purses his lips against to the side of my head and says, “You’re good, sweetie. I seem to remember you making it up to me. In the outdoor weight gym.”

My eyes widen at Tommy’s mischievous smirk, and I glance at Oscar, who’s snickering like a villain.

Oscar claps his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, but puts his sight on me. “Have to say, Rowan. I can see why you turned me down. This might be the most beautiful man I’ve seen in my life. You two open, or..?”

“Dude, it’s not gonna happen,” I laugh, still blushing from what Tommy said.

“Fine, fine.” He steps back, giving up the shtick. “If you guys want, my group is over at the booths. We’re also planning a Denny’s run after the show. So catch up with us if you’re hungry.”

“Thank, man. Nice to meet you.” Tommy lets go of me to shake Oscar’s hand again, a sweeter boy than I’ll ever be despite his pet name for me.

Reclaiming me with his arm, Tommy leans in close to my ear, his fruity breath asking, “You didn’t do anything with him, did you?”

“With Slenderman?” I balk. “Nah, I draw the line at six-two. I don’t wanna look like a shrimp.”

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